Chapter Nine

Tracy took a deep breath as she stared down her old house. She’d spent most of her years with Richard in the thing, his picture-perfect vision of a life he’d forced her into. The shrubs were still immaculately trimmed, the lawn mowed, the entire place like something out of a 1950s movie.

It made her stomach churn.

Karen wasn’t there, thankfully. She’d gone with Claire for the day, the two going for manicures. The thought of whichever alpha got guard duty for the day being forced to participate helped shake the crushing sense of oppression that settled on her. In fact, she’d bet Joshua would happily sit and have his nails done along with them.

Though Bryce scowling and joining in grudgingly when Karen insisted would have been more amusing.

A hand set on her lower back, and Tracy jerked away from it, waking up from her musing.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Sam’s voice was soft, no hint of upset that she’d pulled away.

Dylan chimed in as he walked past them, not bothering to even give her a second glance. Sunlight caught on his hair, made it look almost blond. “She doesn’t really have a choice, does she? She’ll be fine. Come on, Red.”

While Dylan’s lack of concern grated, it also got her moving. She nodded toward Sam, her best ‘I’ve got this’ expression she could manage without lying.

“Who takes care of this place?” Mason asked.

Tracy slid her keys into the lock, the click of it like the warning of a landmine. “I hire a company. My lawyer gave me all my options, but I couldn’t make any decisions right then. It didn’t seem right to sell it, but I sure wasn’t going to live here. So, I’m just letting someone take care of it for now.”

“That lawyer didn’t work for Richard, right?” Dylan asked from her right side.

“No. I met her through the group home. Why?”

Dylan didn’t answer, but Sam piped in. “Anyone Richard hired might have his best interest in mind, or those he worked with. It’s good you went with someone new, someone you can trust.”

The conversation drifted off as they entered the house, as the memories threatened to pull her under.

They weren’t all bad, either. That was the hardest thing to understand and explain and come to terms with. Richard had been bad, there was no doubt about that, but no one was all bad or all good. Tracy remembered carrying Karen in as a newborn, the way Richard had set up her room, the way he’d stared down at their newborn in awe.

She recalled the time Richard had brought her home a gift. The large easel stored in the upper closet, and a new pack of the finest paints he could find her. She’d already stopped drawing, and he’d taken notice, wanting her to start again.

That was the thing, though, Richard had loved her, she supposed, in his own way. He’d been broken and bad and selfish, but that didn’t mean every moment was terrible.

She’d lived in this house for almost fifteen years, and yet she still couldn’t decide what to do with it. It was set back on five acres, a huge eight-thousand-square-foot monstrosity with far more rooms than were needed.

She’d always wanted a smaller place, something cozy and warm and safe, but Richard cared more about what strangers thought than what his mate wanted.

“I don’t think anything is here,” Tracy admitted as she put her code into the security panel by the door. “I’d bet his office if it was.”

“He’d never keep this sort of thing there. That’s the first place any of those associates would look.” Dylan walked around the large living room, his face all business. Then again, Sam had said he was a private detective, right?

Tracy gestured to the house with a wide sweep of her hand. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Before I ran, I spent a lot of time here, and there isn’t anything like what you’re talking about that I’ve seen. Besides, he had cleaners in here all the time, and if he had something that important hidden, wouldn’t he have been more careful about it?”

Dylan nodded. “Probably. When you deal with people like he did, you get paranoid. Still, it’s all we’ve got to go on right now. Even if they aren’t here, we might get a clue to where he stashed them. First things first, give us a tour, show us what the rooms are. It’ll make a search quicker.”

Tracy did as requested, holding it together as she went room by room. Many of them weren’t used, just his hopes for future children that Tracy had managed to avoid. Still, they saw his office, Karen’s room, the living spaces and the guest rooms. She gestured at the door to the room she’d shared with Richard, but no one had taken a step toward it.

After the tour, the alphas went their own ways to search the different areas of the house, and Tracy gathered her courage to look in the one room she didn’t want to.

Her first step into her old bedroom felt like walking into a crypt. Something she knew was empty, but still full of ghosts. That was what lived there, now. Not her, not her family, but the ghosts of who they’d been.

She could see the screaming fights with Richard, when he’d start out trying to stay calm, but the red would grow across his face. She’d see how, at first, she’d argue back. She’d fight with him, demand he be less controlling.

She saw her bags by the door when she’d threatened to leave that first and only time, when he’d put her in the hospital as a lesson.

She’d never forgotten that lesson.

It had been the start of her learning to shut up, to stay quiet and obey, to play it safe. She’d discovered that alphas were so much stronger than she was, and that fighting them never ended well.

All those lessons prowled the room. Her past, the one she’d run from, the one she couldn’t run far enough away from.

But he was dead, and he’d left her a mess that she had to get out of. She had to keep moving, keep searching. She owed it to Karen, to herself. Tracy pushed aside the worries, the memories, and focused on her task at hand.

Sifting through the ruble of her old life to try to save her new one.

* * * *

Sam sighed as he limped down the hall. He’d helped check every place he could think of in the huge house—office, storage rooms, gym—but they’d found nothing. Richard hadn’t left so much as a work receipt. The papers in his office were all fakes. They were information about clients that didn’t exist, just dead ends in case someone did break in. The more Sam had dug, the more he’d realized that nothing of Richard’s life had been honest.

His job had been completely under the table, dealing with people that were beyond dangerous. His marriage had been a sham, where he’d hurt the omega he was supposed to love and care for. Everything in his life had been a fake picture, something he wanted to portray but without substance.

They’d spent a few hours at the house, and Sam wanted to check on Tracy. Mason and Dylan had both done so, peeking into the large double doors that went to the bedroom she’d shared with the alpha. She’d been searching each time. Slower than they were, but then again, they had no personal connection to the house.

He crossed the threshold to find her seated on the carpeted floor, items strewn about in front of her. “Hey, honey, you okay?”

She didn’t turn her head toward him, her gaze locked on the items. “I miss him sometimes.”

Sam wished he could sit on the floor, but there was no way his leg would go for that. Instead, he pulled the stool from her vanity over so he could sit across from her. “That happens. I’ve dealt with omegas who have been abused. It’s not uncommon.”

“I shouldn’t miss him. I know what he did, what he was. I know better than anyone else all the things he did to me, but sometimes all I can think of is that I miss him.”

“There’s no one right way to get better, no one road that leads there.”

She spoke again like she hadn’t heard him. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe this was one of those times when she just needed to talk. “I hate him, too. I hate what he turned me into, what he did to Karen. I hate that I have any fond thoughts of him at all, that I think about the good times.” She hopped to her feet and picked up one of the things in front of her—a music box. When she opened it, a ballerina spun and a sweet song played. “He got me this for our last anniversary. He said he had to scour the city for something like this, to always be very careful with it. I thought he’d done something so sweet for me, that he’d really tried hard. I’d even thought maybe it was a new start, that he was trying to say sorry.”

“Maybe he was,” Sam offered, not sure what to say. Was it better to put Richard down, to remind her he was a monster? Or did she need those good moments with him, something to make her past important? He wished he could read her mind, that he knew what she needed, how best to help her.

Tracy let out a hollow laugh. “No. I was sitting here thinking about it, about how he warned me to be careful with it, that it was fragile and expensive. He didn’t normally care about money, so why did he this time?” She flipped the box over, pushed clasps on the bottom out of the way and pried up the black wooden board that made up the base of the music box. She shook her head as she pulled out a key hidden inside. “He didn’t care about me or the gift at all. It was just another way to use me.”

Sam’s heart ached at the pain in her voice, and she tossed the key to him. Mason and Dylan stood in the doorway of the room, spectators to the truth, to her realizing she had meant even less than she’d thought to the alpha to whom she’d given so many years of her life.

Her hands trembled as she held the box, whites showing on her knuckles. The desire shone bright in her eyes. She wanted to destroy it.

“Wait,” he said. “Don’t make any decisions when you’re this mad, huh? Wait until you feel better.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “Right.”

Dylan’s voice broke into the conversation. “Go for it, Red.”

They all turned to face him, and the shadows on his face matched Tracy.

He kept going. “Throw that shit against the wall and stomp it until it’s a thousand pieces, yeah?”

Sam went to argue, to remind them all that a steady head would help the most. Except…maybe Dylan and Tracy understood something he didn’t.

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered.

“So? Fuck shouldn’t. That asshole used you again, and that shitty little music box? That’s just proof. You don’t have to be proper or calm or restrained. You don’t owe that to anyone, especially not him. Fuck that.”

She stood for another moment, staring at Dylan so intently, it was like an entire conversation passed in the silence between them. One quick nod and Tracy turned, grasped the box by the thin leg and swung it down against the solid wood vanity behind her. She didn’t stop there, though. The thing probably had been expensive, because it took more than a few swings before it started to come apart. The music played, skipping with each hit and clicking as it broke. The tune slowed until it stopped, when the music box was in pieces that no longer looked like the beautiful thing it had been. The vanity hadn’t done much better, with scratches along the front and the perfume and makeup bottles from the top knocked over.

Sam waited for the breakdown, for her to collapse into tears. He waited for the inevitable crash where he needed to help her pick up the pieces again.

Instead, she pulled in a breath, panting from the exhaustion and emotions of the blow-up, then nodded. “Let’s figure out what that key goes to.” She walked out of the room, past Sam, past Mason and Dylan, as if the entire thing hadn’t happened.

Mason only huffed a soft laugh and followed, but before Dylan could, Sam spoke up. “How did you know?”

Dylan paused, his back to Sam.

Sam pushed. “How could you know that would help?” He kept the rest to himself. Dylan was as emotionally available as a junkyard dog, so how could he have possibly known better than Sam how to help a hurting omega?

Dylan turned back, face somber but not as angry as it often was. “Do you remember after my stepdad got taken away?”

Sam nodded, recalling the mess after the beta who took care of Dylan had gotten dragged away in cuffs for drugs, assault and a lot of other things that would keep him locked up a long while. He remembered the state of the house when Sam and his mother showed up to collect Dylan, to give him a place to stay. It had been torn to shreds. “Yeah. Everything was broken, tables turned over. I figured your stepdad gave a hell of a struggle.”

Dylan shook his head. “Nah. He was passed out when they showed up, so they took him in without a fight.”

A frown tugged at Sam’s features. So what had happened to the house? It hit him so fast, he wondered how he could have missed it before. “You did that damage. Why?”

Dylan shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looking like the kid he’d been when they’d picked him up from that dump of a house he’d lived at, when he’d hardly made eye contact, when he’d acted like none of it mattered. That was when Betsy had fully taken Dylan in, giving him a place to live. “Life isn’t fair for a lot of people. Sometimes you get tired of it, tired of being something to kick when life gets bored, and sometimes?” He shrugged. “Sometimes the only way to deal with it is to ruin the reminders that were there, to trash some of the life that sucked. It isn’t something easy to understand, and maybe it isn’t healthy, but you know what? It’s life, and it works.” Dylan said nothing else as he left.

Sam wanted to argue the point, to tell him he was wrong, but what did Sam know about it? He’d grown up with what a lot of people would say was a perfect life. A loving mom, two alpha fathers who couldn’t have been prouder, the only child of doting, middle-class parents. Maybe Dylan and Tracy spoke a language he didn’t, had suffered a similar ‘life isn’t fair’ history that made them understand something Sam never would.

Why argue it? Tracy had walked out of that room with her head held high, and that wasn’t something he’d seen much of. If Dylan could bring that out in her, if he could make her feel like that, well hell.

Maybe Mason wasn’t so wrong about them.

* * * *

Hours later and Dylan hadn’t figured out a damned thing about the key.

Well, that wasn’t fair. He figured it went to a padlock, though that didn’t help much. Research told him the type the padlock, given the company and size. His best bet was that the padlock went to a storage unit, but with how many were around and how easy it was to sign up with a fake name, he wasn’t sure how to narrow it down.

It’s not enough, not nearly fucking enough.

Mason, Sam, Tracy and Karen had all gone outside to hang some sort of peanut-butter-covered pine cone. Karen had run in, showing it to Dylan with a smile on her face. A bird feeder, she’d explained, and Mason and Sam were going to put it up.

Dylan had offered the expected surprise and pride at the craft before she’d hurried off. He could have offered to help, but they didn’t need his help, and no one had asked. Plus, he had other things to do, things far more important than joining in on some silly craft.

“Thank you.” Tracy stood in the doorway to Dylan’s room, her baggy clothing back in place.

He missed seeing more of her. Whether she saw it or not, whether she admitted it or not, she had a body he’d spent more than a bit of time fantasizing about. “For?”

“The music box.”

“It was nothing. A little destruction is good for the soul.”

“You understood. No one else did, but you did.”

He sighed and closed his laptop when it was clear she wouldn’t leave. “Yeah, I’m pretty used to breaking things. It’s fine. You’re welcome. We done?”

She came into the room, as though his attempts to scare her off only worked at bringing her closer. “No, I’m not done. Why are you so determined to push me away? What have I done to you that is so terrible?”

Dylan got to his feet, a glower painted on his face. He’d seen her pale at the slightest sign of anger, so anything from him should send her running, which was exactly what they both needed. The more he thought about her, the more he wanted her, and the more sure he was maybe even taking a taste wasn’t a good idea. “Because, believe it or not, not every alpha can be led around by his balls just because some pretty omega bats her long lashes at him.”

“I’m not trying to get anywhere near your balls.” She took another two steps forward, then poked a finger to his chest. “I’m just trying to get along.”

Dylan lifted a lip at her words and at the way she jabbed that finger into his chest. “Please, Red, I’ve dealt with enough omegas to know exactly what they’re like. You might play innocent, but you aren’t. You’ll do what omegas always do, and you’ll get your claws into an alpha and bleed them dry. If Mason and Sam want to be stupid enough to let you do it to them, that’s their problem.”

Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink that was far more interesting than it should have been. Made him wonder if she flushed like that when she came. Did her skin light up, all that red blotching over it in a display that couldn’t be faked?

“What is this really about? Because it’s not me you’re this angry about.”

“It’s all omegas. I’ve had my share of them, thanks.”

“So you met one who cheated on you and that means we’re all bad? It means we all have to pay the price?”

Words snarled from Dylan’s throat about a minute before his brain could tell him to shut the hell up. “You’re all the same! Ready to use up alphas however you can, then throw them away. Nora did it when she fucked up our friendship, when she slept with Sam then moved on to greener pastures. My mom did it when she decided she was sick of dealing with my stepdad and left me there to take the brunt of his anger! She packed her shit in the middle of the night and took off. Didn’t give a fuck about me, about what she was leaving behind, because all she cared about was what she wanted.”

And there is was. Pity, dancing its ugly little steps across her face. “I’m so—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snapped to shut her up. “I don’t need a fucking sorry from you. It’s just a fact of life, huh? My mom was just like all omegas. Got herself knocked up by some alpha, no idea who he was, then sank her claws into a beta to take care of her. The beta, my stepdad, was an asshole, no two ways about that. I don’t blame her for running, but fuck, she sacrificed me so she could get what she wanted. That’s what I’ve seen, over and over again, that omegas are willing to take what they want and leave husks behind.”

“We’re not all—”

“The fuck you aren’t. You’re just waiting to get your claws into whatever alpha gives you the time of day. You want Sam to fix your problems, you want Mason to take care of you, and what? You want me to fuck you?” He should so shut up, but he wanted her pissed. Pissed was miles better than pity.

“I don’t want to get my claws into anyone, and I sure as hell don’t want them in you!” Bingo.

“Right,” he sneered. “Like you don’t get wet around us? Come on, let’s be honest here, because I can smell you. You get one look at an alpha, one whiff, and you soak your panties, don’t you? And you think that just because you smell the way you do, we’ll do anything for you.”

He should have shut up. Hell, he shouldn’t have ever started. He knew it wasn’t fair to unload on her, not with her past, especially about something she couldn’t help. Biology and all that meant alphas and omegas reacted. Wasn’t fair to berate her over it. Still, it was better she realized whatever fascination she had with him was a bad idea now instead of letting her linger in it.

She narrowed her eyes, that stubborn edge making his cock harden. Why did he like that, damn it? When she cowered, he wanted to protect her, but when she stood up to him? He wanted to fuck her senseless.

“Even if I was interested, it’s not in you.”

The fire in Tracy’s eyes made Dylan yearn to kiss it clear. He wanted to wipe all that annoyance away and replace it with white-hot lust.

Which was crazy for so many reasons. One, she wouldn’t allow it. Two, he didn’t want her. Even scratching an itch with her would be a terrible idea. The more time he spent with an omega, the closer they got, the more likely he was to lose his mind and bond with her.

Which was something neither one of them needed and something he refused to consider might already be happening.

“So why are you in here, huh? If you’re so opposed to me, why do you keep pushing this? Because I think the truth is that you do want me, Red. Fuck knows why. Maybe it’s that whole bad-boy kick you females have, or maybe you like that I don’t pussy-foot around you like the others do, but whatever it is?” He leaned in until his nose was inches from hers. “You. Want. Me.”

Would she slap him for it? Maybe someone else would, but not her. What she did shocked him just as much, though. She wrapped her fingers in the front of his shirt and slammed her lips against his in a kiss so rough he might have gotten a cut on his lip from her tooth.

Fuck it, he’d take rough any day. He loved nails in his back, teeth in his throat, rough sex that left a person sore the next day.

Dylan replaced her violence with his own, backing her up until she hit the wall, where he shoved his thigh between her legs and right up against her hot cunt. Even with her baggy clothes in the way, he knew where he was aiming.

The heat of her pussy seared him, and being so close, he could smell the mouthwatering scent of her drenched body. He lifted his leg, grinding hard against her, and she only clutched him closer, her fingers tight in his shirt as though she feared he’d get away.

The kiss was harsh and driven by something deep inside both of them. Dylan took her hot mouth, leaving nothing, no room for doubt, no room for fear. He kissed her like he wanted to fuck her—completely and without mercy.

Tracy didn’t melt against him, didn’t wilt. She met every movement of his with her own. No matter what he did, she returned it. She answered the press of his tongue to her closed lips by opening and offering a swipe of her own. When he pressed his thigh against her, she rolled her hips to rub her cunt against the hardness of his quad, a desperate seeking of her own pleasure.

He’d known there was something beneath that frightened omega he’d seen, something more than just fear and a bad past. In this moment, in this woman, he saw what else was there.

Passion. Desire. Need. They all poured from her as she took from him without reserve. She scratched her nails against his chest as if she could hold him still for her.

Not one to be passive or easy, Dylan upped the ante. He crowded her, kept her unsettled and off-balance so she had no time to evaluate or decide this was a bad idea. He could have her pants off in a heartbeat and inside her with a quick adjustment or two. Hell, he could fuck her against the wall and put them all both out of their misery.

And right then, he felt miserable. His skin had tightened, his balls aching, the knot at the base of his dick desperate to swell and fill her with his cum. Had he ever wanted anyone or anything more?

It made a mockery of how he’d wanted the other omega, of what he’d thought they’d had, what they could have had. That omega had enjoyed sex, sure, but she hadn’t had this bone-deep need that Tracy radiated, as if she couldn’t breathe without another kiss, without another stroke of her hard little clit against Dylan’s leg. Nora had approached sex as a game she could take or leave, never above making sure Dylan knew she didn’t need him, that he was only one of many choices for her. Tracy touched him like as though was nowhere else she’d rather be.

The slam of a door woke them up, and she darted her lust-drunk eyes around the room. Steps came down the hallway, fast but light.

Karen.

When Tracy shoved him, he moved backward to give her space. She had no clothing to rearrange, but Dylan sported a pretty obvious erection, and the last thing he needed was some kid bypassing all the normal don’t-ask rules of society to point and question, ‘what’s that?’

Dylan grabbed his laptop, ignoring how stupid he looked, and held it in front of his crotch just in time for Karen to come charging in, calling, “Mom!”

Tracy answered, breathless still, her cheeks red, sweat matting her hair against her forehead. Yeah, he’d bet she’d flush hard when she came. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s up?”

The girl beamed, grabbing her mother’s hand. “Come on, Mom. We hung them up.” She had Tracy halfway out of the door before she’d finished her pleading.

Before they got far, Karen twisted to cast a smile Dylan’s way. “You, too. Come look!”

Dylan hesitated, used to the outskirts, to not being fully part of a group. Still, the idea of letting Tracy anywhere out of his sight didn’t seem too likely. He chalked it up to some mating instinct, since he hadn’t knotted the omega yet. Once he did, this feeling would go away, right?

And the other part, the part he didn’t like to admit to, really liked the idea of being wanted.

It had been a long time since he’d been wanted.