Chapter 6
FLETCHER
Over the next few weeks, I worked for Adam, doing everything from housework to mowing the lawn, trimming hedges, painting, and whatever else he needed.
Anything Adam wanted done, I did. And if I didn’t know how to do it? I figured it out. I was a quick learner, after all.
I was thankful to the Alpha for taking me in. Beyond thankful.
Not only had Adam given me a safe place to sleep and a roof over my head, but he made sure I got three square meals a day. I was gaining weight, filling out, no longer so bony and weak. The outdoor work was making me stronger too.
When I’d first accepted Adam’s offer, I thought for sure that at some point he’d demand sex as part of the deal. But he hadn’t. Adam had been nothing but kind and congenial, which, honestly? Was kind of disappointing because Adam was sexy as hell.
Did that make me a bad person? Probably, but oh well. It was better that we kept things strictly business.
On a sunny August afternoon, I was on my knees in the flower beds, yanking out weeds by their roots. It was nearly 95 degrees and hot as hell. Sweat dripped down my face in rivulets, soaking my hair. I tugged at my shirt collar, fanning myself.
Finally, I yanked the t-shirt off altogether, using it to mop my face. The sun beat down on my bare back, but I kept working.
I didn’t hear Adam approach until he was suddenly right there, a glass of ice-cold lemonade in hand.
“Hey,” he said. “Working hard?”
I twisted around, suddenly self-conscious. Adam was staring at me. Not just staring—his eyes trailed slowly up and down my body.
My stomach gave a nervous squirm. He was probably just looking at my scars. I had nothing to offer a rich Alpha like him, even if he was gorgeous.
“Yep,” I squeaked out. “Almost done.” I gestured to the pile of weeds laying on the lawn, then to the remaining work to be done still.
“It’s too hot,” Adam said, holding out the lemonade. “You’re going to end up with heatstroke. Come inside and take a break. You can finish this evening, once the temperature drops a bit.”
Swallowing the nerves fluttering in my throat, I nodded and stood.
I took the offered glass, the condensation cool against my heated skin, and brought it to my mouth. One greedy gulp—cool, sweet and just a little tangy—and I sighed in relief.
“Delicious,” I admitted with a small smile.
“Thanks,” he replied. “It’s my secret recipe.”
As Adam turned and walked back toward the house, I slung my sweaty shirt over my shoulder and followed him inside.
That night, over dinner, Adam finally asked the question I’d been waiting for, the one I knew would come eventually.
“I know it’s none of my business,” he began. “But I’m curious. Your scars… You have so many.”
From anyone else, it might have felt like a slap to the face, but coming from Adam, I knew it was just him voicing his concerns.
“My life hasn’t been the easiest,” I admitted, setting my fork down to rest on the side of my plate.
“One of my foster mothers had it out for me, for some reason. I could never do anything right. Looking back, she only fostered for the money. She didn’t care about any of us, but she was never as cruel to the others as she was to me. ”
“Damn.”
“Whenever I’d mess up, she’d punish me. Said I deserved what I got.”
I held out my arms, turning my wrists to show him the tiny circular scars burned into my flesh.
“She used to put out her cigarettes on my wrists. If I cried, she’d light up another, to do it again. She’d make me pick out my own switch, and she’d whip me until I bled. She didn’t care if I was still healing from the last time; she just laid down wound after wound.”
I shook my head slowly, the memories crashing over me like cold water.
“How old were you?” Adam asked.
I thought about it for a moment. “I think it started when I was seven or eight, and ended when I was twelve. I spent so many nights lying in agony, my back raw and aching, leaving blood on the sheets. I got punished for that too.”
“Jesus Christ,” Adam muttered softly. “She never should’ve been allowed around children.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t worry. She got hers,” I murmured. “My wounds got infected at one point. I got really sick, ran a high fever. I managed to sneak over to the neighbor’s house and begged them to take me to the doctor.”
“They did. And once I was there, everything came pouring out. All the abuse, all of the hell we’d gone through. My foster mother was arrested and jailed. Me and the other kids were sent back into the system.”
Adam stared at me, his jaw slack. “Have you ever had a good life?” he asked quietly.
I gave a small, sad smile. “No. Not really. My birth-mom didn’t want me. I grew up in the orphanage, bounced around foster homes. None of them kept me for long. After the fiasco with the abuse case, I was pretty much written off.”
“When I turned eighteen, they dumped me on the streets with a bag of belongings and a ‘good luck.’ I’ve been homeless ever since. That’s when I met Jacks and the gang. And, well… The rest is history.”
Adam frowned, deep grooves cutting into his forehead. “I’m sorry you went through all that,” he said softly. “That sucks.”
The sincerity in his voice sent a quiver of an ache through my heart.
I shrugged, stabbing a bite of pork chop with my fork and popping it into my mouth. After I chewed and swallowed, I said simply, “That’s life.”