Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Saint Cage, Haven
I stand outside the iron door of the basement.
My stomach feels squirmy with both excitement and nerves.
It’s after breakfast, and this will be the first time that I’ll be alone with Ghost.
I convinced Lincoln to join Thomas and let me spend this morning with Ghost by myself.
We need some Omega alone time.
After all, Lincoln knows that I memorized the code over his shoulder yesterday.
He trusts me not to rescue Ghost by myself and he clearly trusts Ghost to protect me.
I’m desperate to learn more about Ghost. I ache for both his touch and scent.
He feels like he’s mine.
More than anything, I want to save him.
Yet he growled and attempted to save me , when he thought that I was in danger.
I don’t think Ghost’s broken, at least, not in the way that Lincoln or Thomas mean.
As much as they may try to understand, they’re not Omegas.
From our births, if we’re elite, then we’re treasured, coddled, and controlled. But if we’re Rejects, especially defectives , then we’re shunned, excluded, and unloved.
Treated as lesser.
We learn to be stronger than anyone imagines. It’s an internal strength, the type that people don’t write songs or books about.
They fucking should.
You don’t need bulging muscles like Lincoln or to be as tall as Thomas to be a superhero.
Ghost has true courage within him.
What if he’s protecting himself the best that he can?
Would I be as resilient? Could I have survived?
OG won’t stop its feral growling. Its blanket has been removed as a consequence… It will only receive food, if it kneels immediately… OG can’t talk but can still lie with its tears.
I shudder.
I’m clutching a small tray in one hand. It contains a plate with cubes of Sugar’s favorite Cheddar cheese.
Win the cat, win the Omega.
I’m not above winning the heart of this man through his feline.
A steaming mug of Ghost’s black coffee balances next to the plate.
Ghost is as much of a coffee-a-holic as I am.
I’m going to bring and handfeed every one of Ghost’s meals to him to be sure that he can eat.
He’s too slim. No one in my pack is going to starve out of fear.
We can work toward Ghost feeding himself independently at his own pace.
I don’t mind handfeeding him and I think that he secretly loves it too.
I punch in the code to the door.
When it swings open with a creak, I wrinkle my nose at the blast of musty air that rushes out.
I steady myself, before carefully starting down the stairs into the darkness.
I’m wearing black leather pants and a warm, open necked black sweater. It’s much colder down in the basement than upstairs with the summer sun washing through the mansion’s high windows.
This time, I’m prepared.
When I reach the final step and look out at the bleak basement, I can’t hold back the smile.
Ghost is in the same far corner, but this morning, he’s made the best nest that he can out of the tatty gray blanket and is sitting in the middle of it.
It makes my inner Omega purr to see my blue blanket wrapped around Ghost’s shoulders.
Sugar is nestled in Ghost’s lap with her fluffy tail curled around herself. She’s purring, as he pets her head.
He's casually flicking the ace of spades card between the fingers of his other hand.
It’s mesmerizing.
It would be the perfect domestic scene that I’ve dreamed about coming home to — a talented and sweet Omega snuggled in a blanket with a cat on his knee — if he hadn’t been sitting on the hard floor of a basement.
My expression crumples.
But then, Ghost looks up from petting Sugar and breaks into such a joyful grin at seeing me that he chases away my sadness.
It’s like seeing me has brought the sun into his long winter night.
Suddenly, I know that somehow things are going to be all right.
I never knew that anyone apart from Vito could make me feel like that.
I raise the tray like I’d often do in the bakery. “Coffee break!”
Ghost’s grin impossibly brightens.
My little coffee-a-holic.
Eagerly, Ghost drops the card back onto the pack, before making impatient grabby hands at me.
I laugh, strolling toward Ghost, close enough to stroke across his dove soft hair.
Sugar looks up at me, as if assessing whether I’m a threat, then settles down to sleep.
I’m winning on the kitty test. And I still have a trick up my sleeve.
Then a thought strikes me.
“You’re not kneeling,” I blurt. “You didn’t yesterday either.”
Wasn’t he conditioned that he only received food if he kneeled?
Ghost ducks his head.
I bite the side of my cheek hard.
Fuck, I wish that I hadn’t said anything.
When Ghost raises his head, however, pushing his platinum curls out of his face, I’m shocked at how defiant his expression is.
He tilts up his chin and doesn’t move.
He’s saying as loudly as he can make me, bitch .
I let out a surprised laugh. “I don’t want you to kneel. I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought…shit, you really are strong. I know they trained you to do that and I don’t think that I could have resisted. I respect the hell out of you.”
Ghost’s expression changes to shock and then awe.
He studies me for a long moment, as if to check that I’m not mocking him.
He scratches Sugar under her chin, before holding her to his chest. He shifts off the blanket and carefully places her back on the middle of it. Her tail thrashes side to side to show her displeasure, but she still curls back into a ball.
I watch with wide eyes, as Ghost casts me a look that I can’t work out, before he kneels.
My breath hitches.
Ghost’s gaze is wide and open.
He points at his heart and then points at me.
I almost drop the tray.
He’s kneeling but only for me.
Only because it’s willing.
Then he slowly leans forward and presses his soft lips to the top of my boot.
My mouth becomes dry, watching him kiss my boot worshipfully. His curls splay out like an angel at my feet.
When Ghost straightens, he looks up at me from underneath his long lashes. He tilts his head, waiting for my judgment.
“You’re so fucking precious,” I whisper. “I brought you more gifts. I’m going to bring you one every day.”
Ghost’s eyes brighten. He gives another easy grin.
I drop to my own knees in front of Ghost. I place the tray next to him, before cupping his cheek and kissing him, slow and deep.
He raises his hands to my shoulders like he’s not certain that he’s allowed to. When I moan to encourage him, he grips me tighter.
I’m certain now that he’s a virgin and this is new to him.
I hope that I can bring Ghost pleasure for the first time.
When I pull away, we’re both panting.
“Coffee.” I pick up the mug and pass it to Ghost.
He nudges his forehead against mine gently in thanks.
It’s addictive to watch Ghost’s blissed out look, as he drinks his coffee.
He’s expressive and never tries to hide his emotions.
He drags the blanket to wrap it around both of us. I entwine my fingers with his, pulling him as close as I can, until our knees are touching.
“Sugar,” I call. “Cheese!”
Sugar’s ears twitch. She lifts her head. But she doesn’t jump off the blanket.
Ghost casts me a sideways glance, as if to make sure that I’m paying attention, like a magician before a trick. Then he chirps, before tapping his palm once.
Sugar immediately leaps up, rubbing around Ghost’s knees.
Huh, he’s trained his cat.
Or has his cat trained him?
When I pass a cube of cheese to Ghost, he drops it in front of Sugar.
Sugar gives her Omega a final grateful nudge with her head, before she lowers her head to nibble at the cube.
I hold up another piece of cheese, expecting Ghost to take it for his cat.
Unexpectedly, I feel soft lips delicately taking it from my fingers.
My pupils become dilated, as I look down at Ghost’s face, which is covered by his white-blonde curls.
He looks up at me mischievously, before chewing and swallowing.
I smirk, petting his head. “Good kitten.”
Ghost arches his brow, before deliberately flicking his soft tongue over my fingers.
I shiver.
I alternately feed both my kitties, until the plate is empty. Only one of them, however, looks at me with innocent blue eyes that could damn my soul.
Finally, Sugar sniffs around for more cheese and not finding any, prowls across the basement and up the steps. I hear the clatter of her leaving through the cat door.
If it was only so easy for my other kitty to leave here.
I card my fingers through Ghost’s hair, when he pushes his head into my hand in thanks.
“Did you sleep okay last night?” I ask.
Ghost’s expression becomes haunted.
He shakes his head.
“Want to talk about it?”
He hurriedly shakes his head again.
He tucks the blue blanket around me, even though he’s the one who needs it, since he’s only wearing a thin t-shirt. Then he looks around himself, before dragging something out of his pile of technology and switching it on. It’s a lightweight digital notepad with paperless pages, although it has the look and feel of a paper notebook.
A small backlight switches on, illuminating the notepad in the shadowy basement.
Ghost sits with his back against the wall and his knees drawn up. He balances the notepad on his knees.
I shuffle closer to him, until we’re sitting next to each other.
He picks up a pen and then gestures at the notepad.
“How about this,” I suggest. “I’ll tell you something about myself that I’ve never told anyone. Then you do the same.”
He thinks for a long moment, before nodding.
What can I tell him?
I’ve shared almost everything with either Lincoln or Vito. But what haven’t I told them that only an Omega would understand?
I can’t hold back. How can I expect Ghost to trust me, if I don’t show that I trust him as well?
“This is my biggest secret.” I wrap my arms around my middle. I’m trembling. “I run a bakery with my brother, Vito. He’s awesome. I mean, he eats way too much pizza, is hyper, and plays alternative music at 2 a.m. in the morning, but he’s the best Alpha brother in the world, you know?”
Ghost smiles softly like he really may understand.
I take a steadying breath. “He helped me to escape our violent family. He also set up a bakery with me because it was my dream. He could have pursued his own dreams, but instead, he put me first. See, everyone thinks that he’s the baker. But I am .”
I turn my head to meet Ghost’s gaze. I don’t know what I expect to see.
I’m floored by the intense respect and admiration, with which he’s studying me.
Ghost’s lips quirk, before he writes on the notepad in a beautiful, looping handwriting, making sure that I can read it as he does: And you called me talented. You’re a trailblazer. Inspiring. OMG, I kissed the first ever Omega baker. Will you bake me a chocolate cake with extra frosting and buttercream tomorrow?
Typical, he’s already got his first order in.
“Fine, I’ll bake you a cake tomorrow.” I laugh.
Ghost purrs, nuzzling against my neck.
“But that’s not the secret.” I steady myself. “The truth is that I should be satisfied with what I have. Being in the shadows keeps me safe. But I feel invisible. Unrecognized. When I lie in bed at nights, I can’t help wondering how am I helping other Omegas and the next generation achieve their dreams. They need to see role models. So, my secret is that I wish I could front my bakery. I wish that everybody could know I’m the one who creates the cakes. Okay, your turn. What haven’t you told anyone?”
Ghost furrows his brow, before writing: Apart from the cold, I like winter more than summer. How the ice looks like broken glass. How I can disappear into all that white snow and hide within it. How people say it muffles the sound. I like to feel that people understand a bit more what it’s like to live in a world where their voice is stolen. And one of my favorite things is how I can breathe out and see the air turn to mist almost like I’m speaking words.
He wipes off the words on the notepad with a small microfiber cloth.
My throat is tight.
I nudge him with my shoulder. “I like to pretend I’m a dragon, when my breath does that.”
Ghost’s expression becomes less serious, as he writes: So does Thomas.
“Dragons and peacocks, what a menagerie.” Then I ask, “Did you get home tutored? We should have known each other at school. Why didn’t I grow up with you like I did Link and Tom?”
Instantly, Ghost’s expression clouds.
He draws his notepad close to him, before taking a long time to write like he wants to be certain that he gets this right.
Possibly, as if he’s never spoken about his past to anyone.
Hell, what if it’s that?
Ghost bites his lip as he passes the notepad over to me, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt, while he waits for me to read it.
Omegas in the Ace pack don’t go to school.
They’re not wanted.
Mom intended to sell me at birth, and only Fletcher saved me. He was still a kid himself but he begged to be allowed to care for and raise me. But I was meant to stay invisible and out of the way.
A ghost.
My brother was kind.
Fletcher tutored me. He played with me too, even though he wasn’t meant to.
For my eleventh birthday, he bought me a pack of cards. The ones I have here. He taught me games that I could play when I was alone.
And tricks.
I practiced every day. Soon, I was beating my brother.
But then, Mom caught us.
She was furious that an Omega was playing poker. She whipped Fletcher. She was hurting him badly. He was crying, and I just wanted her to stop.
So, I challenged her to beat me at poker.
I must have been crazy.
She said that she’d tear out my insolent throat, if I lost.
I won.
I glance up from the notepad at Ghost. “Shit, and you call me inspirational. A teenager Omega challenging the Head Alpha to a poker game and then winning…? You’re a fucking rebel legend.”
Ghost growls in feral joy, before jumping to his feet and dramatically bowing.
I clap and whistle.
He drops ungracefully to sprawl next to me. I’ve never seen him looking so relaxed.
“So, you’re some kind of savant at cards,” I say. “It shows what a mistake the Traditional Alphas are making to underestimate us. Society is changing and faster than they’ll accept. Our dynamics are more powerful together, but they think that equality for all means a loss of their personal power. Why do I think your mom will be one of those? How did she take losing?”
When I pass back the notepad, Ghost wipes out the words with his microcloth.
Then he starts to write again.
Dread begins to curdle inside me, however, because this time, his expression becomes agonized the more that he writes. His shoulders hunch, and his writing becomes shakier.
I’m trembling myself.
What the hell did she do? To Fletcher? To Ghost?
At last, Ghost passes over the notepad.
I wasn’t always mute…
I stop reading and look at Ghost, shocked.
He growls, standing up and pacing across the basement. He stands facing away from me. The muscles in his athletic back are bunched with tension.
I force myself to keep reading.
After I proved myself to Mom, and she realized that I could card count, she locked me up.
I was valuable property.
She only let me out to go to the Ace Casinos. My job was to act as a casino surveillance agent. No one suspected a kid could discover that they were cheating or card counting.
People whispered about the Ghost of Ace Casinos who caught more people than anyone else.
I could still talk then.
But other members of the pack, the Betas, were jealous of the attention that Fletcher gave me.
One night, when I was thirteen, they dragged me to an underground section of the casino, which was normally locked. I’d never been there before. I screamed with fear because it stank of terrified Omega.
I knew that it was a bad place.
That was when I learned that my pack were actually criminals.
Bad Alphas.
They ran an illegal black market Omega auction. Mom hadn’t been bluffing about selling me.
I sobbed, terrified.
I yelled for Fletcher to save me. But the Betas had been able to lure me away from my brother because he’d been distracted chatting up a new server.
The Betas tied me up, pushing me into the arms of the Alphas who were there to sample and buy.
I struggled and screamed…until I lost my voice.
I remember feeling like I was floating.
This couldn’t be happening to me.
This couldn’t be real.
I lost my memory for a while.
Hands and hurt and fear.
I don’t know what happened but then, Fletcher WAS there, growling and terrifying.
Blood…blood…blood, everywhere.
And the other Alphas were…
Then Fletcher was cradling me to his chest and saying: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…
His fingernails and teeth were stained crimson.
I could hear his words but I couldn’t get any words out myself.
They were trapped inside, where I was safe.
I was never safe again in that pack.
“Ghost,” I say, brokenly.
The notepad falls from my fingers, clattering to the floor.
Ghost turns back to me.
He looks lost, unsure whether he’s still welcome to sit with me.
I hold out my arms to him, and he takes a relieved breath, as tears tremble on his lashes.
Then he throws himself to his knees next to me, wrapping his arms around my middle and nuzzling against my neck to hide the wetness on his cheeks.
“You’re safe in this pack,” I whisper, “with Link, Tom, and me. We’re getting out of here. I’ll show you my bakery, and this winter, you’ll return the favor by showing me everything that’s special about your favorite season. And I swear, you’ll never be hurt again.”
Yet can I keep that promise?
I’m still on enemy territory. I trust my fated mates to die to protect Ghost and me.
The Head Alpha of this pack is Mayor St Clair, however, and in his own way, is he as dangerous as the leader of the criminal Ace pack?