Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Flat Above Dough Knot Bakery, Haven
H ow the hell are we going to survive?
Adrenaline spikes through me. I bite my lip.
A cake contest? Prize money? A quarter of a million dollars?
It’s pie — or cake — in the sky.
Right now, if we don’t find a way to raise money to buy more supplies to keep baking with by Monday, then the bakery will close anyway by the middle of next week.
Whoever heard of a luxury bakers that couldn’t even afford to make donuts to sell?
Thanks, Dad.
My eyes burn with tears.
I burrow my head into my pillow, taking a reassuring sniff of the vanilla espresso scent.
My brother scents the pillows, cushions, and blankets around our tiny flat above the bakery to help me feel safer.
I don’t care that Dad is Head Alpha.
Vito feels like my pack Alpha, and his scent comforts me. It always has.
My bedroom is tiny with curved, low beams. Yet I painted it a cheerful cherry pink, when we first moved in, and my small bed is covered in matching pink bedding with a giant pile of cuddly cushions.
It’s my snuggle cushion nest, and my favorite place to be.
Whenever I’m tired, overwhelmed by outside scents, or stressed, I retreat to my snuggle cushion nest.
The early morning sun streams through the threadbare violet drapes. The windows need cleaning again. There never seems enough time in the day.
A cheap, lopsided wardrobe and chest of drawers are pushed up against the far wall.
The other walls are covered in posters of Omegas who have inspired me: the rock band, Empty Cage, the figure skater, Ice, who bonded with the hockey players, the Blades, and the movie star, Jex.
They’re Omegas who broke the mold.
They’re brave enough to step into the spotlight, working in industries that have been barred to Omegas before.
Their stories make my heart swell with pride.
They gave me the courage over the last few years to stand at my brother’s side, break away from my pack, and run this bakery.
I stare at Ice who was the first Omega figure skater.
Will I ever be brave enough to stand in the glare of the world’s spotlight like she did? She didn’t hide who was in the shadows, right?
I sigh.
I know how important it is to raise my voice.
To be seen.
But it’s not that simple.
I’ve been up since dawn and have finished baking. Vito’s taking the first shift in the shop, while I rest.
I’ve changed into cotton, checked black pajamas and I’m lying down.
But I’m not sleeping.
My mind is whirring with too many thoughts. I’m on hyper alert.
I haven’t been able to sleep since last night and Dad’s visit to the bakery.
Dad made it very clear how easily he can take away everything from my brother and me.
He already has.
“Dumbass.” I turn onto my back, picking up a furry cushion and slamming it over my face with a whine. “Dumbass. Dumbass .”
What have I done?
Yesterday wasn’t only about me. It was about stopping Dad from going after our enemies, the Saint pack.
After Thomas.
I’ve given up my dreams and future for a memory of a boy who used to look at me haughtily across the school corridor…who’s now a man who I don’t even know.
Who I haven’t spoken to for five years .
How’s that acting like a predator ?
Thomas may be the most beautiful Alpha in Haven (hell, in Virginia), but is he worth everything that I possess?
“Fuck, yeah he is.” I throw the cushion across my bed, and it bounces to the floor.
I wish that I didn’t think Thomas was.
But even in high school, I had a crush on the cold Alpha, despite him barely acknowledging me.
We come from different fucking worlds.
What does the mayor’s son have to say to a mafia princess?
Despite myself, my lips quirk.
Since I’ve saved Thomas, does this make him the damsel Alpha in distress?
Am I the Omega knight in shining armor?
Do I get to carry Thomas off to my castle attic at the top of my bakery to bond with?
It’d make the type of fairy tale, which I’d read or Jex would film in one of his romance movies.
“Keep on dreaming,” I mutter.
Thomas will never find out how close he came to being kidnapped, tortured, and…I pale and shudder… claimed by Dad, instead of me.
When I remember that, I know whatever hardships I face now, they’ll be worth it, even if I never get to talk to Thomas again.
Suddenly, my phone vibrates on my nightstand.
I groan, pushing my exhausted body up to lean against the headboard in the middle of my cushion snuggle nest.
My muscles are aching. My temples are throbbing.
I lick over my dry lips, pushing an empty coffee mug out of the way to pick up my phone.
When I slide my phone on, I realize that it’s vibrating with a message from my ABOinder app.
Despite everything, my expression brightens. I feel instantly lighter.
I grin, clicking on the app.
I clutch the phone, stroking just once over the screen.
Somehow, this morning ritual is an escape like I’m somebody else.
On the app, I can be someone who isn’t a Snake — who isn’t weighed down by bills and fears — someone who can simply concentrate on their own upcoming heat and the joy of an uncomplicated new connection.
I can for once, concentrate on simply myself: My needs, desires, and pleasure.
I read the message in the app.
SEVEN : Morning, sweet venom.
My grin widens.
Sweet venom.
It’s my profile name.
Seven has sent the same message to me for three weeks now. He checks in with me every morning.
No one apart from Vito has consistently noticed me. They definitely haven’t taken time out of their day to see that I’m okay. This is despite Seven being a busy Alpha.
I could tell that from our first chat.
I thought that I worked long hours, until I started chatting to Seven.
I’m beginning to think that he’s supernatural because he definitely doesn’t sleep.
It’s worrying me.
Should I be worried about someone who’s only a hookup?
SWEET VENOM: Morning, Seven.
SEVEN: You okay?
No.
But I can’t say that.
My fingers hesitate, as I try to work out what to type.
SEVEN: SV…?
SWEET VENOM: Thinking.
I bite my lip.
Seven isn’t my Alpha or lover. Is he a friend?
He’s begun to feel like one.
We both wanted to be friends, before we helped each other through our heats and ruts.
So, I can share some of my life.
SWEET VENOM: I didn’t really sleep.
SEVEN: I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?
I wriggle around, getting more comfortable in my nest.
SWEET VENOM: Just family shit. Dads, you know?
There’s a long pause.
I stare at the screen.
Perhaps, I’m pushing things.
My heart beats faster.
Seven seems to be a good guy, but this isn’t meant to be an emotional connection, and here I am, talking about family .
I let out a breath of relief, when his next message pops up.
SEVEN: I definitely know. Dads, Head Alphas…or as I call them… dicks .
I let out a startled laugh.
Suddenly, I wish more than anything that I knew what Seven looked like, smelled like .
Fuck my OHS.
I want Seven for more than the physical necessity of his knot to save my life.
He’s my scent match.
Knowing that he’s on the other side of this screen is agonizing.
We both agreed to get to know each other, before we moved onto anything physical. But still, every time that Seven surprises me like how he can make me laugh when I’m down, it becomes harder to hold on until my heat.
To distract myself, I reach for the cookbook on the nightstand, which I’ve been intending to spend the next hour flicking through in order to get ideas for the cake contest.
It’s yellowed at the edges and gritty with sugar and old cookie dough from sticky fingers. It’s homemade with a stiff pink cover with the donut logo on the front that Vito and I chose to use for the logo of our bakery.
Mom, Lucia, drew the donut picture years ago, when she was first matched with Dad.
Mom, an Omega, created the cookbook by sticking together cut out recipes from magazines, books, and handwritten recipes.
Mom was an incredible cook and baker.
She was happiest in the kitchen. She had a stool that she let me stand on to help her bake, stir the dough, or cut out cookies, even if I made more of a mess than I actually helped.
She had a sweet, tinkling laugh. She never raised her voice, and that includes the time when Vito as a toddler shook cornstarch over me and the rest of the kitchen, saying that he was making it snow.
I hated to see the way that Mom had to kneel for every Alpha and Beta in the pack.
I hated the way that Mom never laughed, whenever anyone else walked into the room.
But the thing that I hated most was that one day, Mom simply disappeared and nobody was allowed to mention her again.
When Vito was brave enough to demand, Daddy give us Mommy back, he was dragged into his bedroom.
I wept outside his door, hearing his sobs inside, as he was punished harsher than I’d ever heard before.
Vito made me swear after that to never talk about Mommy in front of the adults .
It was Gia, the cruelest of our Alpha triplet sisters, who eventually told me what had happened to Mom.
Frustrated that she had to help bathe me again, Gia threw the sponge into the water with a splash.
“Why did that stupid bitch have to plot to run?” Gia hissed, as I cowered back.
My skin raised into goosebumps. I wrapped my arms around myself.
“Run?” I whispered.
Gia’s eyes gleamed, darkly. “Yeah, no one wants to tell you like you’re too young to know or something. But you should. Mom’s been sold to the Institute because of you.”
Sold?
I let out a wail of distress.
Gia’s eyes widened in panic.
She clamped her long-nailed hand over my mouth. “Shut up, little snake. Do you want to get us both killed? You’re not meant to know.”
I tried to stop crying.
I really did.
But I couldn’t.
Mom had been sold to the Institute? Did that mean that another pack had now bought her?
Cautiously, Gia removed her palm from my mouth.
Tears dripped down my cheeks. “Is she someone else’s Mommy now?”
Gia nodded.
“Why? What did I do?”
Gia looked severe.
But was she going to cry too? Gia never cried.
“Because Vito and you are such babies that she was going to betray this pack and run, taking you with her. Dad didn’t have a choice…he didn’t…” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself. She slumped, covering her face. “She didn’t need to take my sisters and me because we’re proper Snakes. That’s why she didn’t want us…was going to leave us behind…”
I reached out of the bath and rested my hand over Gia’s arm, squeezing.
Gia lowered her hands and stared at me in shock.
Then her expression softened in a way that it never had before.
Now, I blink the tears out of my eyes. I slide my hand over the front of the cookbook.
It’s all that I have left of Mom.
I press my fingers over the fingers prints that are left behind in the corner in sugar — Mom’s unique finger prints.
She held this book.
Sometimes, it feels like my only proof.
She’s vanished, lost, been erased from our lives.
But I have this.
I press my fingers harder against hers.
As adults, Vito and I tried to search for Mom, but the Institute didn’t keep records back then, and her name would likely have been changed.
Dad burned all her possessions symbolically because of her betrayal.
For days, I couldn’t get the stench of the fire out of my hair. I wept and begged Vito to wash my hair over and over in the sink.
In the end, we took turns to wash each other’s hair.
It didn’t help.
Perhaps, it was Mom clinging to us in that smoky scent.
To my surprise, the night before the sacrificial bonfire, as I lay crying in my bed, Gia slipped into my room, clutching the cookbook under her arm.
“You’re the one who liked to do sappy things like cook with Mom.” She shoved the cookbook onto the bed without catching my eye. “Hide this well. If you’re caught with it, I’ll pretend that you having it has nothing to do with me.”
Gia terrifies me now, but I still remember her tall figure offering me the only comfort that she could in her own way.
Perhaps, she was moved by the same impulse that made me rest my hand on her arm in comfort.
Few people are all good or all bad.
Plus, pain sometimes connects people.
When my phone vibrates, it startles me out of my thoughts.
SEVEN: Sweet Venom, what are you doing?
I open the cookbook to one of my favorite recipes: chocolate-peanut pie.
My mouth waters, as I’m instantly transported to the pie’s rich, smooth taste. It’s one of Vito’s favorite comfort foods with its chocolate cookie crust and creamy peanut butter, cream cheese, powdered sugar, and whipped cream filling.
I don’t care what I need to do to raise the money for ingredients.
I love baking.
I love Mom’s legacy.
And I’m going to bake Vito a chocolate-peanut pie that’s so delicious, he’ll forget all about the pain in his cheek, lip, and eye, as well as about the ruined apple pie from last night.
I pick up the phone, determinedly wiping the tears out of the corners of my eyes with the back of my hand.
SWEET VENOM: I’m doing one of my favorite things.
SEVEN: You only needed to say that you were having some private time with your hand or is it that favorite vibrator of yours…?
I flush.
Cheeky.
How does Seven know about my favorite vibrator?
My gaze darts to the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Now, I’m longing for the pulsing touch of my purple magic wand vibrator.
I itch to take it out and hold it against my wet pussy but struggle to resist it because I’m not going to let him be right.
SWEET VENOM: I’m looking through a cookbook.
SEVEN: I believe you.
I shake the book like he can actually see me. The loose recipes flutter like fragile butterfly wings.
SWEET VENOM: I am.
SEVEN: At 9:35 in the morning? Are you looking for ideas about how to impress me, when we meet up for our first date to discuss the heat? You know, with one of those fiddly meals that includes things like fish and artichoke-tomato vinaigrette?
Is he flirting? Are we flirting?
What’s happening here?
I push my tangled hair out of my eyes, as I think for a moment.
This is unexpectedly fun and exactly the type of distraction that I need right now.
Seven’s profile says that he’s into cooking too, as well as checking out new bars.
SWEET VENOM: Sorry, but I’m expecting you to take me out to a fancy restaurant or bar.
I’m not.
I’ve never been taken to somewhere like that in my life. I wouldn’t even know what fork to use.
SEVEN: Damn, and I had all my vouchers saved up for the local fast food joint.
I freeze.
Is he serious? Have I just offended him?
I know what it’s like to not have much money. I don’t care if we chat and get the necessary consent for the heat over a coffee.
I don’t want him to stretch himself financially, if he’s struggling. Perhaps, his profile was only for show about the bars.
I’m the last person who’s entitled or cares about status or wealth in an Alpha, but a lot of Omegas are into that wealth and power shit.
Have I embarrassed him?
Tentatively, I type a message.
SWEET VENOM: It’s your choice. I’m casual about stuff. I love fast food or a coffee’s fine. Do you prefer burgers or fried chicken?
SEVEN: Pizza.
I sigh, relieved.
SWEET VENOM: Pizza’s cool. So, what are you up to?
SEVEN: Paperwork. Also, petting the cat, which is more important. At least, she’s the boss around here. So, it’s my number one task every day.
He has a cat…?
My face lights up.
So, at least that part of the profile checks out.
SWEET VENOM: Cute.
SEVEN: Excruciating. Filing is never cute.
SWEET VENOM: I’m rolling my eyes right now. I wish that this app had emojis, so that I could use one. I meant the cat.
SEVEN: She is. I rescued her from a shelter. I can’t believe that someone abandoned her. When I saw her trapped in the shelter, I knew that I had to give her a loving home. She rewards me for that generosity every day by scratching my furniture, leaving fur on my suits, and waking me up by sitting on my head at 3 a.m. for food.
I chuckle.
SWEET VENOM: And you love her for it.
SEVEN: Of course, because love isn’t conditional, or at least, mine isn’t. In case you’re wondering, I’m not only stroking a cat on my knee like an Alpha Bond villain, I’m also sitting on a throne of books like my profile suggests.
SWEET VENOM: Liar.
My lips curl up with an unexpected fondness.
Talking to Seven like this — through an app without scents getting in the way or even speech and sight — makes conversation easy.
It’s like we’ve known each other our entire lives.
I can let down my walls in a way that I’ve only ever truly done with Vito and Lincoln.
This is dangerous.
I shiver, reluctantly dropping the cookbook to the side onto the cushions and stretching out onto my back.
I balance the phone on my stomach, staring up at the ceiling.
I need Seven to literally help me to live.
I’m only meant to be forging a friendship with him, however, and nothing more.
Seven is really clear about what he’s offering in his profile:
Do you need a no strings attached knot for your next heat…with a dominant Alpha attached as a bonus?
I shake my head.
I need my focus to be on ways to earn money.
Before last night, I’d intended to bake a snake themed cake for Haven’s Food Festival. Possibly, two snakes like my cupcakes but a giant version.
After all, it’s what the bakery is known for.
But now, it doesn’t feel right.
Fuck, I need inspiration to strike fast.
What should I bake?
What could win?
What’s worthy of a quarter of a million dollars?
My palms are sweaty. My throat is dry.
Last night, while I was rubbing arnica cream carefully into the bruises on Vito’s hip and face like I’ve done many times before, he whispered his plan to me.
If we won the money, then we had a slim chance that Dad wouldn’t immediately find out.
Slim.
In that window of opportunity, we’d pay off the mortgage on the bakery with the winnings straight away and the loans that we needed to start up the business.
We’ve worked hard to make our business succeed, when bakeries are risky: One in five fail. We have a loyal customer base now, however, and if our pack weren’t pocketing funds that we should be reinvesting, then we’d be thriving.
Of course, our pack would find out what we’d done with the prize money. But it’d be too late for them to steal it.
There’d be consequences , and Vito would be the one to pay them.
A cold ball forms in my stomach at the thought, along with a protective rage.
At least Dad would feel that he had ownership of the bakery, however, and Vito and I could continue in business. Without the mortgage to pay each month, we’d be able to hand over the protection money to the Snakes from our takings without being ruined.
I need to know that if the worst happens and I die, Vito will have a stable base to start a new pack of his own, away from Dad’s influence.
I know that he won’t let himself think about it.
Yet I have to.
If Seven is dominant enough and a close scent match to help me through my heats, then maybe I can survive longer without bonding.
Perhaps, I can hold onto what I have here with my brother.
Yet the scent patches are wearing off faster and faster every day.
My nervous system is being overwhelmed a little quicker every week.
I don’t care that the world has labeled this as a defect, however, because I won’t see myself as a victim or broken .
I’m simply me, Candy.
I’m going to face this journey with courage.
If I have a day, week, month, year…or my entire life…ahead of me. I’m going to make each moment count.
And right now, that means ensuring that this bakery remains open.
To do that, I have to find a couple of thousand dollars to buy ingredients.
Luckily, we normally buy things in bulk. So, we have the basics already stocked.
I glance around my room.
I don’t own much but I can sell what I have. Everything within the bakery is needed for the business. We can’t touch it. But my personal things — dresses, jewelry, and iPad — I can survive without.
Possessively, I snatch up my cushion and hug it to my chest.
I can’t give up my nest.
Please.
Then I close my eyes in desperation.
I don’t own enough to make up the money.
I’m going to need to ask Vito to sell his Harley.
He has nothing else. He’s never cared about possessions.
Well, apart from his alt rock music, and that’s all in music downloads.
Yet he saved for three years to buy that bike.
It’s his baby.
“Fuck,” I growl.
When my phone lights up with another message, I grab it like a lifeline.
I truly do need the distraction from the unhappiness weighing my soul.
I toss the cushion to the end of the bed and snatch the phone off my stomach.
When I read the message, however, I’m shocked by the care in it.
SEVEN: Tell me to fuck off, if I’m bothering you. But are you really okay?
No.
SWEET VENOM: Yes. I’m just tired and stressed.
I stare at the screen, as for a long moment, Seven doesn’t reply.
I want him to believe me because I can’t explain more. We both agreed to do this under our profile names.
I’m protecting him by keeping my pack name out of this.
I wish that I could share my problems, however, with someone outside my family.
Would Seven reject me, if I did?
Nobody would understand.
How could they?
He probably imagines that my Alpha Dad is being tyrannical about allowing me out by myself at night or what we watch on the television.
After all, Seven probably thinks that he’s liberal, if I’m on ABOinder.
SEVEN: You should get more sleep. Are you working too hard?
I snort.
Am I working too hard?
Yet no Alpha apart from Vito has treated me in a nurturing way before, since Mom was sent to the Institute.
The triplets were meant to but they were only teenagers themselves. They were more like babysitters from hell who drank, partied, and shoved some fries and milkshakes at Vito and me, before telling us not to come out of our room because they had the neighborhood boys over for some fun .
SWEET VENOM: I’ve only been working as hard as normal. But you’re the one who’s working right now. Do you ever stop?
SEVEN: When I’m asleep.
Worry shoots through me.
SWEET VENOM: Then you work too hard.
SEVEN: I don’t have a choice. Don’t deflect. If you’re stressed, why don’t I give you some stress relief? Want to play?
My cheeks tint with pink.
Fuck, yeah.
I know what he means by play.
Anticipation tingles through me. My pussy becomes wet with slick.
Is he going to wreck me? Because if he is, then I’ll love every minute of it.