Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cujo
“Sit down on the fucking couch.” Gy marches me into his living room like I’m some pervert. Sure. I wanted to stay and watch her get dressed. Wanted to look my fill at every inch. But that’s not creepy since she’s mine.
“You’re being a dick.” Gy thinks he gets to be in charge.
Why? Because he’s the VP? Because he’s ancient?
That’s bullshit. Of the two of us, I’m the more deadly.
Still might end him for being the first to taste our omega’s sweetness.
My cock remains impossibly hard after the brief flash of her delectable body.
Those dusky rose nipples will forever be imprinted in my mind.
I salivate, wanting to taste them for myself.
“Told you to sit.” He stands in my way, tossing his thick arms across his chest.
“Go fuck yourself,” I snarl back, instead pacing the length of this small living room. His house looks nothing like my place, and oddly enough, I’ve never been in it before. His is a decent size, more standard, whereas mine is essentially a studio cottage.
Neither fit for an omega. A problem for a different day.
“Fighting with each other isn’t gonna get us anywhere.” Gy sighs, leaning against the wall and crossing his foot over his ankle. “Gotta ask her about this shit with the Black Plagues without spookin’ her.”
“We need to know everything.” My fingers itch to pull out my blade. Pissing off Willow doesn’t make me happy, but her safety is more important. “Pushing her is the only way we’re going to get answers.”
At least until Fen works his magic.
He cocks his head in question. Although he doesn’t disagree, I see it in his body language. Gy’s unwillingness to cross our little omega. For a big, tough military Alpha, he’s such a damn pussy when it comes to her.
“If I need to, I’ll bark her into telling us.
” The threat hangs in the air as Willow walks into the room.
She’s wearing a long black T-shirt that’s several sizes too big, and gray sweatpants that dwarf her tiny frame.
The very dictionary definition of adorable, yet the sight of her in Gy’s clothes makes irritation prickle under my skin.
Should be mine. Her eyes blaze with fire, and I know she heard my last comment.
“Hello, honeybee. Have I mentioned how beautiful you are?”
The compliment does nothing.
“You better not bark at me, Cujo,” she quips. “If you do, you’ll find yourself wearing an e-collar, and I’ll be all too happy to shock you.” Her hands go to her hips as she stares me down, and I love seeing the glint of her stinger.
“For all you know, I might enjoy a little electroshock therapy.” The joke falls flat, memories of my time as a prisoner pop like fireworks in my brain.
Gritting my teeth, I ignore the flashes, instead prowling across the room to slake my thirst for connection.
The sweetness of honeysuckle helps, and sensing my yearning, she allows me to get close.
My fingers run through her hair, all my darkness banished before her slightly grumpy light.
“I’ll do my best not to.” Her silver eyes search mine, and I can’t lie. I’ll try not to use my Alpha dominance, but when it comes to her safety, even her desire won’t trump my need to protect her. “But we need to talk.”
She exhales, and her throat bobs with the effort of breathing.
Her scent turns sharp. I don’t want to force her, so I change tactics.
Ushering her over to the couch, I squeeze her between Gy and me.
The tasty cream between our Alpha cookies.
She settles in, looping her arm under Gy’s.
I drop my hand to my knee, hold it palm-out, hoping that she’ll take it.
With a sigh, her tiny fingers slide against mine, making my inner Alpha crow with delight.
Slow and steady.
The room stills. Filled with an uncomfortable silence full of secrets and unspoken words, with none of us sure where or how to begin. Bruce, sensing Willow’s stress, steps forward, dropping his muzzle into her lap and wiggling his nose until his teeth are centimeters from my hand.
Warning received, devil dog.
Knowing we might as well get this over with, I dive in. “Willow, before I ask you any questions, I want to make it clear that you’re safe here. Our grounds are fortified from threats. I’ve made sure of it. Are you familiar with MC life?”
“No. I’ve been learning a bit. Lincoln and Colin filled me in some.” Her brows wrinkle, unsure of the direction this conversation is taking. Who is Colin?
“Lincoln has, huh?” I wiggle my eyebrows, trying to lighten the moment, and my VP frowns at the use of his legal name. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it that it took a second for me to put two and two together.
“Only she calls me that,” he snarls, glowering, and I do a mental happy dance at the dig.
“Well, in the Hellbent Hounds, we have roles. My position is the Sergeant-at-Arms. It means my job is to protect this club, whatever the cost.” Ready and willing.
“Okay. Protect how?” Willow fidgets between us, shifting from side to side.
“My blade. My gun. My body. Any way I need to.” I let the implications of that sink in.
“You kill the threats?” There’s a slight quake in her voice, and fear clenches in my stomach. She needs to understand what we are—could this send her running? My honeybee is a flight risk if ever I’ve seen one.
“When it’s warranted.” Her gaze swings toward Gy, and he meets it head-on.
“As the VP, you do, too?” She pulls her arm out from under his and releases mine. Icy fear whips through me as she folds in on herself.
Gy glares at me like he wants to murder me where I sit. “Baby girl, I’ve killed people. A lot of people. Every member of the Hounds served their country. We’ve done some shit and seen the worst of humanity. Whenever you’re ready to talk about what you’ve been through, we can handle it.”
Willow stiffens, her eyes wandering around the room until it falls on the piano peeking out from the clothing hung on it. The room falls to silence once more, and Willow’s misshapen fingers begin a steady rhythm in Bruce’s fur.
“Do you play?” she finally asks, her fingers still making patterns that become more pronounced. A clue, honeybee?
Gy doesn’t immediately answer, and I want to poke him. Even though it’s off topic, I’m glad she’s speaking to us at all after finding out we both have body counts to our names.
“I’m sorry. That was a strange question.” She lets out a fake laugh that hurts my heart.
“Answer her,” I grit, “We’re asking for her trust. Give her some of yours.”
His nostrils flare, but he finally speaks. “The keyboard belonged to my brother. My first kill.”
Willow stills, her head whipping toward Gy, taking in the sadness in his posture.
“He deserved it.” Willow makes up her mind quickly, defying all logic; she snuggles into his side. “Tell me why.”
The fact that she doesn’t blanch at the thought of death piques my curiosity, confirming she’s been through more than most. The world isn’t black and white for Willow, she appreciates the shades of gray we live in
“Have you ever heard of the Bayou Butcher?” She shakes her head, and he continues, “The Bayou Butcher was a serial killer. He usually preyed on the elderly but would make exceptions to quench his need to kill. My parents were his first victims.”
Although I already know all of this, it’s still startling to hear him tell the tale of finding his parents dead, turning in his own brother, and eventually hunting and killing him after he escaped from jail.
As the story goes on, Willow scent-marks Gy, doing everything she can to soothe his inner turmoil.
“I’m damaged, too! Why don’t you come sit on my lap?
” I stretch my arms out, reaching for my omega.
Willow flips me off, continuing to hold onto that lucky fucker.
Why didn’t I tell her about being tortured instead of letting him weave his sad tale?
Still, we haven’t gotten to the point of this conversation.
“Now it’s your turn to share, honeybee. Tell us who you need gone from this world, and we will make it happen. ”
Her face pales, and she pushes her nose into Gy’s neck, snuffling and breathing in his scent. I wish it were mine, but I understand. As the Alpha trying to pry her secrets from her, I’m not the person she wants comfort from.
“No one. I’m fine.” Bruce, sensing her distress, nips me hard on the calf. Not enough to draw blood, but sufficient to get his point across. Dick. I ignore the mutt, needing to discover Willow’s truths.
“Gy gave you his past, now you share yours.” My patience is fraying at the edges, the need to protect and destroy rising.
“I can’t.” She goes to stand, but I press her right back down. “You’ll have to kill me if I’m a threat to the club.”
“Never.” There’s not a thing she could have done to make me harm a hair on her perfect head.
“Yes. You neutralize threats. It’s your job. Me being here could bring you all danger. Death.” Bruce nips my arm again, expressing his displeasure. “I need to leave. You have to let me go.”
“No. If someone comes for you, they’re going to find me. Your monster. And I will put them all the way down. Now, tell me what I need to know.”
“I can’t, Cujo. You don’t understand.” Her gaze grows pleading, and it slams into me. She’s been Alpha-commanded. Someone’s barked her into secrecy.
“Okay. Don’t speak. Just shake your head. Can we do that?” She slumps against Gy, but nods in agreement.
“Are you in witness protection?” Her eyes widen in surprise, then she looks up at the ceiling then down at the ground, the movement of her head barely perceptible. Yes.
“Does it have to do with the Black Plague?” At this, she breathes a sigh of relief and sits straighter.
“No, I have no idea who they are. Yesterday in the coffee shop, one of them was bothering Cindy. I’ve never seen him before and don’t know anything about their club.
” The truthfulness of her words rings out, and I am glad that at least she’s not caught up in that.
It’s strange that they’ve shown up here, creating beef—but that only makes ridding our town of them that much easier.
Cerberus will be pleased.
“Are you in witness protection because you saw something and need to testify about it?” Gy jumps into the questioning, startling me. I glance at him, and he says, “It’s the most common reason to end up in WITSEC.”
Willow looks between us, then nods, this time a bit smoother. Yes.
“In about a month,” she admits. “But it wasn’t something I saw…” She stares down at her gnarled fingers, and a picture forms in my mind. As someone who’s been tortured, I know how fingers become that misshapen. Rage pounds in my temples, rumbling up my throat, piercing my sternum.
“Tell me who hurt you.” I bark, putting all my Alpha dominance behind the command to break the compulsion she’s under.
The world will burn.