Chapter 8 Rowan
Rowan
“If you want me to actually take this seriously, then Jett has to stop doing this bullshit,” I grit out, my chest heaving as I stare at my father. The fucker drinks his disgusting instant coffee that smells strangely like piss without a care in the world.
I banged on the front door for what felt like forever until my dad lazily opened it. It doesn’t escape me that when Jett banged on my door like he was a one manned SWAT team, I opened the door instantly.
I guess it’s a perfect representation of my standing in this family.
He just raises a thick brow at me and shrugs as he takes a seat at the wooden dining table.
“Well, he’s proven he’s good at the shit he does. You wanted this extra responsibility, so you’ve gotta prove you’re ready to handle it. No one’s gonna fucking coddle you, ‘specially not your brother.”
Of course, Jett only does things that serve him. And I have something he wants: Mirabelle. So that motherfucker sure as hell is going to do everything he can to fuck with both of us.
“Fine then,” I say, swallowing hard. “But if I prove myself, if I can train this new fighter, then Jett has to leave me the fuck alone.”
My dad’s jaw ticks as he stares at me with such a hard, loveless expression.
“You know, if you were anyone else, I’d tell you to fight your own battles, but since you’re a beta, I’ll see what I can do with your brother. If you’re able to train the new dog.”
His words are as clear as day. He already thinks I’m a fucking failure because of my designation. He doesn’t think I can do it. He doesn’t think I can train the new fighting dog.
“Fine.” My hands clench into fists at my sides, and I desperately wish I could give myself another dose to make me feel less pathetic. My dad has a way of making me feel less than the dirt under his shoe when he talks to me.
My dad doesn’t say anything else as I leave. When I cast a single, last glance at him over my shoulder, he’s no longer paying me any attention as he stares down at his phone.
Fuck him. Fuck this family.
I need some level of respect here. Not because I’ve always desperately wanted it, but because it’s the only thing I can use to keep Mirabelle safe in this hellhole.
So, I’m going to train that fighting dog. And I’m going to do it well or I’m going to die trying.
I may not have participated in the family business before, but I know the protocols. I jog all the way to the west side of the farm, where all the buildings for the dogs are kept, and storm into the office trailer.
My Uncle Jerry, Dad’s younger brother, jerks his head up when he sees me.
He shoves his chair away from his desk as I approach, pushing past the two newer trainers whose names I don’t bother remembering.
“Rowan,” he says, his brows drawing down in confusion. “The hell are you doing here?”
“I’m training the new dog,” I say, my voice hard as I grab a set of ATV keys from the hooks on the wall.
All three of them stiffen, their eyes going wide.
“Seriously? Does Norman know about this?”
“Yes, my dad knows about it,” I grit out, my gaze cutting back to the three of them.
“Damn, I knew your old man wasn’t fond of you, but does he want you killed?” One of the new guys asks.
Jerry practically slaps the new guy upside the head.
“Shut up,” he snaps, before his wary gaze cuts back to me. “You sure ‘bout this, son? Three of us have been tryin’ to break him all goddamn night, and he only kneeled when Jett got involved.”
My shoulder stiffens at my brother’s name. Looks like he already paid this new fighting dog a visit. Probably with Mirabelle in tow.
“I’ll be fine.”
My uncle steps around the others to stand in front of me, his hand clapping down hard over my tense shoulder. I just stare back at him with steely determination.
After a long pause and a deep sigh, my uncle just shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
He grabs the cattle prod and a shock collar remote and hands it to me.
“Good luck,” he nods. “Intake building C.”
I don’t bother giving him a response before heading out and turning on the ATV. Bile rises at the back of my throat as I see the thick metal walled cage on the back of the trailer connected to it.
Like the industrial, feral alpha version of the cage Jett forced Mirabelle into.
Growing up as a kid, which wasn’t that long ago considering I’m only twenty-two, these things use to give me nightmares cause Jett would toss me in them and leave me in one of the shipping containers overnight.
Fuck, how the hell am I supposed to get this new guy into the transport cage myself? If I don’t do a basic task like getting him back to the stables, I’m never going to be able to prove myself to anyone.
I’m sure he’s massive, like most alphas tend to be. The other trainers don’t have the issues I have with my beta status. They can just knock any of the fighting dogs out and drag them into the transport cages.
I don’t have that luxury.
One of the few things I do with my days may be hitting the gym, but my strength is nothing compared to that of an untrained alpha.
Fuck it, I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll have to use a fucking forklift.
I drive the ATV over to the unassuming barn building with a C spray-painted over the main doors.
I pause outside, trying to listen for any sign that my brother is still around, but when I hear nothing, I go in through the side door, the shock collar remote and the cattle prod heavy in each of my hands.
My pulse roars through my veins. I’ve never done this before, so I have no fucking clue what to expect. The only thing I’ve done in these barn houses is hose them down after my brother, uncle, or the other trainers are done with the shit they do.
When my eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting, I freeze in place.
Oh boy. That’s an alpha all right.
The new fighting dog stands at his full height, around six inches taller than me, so somewhere around six four. He’s exactly what you’d expect a fighter worth the sheer amount my dad paid for him to look like: absolutely massive.
He’s angry too, if his snarl aimed right in my direction is any indication. Actually, anger probably doesn’t encompass the pure hatred and vitriol this guy is trying to shoot at me through his eyeballs alone.
My expression twists into its own, much less menacing snarl, when I finally direct my gaze away from this guy to see Mira huddled behind him. He has a possessive hand wrapped around her hip with his other hand extended, like he wants to keep her away from me.
There are bloody scrapes all along her legs, and her shirt is torn, revealing a hint of her belly button above the hem of my boxers.
My gaze jerks back up to the new fighting dog, and we seem to get locked in a stare down.
Did he do that to her?
If he fucking hurt her, I’ll—I’ll—fuck, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll fucking come up with something.
Mirabelle finally peeks past this guy’s shoulder, her eyes going wide with excitement.
“Rowan! You’re here!” She says, jumping out.
The chain around her ankle clinks with the movement, and I feel like I’m going to throw up all over again.
Fucking hell, my brother chained her to the floor like a neglected puppy.
The alpha lets out a low growl, shifting his body and making his arms pull back as his chains go taught. A protective growl.
He’s protecting her.
From me.
Well, probably not me specifically, but anyone who walks through the door. Especially someone who walks in with another cattle prod.
Remembering I have it in my hand, I toss it towards the door. It clatters against the concrete.
If he’s protecting her, then there’s hope that I can reason with him. We seem to have a common interest here.
“Come here, Sugar,” I say, holding my hands up in the air to try to show that I’m not a threat. Not that the cattle prod made me look any more threatening, considering threatening is probably one of the last adjectives someone would use to describe me.
She slaps the alpha on the shoulder and lets out an exasperated sigh. I think my eyes damn near bug out of my head.
What a gift she has. This guy looked ready to rip my head off with his teeth, and here she is, pushing him around.
Well, trying to push him out of the way. She’s pretty unsuccessful.
“Griffin, you can move, it’s okay! This is Rowan. He won’t hurt me, right, Rowan?”
“Right,” I say, trying to lace the single syllable with all the conviction towards her I feel.
“Then go ahead and toss the remote too, kid,” the alpha, Griffin, growls.
“I can’t do that,” I say, shaking my head.
“Thought you said you weren’t going to hurt her,” he bites out.
“Yeah, but I need to keep her safe.” The underlying, unsaid from you passes between us.
The guy flashes me a menacing smile that has fear skating down my spine, but he takes a step back, his chains slackening.
“Fair enough,” he says.
“I’ll be okay, I promise,” Mirabelle says, flashing Griffin one of her sweet smiles before making her way to me.
She can’t hide the wince of pain the movement causes her.
I can’t help but wrap my arms around her, burying my face in the crook of her neck and breathing in her sweet strawberry perfume. I need to erase the sour taste of her terror from the back of my throat. My whole trailer was soaked in it.
I opened all the windows before sprinting to my dad’s house to try to fix this fucking situation.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep you safe,” I whisper.
She wraps her arms back around me, squeezing me surprisingly tightly, considering her small stature. We stay like that, silently breathing each other in for a really long time. I’m surprised the alpha says nothing.
“Where’d you get all those scrapes?” I ask, nodding down at her legs when I finally break the hug.
“Jett,” she says, her shoulder curling forward as she wraps her arms around her torso. “He dragged me all the way here by my hair. I don’t know why, I would’ve walked, if he’d given me the chance.”
“It’s ‘cause he’s a fucking sadistic psychopath,” I bite out.
Griffin lets out a small huff of laughter, but I keep my eyes on Mirabelle.
Her bottom lip wobbles as she looks up at me, lifting a hand up to my neck and brushing her fingertips gently against the red marks left from when he choked me out. Those’ll probably start bruising like crazy in a few hours.
“Yeah, he is,” she says, her voice a strained whisper. “He hurt you too. Why—why would he hurt you too?”
“Sometimes, shitty people do shitty things. Don’t waste your brainpower trying to figure it out,” I murmur, gently taking her hand in mine and giving it a little squeeze. “I’ll be okay, I promise. I’ve dealt with worse.”
That comment just seems to make her even more upset, if the way her strawberry scent grows bitter is any indication.
I hate it. I hate that I’ve upset her, hate the expression on her face, hate the way her scent twists in the air. I rip off my hoodie and tug it over her head, needing to do something to try to fix the situation.
She liked it last time. I want to do things she likes.
“Oh,” she says, her head peeking out of the hood like an adorable gopher. “Thank you.
“Don’t sweat it,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Why don’t you sit down so you don’t hurt your feet anymore? I’ll get those scrapes all cleaned up when we get back to my trailer, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, using my hand to steady herself as she sits on the floor, tugging her knees up to her chest.
I turn my attention back to our silent observer, who watches me with dark eyes that I’m sure missed nothing. He’s surprisingly lucid, considering the ridiculous dose of the enhancement drugs they have him on.
“So,” I say, rubbing my sweaty hands on the back of my jeans. “Griffin, was it? I’m Rowan, and I’m going to be your new trainer.”
He tosses his head back and laughs. The noise instantly gets on my nerves. It’s the kind of laugh I’m used to being on the receiving end of. The kind that people throw at me when they think I’m being pathetic.
“What the hell does a kid like you think you can do here?” He sneers, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his chained arms over his chest.
It’s almost like he’s showing me how little of a threat he thinks I am now. His stance is so different from the one he took when I first came in and he was protecting Mirabelle.
It pisses me off.
My jaw ticks as I mirror his stance, crossing my arms over my chest. I quickly drop my hands to my sides when I realize that stance doesn’t do me any favors, considering it probably looks like I’m just copying him.
“I’m your best shot here in this hellhole,” I growl out.
“Oh? And why is that?”
“’Cause if it’s not me, then it’ll be my shitbag of a brother, who I’m sure you’ve had the pleasure of meeting already. And that motherfucker has no qualms about torturing Mirabelle to make you comply,” I snap.
Griffin falls silent, his jaw clamping shut as his gaze darts to Mira.
“So you want me to what? Cooperate with you? Just like that?” He huffs.
I sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face.
“I mean, yeah. It’s the best shot at keeping her safe. I was given permission by my asshole father to—to ‘train’ her instead of my brother,” I say, using air quotes around the word train, “if I trained you. If I’m able to convince them I’ve trained you properly, then I get to keep her safe longer.”
“She doesn’t need to be trained,” Griffin snarls, taking a menacing step forward.
“I know that!” I hiss back, throwing my hands up in the air. “I’m trying to take care of her the best I can. She’s staying with me in my trailer. I gave her my bed to sleep in while I slept on the couch. You know where my brother would fucking make her sleep if he had his way?”
Griffin’s eyes narrow, but he stays silent as I continue to rant, my chest heaving from how angry I am.
“In a fucking cage. Probably naked, cause he’s a sadistic psychopath. That’s how he brought her into this hellhole, and I’m not going to let him get his hands on her. So for fuck’s sake, are you going to help us or not?”
“Are you—are you going to hurt him?” Mira whispers.
I shake my head, trying to clear away the red haze, and glance down at her. She stares up at me with those gorgeous, big, emerald eyes, a pleading expression on her face.
Fuck, I shouldn’t have gotten so angry.
“Not cause I want to, Sugar,” I say, reaching down and brushing some of her tangled hair away from her face. I’ll have to buy her a brush. Jett’s grubby paws messed it all up.
“But you may have to?”
“Yeah, same way we’ve gotta put on a show. Probably more than you’ve got to, to be honest. My brother probably won’t buy that he’s gone completely docile without some fight, considering how much of a fighter he seems to be.”
“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Griffin drawls. “Whatever the kid dishes out, I can handle, no problem.”
“So you’re in?”
“I’m in,” Griffin nods.