Chapter 21 Ash
Ash
My body aches as my arms nearly give out from underneath me as I press myself up.
“What, getting tired already?” Griffin pants out.
“Fuck off,” I growl, my arms shaking as I continue to do pushups.
Like hell am I going to lose this competition to the newbie.
I woke up after a fitful sleep where the regularly scheduled program of my nightmares was interrupted by her being torn to pieces by Rage.
Don’t get me wrong, the regularly scheduled program of my nightmares is full of blood, gore, and violence. That’s been the regular schedule of my life for years, but there was something haunting about my dreams last night.
I woke up with the bitter taste of rotten strawberries at the back of my throat, her screams of terror echoing in my ears.
There’s not much for us to do in our cells, so I immediately threw myself into some bodyweight exercises. I needed fucking something to do with these feelings.
Then the newbie made it a competition, and I don’t lose.
He’s strong, though. I haven’t seen him in the ring yet, but he’s probably stronger than me, if we’re going by raw strength.
I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing just yet.
He seems friendly enough, though, which makes for better company than Rage has been.
Rage isn’t as crazy as everyone seems to think he is, but we’ve also never had an actual conversation.
So, in conclusion, the jury is still out on whether I dislike this new guy.
I collapse down onto my chest as my arms can’t take my weight. We’ve been at this for well over an hour at this point.
“Ha! I win!” Griffin says, making a show of waiting to collapse until after I’ve given up.
New verdict: fuck the new guy.
“Shut the fuck up,” I groan.
Too bad the exhaustion doesn’t get rid of my racing thoughts. Neither of us have heard anything about the girl since the younger Mercer kid stumbled out of the barn yesterday.
For all we know, she’s dead.
That thought doesn’t sit right with me.
“You’re just a sore loser,” Griffin teases, jumping to his feet.
The sound of an engine coming closer makes my hackles rise.
“Someone’s coming,” I grit out, regretting how far I pushed myself physically.
Normally, this kind of exercise wouldn’t tire me out, but I’m still recovering from yesterday’s fight. It normally takes me a day or two before my body is back to normal, even with my accelerated healing from both my alpha designation and the drugs we’re given.
“Can you tell who?” Griffin asks, his voice low as he pushes up against the bars of the stable door, trying to get a better look at what’s going on.
“It’s a golf cart, not an ATV,” I answer.
“That a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I don’t know.”
The golf carts aren’t used very often. Most of the time, they use the ATVs because that’s what they have the transport cages attached to.
The door opens, and I catch sight of the scrawny Mercer kid as he holds the door open for something behind him.
Someone behind him.
Her. The omega. Mirabelle.
“Oh, thank fucking God,” Griffin says, slumping against the door.
While I don’t vocalize it, I’m feeling a similar sense of relief. I just don’t like what I’m feeling because it means they’re fucking winning.
They already control so much of my fucking life: when I sleep, what I eat, what I do. I despise the fact that they now control what I care about.
I’d be lying to myself if I denied the fact that she’s burrowed her way into my brain and hasn’t left.
Is what I feel anything close to affection? Or the sweet sort of softness an omega like her deserves?
No.
Far from it.
I want her underneath me. I want her to bend to my will. I want to leave my mark on her body so she’s forced to think of me as much as I think of her.
“Morning, guys,” the kid says, nodding to us both as they come closer.
I smell her all over him, and a wave of uncontrollable jealousy washes over me.
The kid’s lucky there’s a locked door between us, because if not, I’d be at his throat. Fuck the fact that he still looks like a walking bruise.
She’s mine.
“Good morning,” Mirabelle says, her voice soft and melodic.
She’s carrying a paper plate with another plate on top, acting as some sort of cover to hide what’s underneath.
“I brought you guys breakfast! I know you guys apparently have a diet you’ve got to stick to, but when Rowan made them for me this morning,” she says, flashing a bright smile at the scrawny kid.
He can’t hide his fucking blush at her attention.
Fuck him.
“I thought they were too good not to share with you both!” She continues.
She lifts the plate with a flourish, practically buzzing with excitement.
“You... made us pancakes?” Griffin asks, his brows drawing down in confusion.
“Mini ones!” She says, nodding eagerly.
Her gaze darts between mine and Griffin’s expressions.
He almost looks bewildered.
I don’t blame him. I’m confused too.
They’re just pancakes.
By the looks of them, the frozen kind you make in a microwave.
But she’s so excited.
And that excitement is deflating quick, ‘cause the new guy and I can’t pull our heads out of our asses.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Griffin says, offering her a warm smile. “I’m glad you thought of me.”
His words make my eye twitch.
She thought of me, too, from the sound of things. But saying that out loud would make me look like a territorial kid on the playground.
“Here!” She says, holding the paper plate up to the bars so he can reach through and grab one.
She’s smiling at him.
Feed me. Look at me. Smile at me.
Fucking hell, I’m going insane.
“I’m glad to see you’re okay,” Griffin says.
He sounds so fucking nice. He’s so new to this hellhole that he still got the ability to show kindness. I’m a jealous fucking bastard.
It takes all the power I have not to mock his words.
That’s not the way to get her attention.
“You forgetting about me, Shortcake?” Despite my best attempts at suppressing the frustration and anger swimming through my brain, my tone is still harsher than I intended.
She spins around, her smile dimming when she sees my expression.
Fucking hell, I probably looked pissed.
‘Cause I am. But not at her. At everyone else who gets to make her smile so easily.
“Come here,” I say.
She does, her body moving instantly. I don’t know whether it’s her natural omega instincts or the way she was raised at that fucked up facility, but her natural submission makes a part of my brain scream mine.
“Good girl,” I growl before plucking a pancake off the plate and shoving it into my mouth.
She blinks up at me, her expression hesitant as she seems to wait for my reaction to the pancake.
“This shit’s a lot better than the nutrient-dense slop they feed us,” I say.
“So you like it?” She asks, flashing me a bright smile.
There it is.
That’s what I’ve been waiting for.
“I do,” I nod, my gaze roving over her body.
Her small form is swallowed by a baggy hoodie and what look to be the scrawny kid’s basketball shorts.
I don’t like it.
Maybe because I don’t like the sight of her in another man’s clothing. Maybe because I want to glimpse the tantalizing curves underneath the fabric. But mostly because I can’t see if she’s hurt underneath.
She seems to walk fine, and she’s not showing any obvious signs of pain.
Maybe Jett was lying. Maybe he didn’t end up going through with his plans.
“Did they really send you in with Rage?” I ask.
She nods, holding the plate up for me to take another pancake.
I stare at her, shock washing over me.
“And you’re okay?”
“Yeah!” She nods.
“He didn’t do anything to hurt you?”
“No, he was a little scary at first, but definitely not as scary as everyone made him out to be.”
“He didn’t freak out?”
“I mean, he did a little. But only when they were going to take me away.” Her pouty bottom lip fucking wobbles as she stares up at me with those enormous eyes. “They—they shocked him until he passed out. It was terrible!”
She’s magic.
A walking miracle.
The Mercer Farm hasn’t ever done anything like this, so I’m not sure whether it’s her designation as an omega or something special about her that seems to have all of us fucking entranced by her.
“Pancake?” She asks, lifting the plate up to the bars for me to take again.
She’s close enough for me to grab her. Pull her up against the bars.
But I don’t. I just take a pancake like the trained dog this fucking hellhole has spent years turning me into.
She spins around and offers Griffin another pancake too. My eyes track her every movement.
“Hey.” My gaze jerks to the scrawny kid, who has his hands shoved in his jean pockets.
I just stare at him, waiting for him to say whatever bullshit he wants to say.
I don’t trust any of the trainers. Like hell am I going to start today with the baby of the Mercer family.
“I, uh, I wanted to introduce myself,” he says, reaching up and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “My name’s Rowan. I know I didn’t really get a chance to talk to you yesterday when I came in all freaked out about what happened to Mirabelle.”
I raise an expectant brow.
Seriously? That’s all he wanted to say to me?
“You know what happened to Mirabelle was your fucking fault, right?” I growl, my voice low.
He flinches back as if I just hit him.
Pathetic. If he can’t even stand and take my words like a man, he’d never survive an actual hit.
“That fuckhead brother of yours has such a hard-on for control, and you doing whatever the hell you’re doing here is pissing him off enough to torture her,” I continue.
“Hey!” Mirabelle says, stepping between the scrawny kid and I.
She has her hands on her hips.
I almost let out a snort of laughter when I see she’s left the plate of pancakes in Griffin’s hands. He’s eating one now, his narrowed gaze darting between the three of us.
“This doesn’t have to do with you, Shortcake,” I say.
“But it does! You’re blaming what happened to me on Rowan. That’s not right!”
“You were strung up from the ceiling. Your clothes were cut off your body, and that motherfucker was touching you.”
Mirabelle’s expression twists, her cheeks flushing with her frustration.
I like the sight of it.
I want to get her riled up more often, see how bright I can make those eyes pop. See how red I can make her cheeks.
“Yeah! That’s what Jett did to me. Not Rowan. Look at him!” She says, gesturing over his shoulder. “He got beaten up because he tried to stop Jett.”
That comment from the little omega doesn’t seem to sit well with the scrawny kid because his chin falls to his chest, dropping with shame.
Guess the kid is aware he’s no match for an alpha like Jett. Or any alpha, really. It seems to bother him.
“I mean, do you have any ideas for what to do, Ash?” Griffin asks, casually leaning up against the bars of his stable door.
I narrow my eyes at him. He’s deceptively casual, but I can see the fury thrumming underneath his skin. His gaze keeps darting to the little omega like he’s trying to see through her clothes to make sure she’s okay.
“I think we can all agree we want to avoid situations where Mirabelle here gets assaulted,” Griffin continues.
His question stops me in my tracks. My hands clench into fists, and I can feel my pulse throbbing at my temple.
Fuck him.
His stupid fucking question just reminds me of my helplessness in this situation.
The scrawny kid is the only one with any shot of keeping Mirabelle safe. He’s probably the least qualified person to do so.
“Rowan is nice,” Mirabelle says, her hands dropping from her hips, her gaze far too assessing for my liking. “He won’t hurt me.”
“It’s not him I’m worried about,” I grumble. That’s not completely the truth. I’m sure the beta won’t do anything to hurt Mirabelle, but he also gets to spend a hell of a lot longer with her than me, and I don’t fucking like that.
It feels like he gets a gargantuan head start in this race, my soul is telling me I need to finish. Because Mirabelle is mine.
“It’s him being able to keep other people from fucking hurting you,” I continue.
“I’m the best shot Mirabelle has in this place,” Rowan says, finally fucking speaking up in this place. “No one else is going to bother treating her like a person. Best-case scenario, she’s a tool to keep you guys in line, worst-case scenario, she’s a plaything for my fucking brother.”
My jaw creaks from how hard I’m clenching it.
He’s right.
I hate that he’s fucking right.
“Which is why I need your help,” Rowan continues.
Ah, and there it is, the real agenda.
‘Cause everyone has a fucking agenda.
Well, then so do I. One day, I’ll use this fucker to escape. And then I’ll run away with Mirabelle, and I’ll be the one to protect her.
And I’ll do it properly.