Chapter Six
DYLAN
Istuffed my clothes into a bag. Four T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, and all the socks and underwear I owned. It was all I had, alongside the clothes on my back. No material possessions worth packing, no trinkets. How long would I be gone?
I glanced around, at the toys we’d been playing with barely a day ago, at the evidence of her presence here.
Her drawings, her favourite books, her adorable little hairbands strewn across the carpet because they never stayed on her head.
It was so quiet, the room still upturned from when they’d taken her.
The struggle.
Tears streamed down my face, visions of her eyes, the fear in them torturing me.
I deserved it, the punishment of those memories—her little hand reaching out as they’d barrelled out of the house, me on the floor clutching my stomach, too winded to reach back.
She had cried out to me, shrill and harrowing, and I’d stumbled to my feet, chased after them, but it was too late.
I’d hesitated half a second too long. It would haunt my every waking moment until I died.
I’d been weak too many times in my life, and all I’d wanted was to prove I could do it all myself.
But I couldn’t. I’d failed her because of my stubbornness, my refusal to admit I’d needed help.
I should’ve tried harder.
My misery morphed into ire, those words echoing in my head in a detached tone.
My first heat, and the Alpha I’d fucked was Caine Devereux.
Caine fucking Devereux. What a colossal joke.
We’d never met outside the daze of my heat, but his and his family’s reputation preceded them—the “Nightmare of Ailemorth,” as the general population dubbed him—and it was not the tree I’d have climbed if I’d known better.
The archaic ideals they followed, their superiority complex, was everything I opposed.
I’d already gauged his personality from his abandonment, but in person, he was an utter dick. Cold, reserved, obnoxious. Arrogant.
I was almost grateful he’d left well enough alone.
He’d told me to take the pill. I scoffed.
How fucking privileged. I’d spent my last penny on our encounter because I had nowhere else to go.
I’d presented late, always believing I was a beta because my parents couldn’t afford the test to check.
A rut or heat never came at eighteen, so when my body started burning from the inside out for the first time two years ago, I hadn’t been prepared.
I’d had no choice but to seek out that seedy place in district thirty-eight, to put all my savings into their bank so some knothead Alpha could strut in and have their way with me.
I hadn’t wanted a pervert on the street to snatch me up and force a bond.
Though it was illegal, the Den at least had rules—no mating bites—so I’d thought I’d be a little bit safer.
How safe was I, having a baby with the supreme leader of the fucking Devereux pack?
“You could have tried harder.” I had tried.
I’d returned to that shithole at two months pregnant, just after finding out myself, hoping to contact the Alpha and ask for support.
I hadn’t wanted wealth or station, or even a mate—none of it was my intention.
At that moment, feeling rammed off-balance, nervous and overwhelmed, all I’d wanted was for someone to reassure me it would be okay.
I was an idiot for even thinking I’d get it from there.
The manager had called him, and apparently he hadn’t wanted to speak to me.
What else could I have done with no name, no address, no clue who he might be, and no desire to chase after a man who couldn’t be arsed with the burden?
I’d picked my dignity up off the dirty floor and decided, since I’d gotten to that point without help, I could figure it out myself.
I loathed asking for financial aid, hated looking weak or dependent, and I realised I’d be better off alone.
Six months after giving birth, my second heat came.
It was late because of malnourishment, and like the first time, I was in no position to get through it without risking my autonomy.
I had a baby, no mate, no living family, only an elderly neighbour who’d offered to watch Minnie while I dealt with it.
There was no alternative, so with another lapse of resilience, I went back to the Den.
It wasn’t my proudest moment, begging for the Alpha again, but once more, he didn’t show. I’d spent my heat locked in one of the rooms, rejected, drowned by self-loathing, and anxious at being separated from my baby.
The manager hadn’t taken any money off me.
He’d pitied me, it was clear in his eyes, as if he blamed himself for my despair.
I’d left, resolute I wouldn’t be trying again.
He wasn’t worth it, and Minnie and I would do just fine without him.
He could carry on living his dull life never knowing what he was missing.
I’d genuinely believed that was it, that I’d never have to even think about the clinic or Alpha again.
For a year, it was true. Though it wasn’t smooth sailing.
For the six months following my heat, we didn’t have much, but we managed.
Unmated omegas were entitled to welfare during pregnancy and after giving birth.
It wasn’t the law, but hiring omegas was met with disapproval, especially if they were pregnant or already pupped.
They were stricter in the upper districts, but even in the slums where crime was rife, very few were willing to chance the repercussions.
Or risk social suicide.
The financial aid was in place because of protests against those conventions.
But as I’d figured out while in line at the chemist with nappies under my arm and a baby on my hip, the money was cut off once the child turned one.
As the beta behind the till had relayed to me in the most condescendingly sweet voice I’d ever heard, it was assumed the omega would be claimed by then.
That we would wake up, realise we were too weak to cope, and admit the regulations were in place for a reason.
Then we’d mate ourselves to the next available Alpha so they could rescue us from woe and ruin.
I’d thrown the nappies at his head and stormed out.
Stupid fucking bullshit. I didn’t need a sugar daddy, or a guardian, or a goddamn saviour.
I could handle it. It was a mistake going to the loan sharks, but I did what I had to.
Minnie needed provisions, the bills had to be paid, and all I’d borrowed was enough to stock up on a year’s supply of the essentials, and to pay the gas and electric in advance.
It allowed me breathing space to find a more permanent solution.
I’d lied about being a parent, and picked up a shift anywhere that was lax about taking on omegas off the books.
It wasn’t a lot, and it was unpredictable—I’d been shooed away more than once whenever inspectors started sniffing around—but it fed her, tackled any expenses my loan hadn’t, with enough left over to steadily pay off the debt plus the interest while I could. It was fine. It worked.
Everything was okay.
Until it wasn’t.
The boss at the warehouse where I’d been packaging rusty car parts tried to swindle me out of my last paycheque.
He’d handed it over after I’d kneed him in the balls, but it was a day late.
That was all it took. The sharks didn’t care.
They kicked down my door, grabbed the money and Minnie, and I was forced right back to where it all started.
Where I’d sworn I would never step foot again.
It was my own fucking fault.
The Bentley that had driven me here was waiting outside, and my fingers wobbled as I locked the front door—not that it mattered, there was nothing worth stealing.
Not anymore. I slid into the back seat as the driver opened the door for me, absently acknowledging them but not really absorbing what they looked like.
Caine had returned to his house to begin the search, and there was nothing for me to do except gather up my stuff and wait.
I’d never felt so helpless. So useless. The Alpha was on my shit list, but he was my only hope.
I’d wanted to find Minnie myself, to tear apart the world and anyone involved, but realistically, what the fuck could I even do?
If I went against Caine’s instruction, running in guns blazing, I’d make it worse.
I had no skills, no experience, and the last thing I wanted was to put Minnie in more danger because I refused to listen to reason.
The Alpha was a dick, but I guessed he hadn’t reached his standing by being an idiot.
We drove up the longest driveway in history and parked in front of a mansion, but I wasn’t in the mood to inspect it. As soon as Minnie was found, I’d be leaving, so what was the point of getting familiar?
“This will be your room,” the beta in front of me said, sweeping out his hand.
He’d met me in the lobby, bowing and introducing himself as my personal guard, but I’d zoned out before reaching the front steps.
He’d escorted me up a staircase, and along a corridor, but my eyes were fixed to the grey carpet the entire time.
“If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to let me know. ”
I walked inside, vacantly scanning the plain white walls, envisioning crayon scribbles above the skirting boards. My eyes stung. Paying no mind to his sympathetic smile, I shut the door. No one else needed to see me shatter.
I couldn’t say how much time passed in that room—minutes, hours, it was all a blur. The guard brought up a meal, but I didn’t eat it. I just paced aimlessly, staring into the distance, biting my nails and battling against the agitation and heartache.
The idleness.
It was hard to stand by, not knowing if she was hurt or frightened, having to depend on someone else.
But this was Caine’s world, and I was merely a visitor in it.
I didn’t even want to consider this existence, or be any part of it.
The elite packs weren’t people to trifle with, and their lifestyle was impossible for me to comprehend.
I wasn’t born with any of this—the richness, the traditional values, the mafia bullshit. My life was ordinary.
Before I’d met Caine.
I’d had a job in a bakery, been a “beta” who could do as he pleased.
I was never well-off, didn’t have luxuries, but I paid my bills every month and sometimes had a little extra for my savings.
My parents had died when I was eight, and their assets were left to me in their will.
It wasn’t much, they weren’t wealthy by any stretch, but since they’d had insurance, the house was paid for.
It was small, but my grandma and I were lucky to have it.
She was old, and an omega, so even with her remote admin job, she didn’t have much to spare.
She did her best and raised me well, and I never felt poor because she loved me more than anything.
Life was practical, because that was how she’d set it up for me before she passed.
I knew grief, I knew hardship, but it was fine, I’d endured. Shelved the bad shit and got on with it. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine, and mine alone. I was as free as I could be, allowed to make my own choices even if they were restricted. It didn’t matter. I was content, and that was that.
Until I presented, and my world flipped on its axis.
I didn’t regret Minnie, she was my everything, and though Caine was a mistake, it didn’t mean she was.
But life had been infinitely more difficult the last two years, and it was no longer just mine.
I had this tiny, delicate being relying on me, and suddenly my sensible, no-frills existence had me feeling guilty, ashamed, not fit to be a parent.
I struggled to make ends meet, could barely even afford to put food in my own mouth because filling her belly was the priority.
I wouldn’t have traded being her dad for anything, but just surviving wasn’t what I ever would’ve wanted for a kid.
None of this was what I wanted.
I swayed on my feet. It was dark outside, and I hadn’t slept since they took her, not wanting to shut my eyes in case anything happened.
At home, I would bake when I was stressed.
It was my distraction, my reset, but this wasn’t my house, and how could I even fathom making fucking cookies when my baby was missing?
I wanted to stay awake, to watch the door, to cherish every flicker of our tie in my chest—still connected, still alive.
But what use would I be if I could hardly even stand?
I lay on the bed, the mattress comfier than any I’d ever slept on, and cradled the duvet to my chest. I missed her.
Her little bunny smile, her front two teeth the only two fully grown in.
Her squealing belly laugh whenever I tickled her feet.
The way she chirped “daddy” as if it was the only word she knew.
It wasn’t, but it was the one replaying in my head on a loop.
Around this time, she would’ve been curled up at my side, sleeping soundly after nursing, soft snores puffing from her nose as I brushed through her dark hair.
My grip tightened on the bundled covers.
She was my family, my only family, and I couldn’t lose her. I’d lost so much already. I didn’t think I’d be able to survive if her bond snapped too.
I buried my face in the sheets and cried myself to sleep.