Chapter 10
Elias
Ilounge on the couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table, listening to the running water and the string of creative profanity coming from the bathroom. My neck still stings from where she wrapped that chain around it.
Nearly took my head off.
And it made me so fucking hard.
Yeah, I know, there’s something wrong with me.
A muffled groan drifts through the cracked door, followed by the steady patter of water and the clank of the chain hitting the tub. Our little captive is not a happy camper.
“Mmm, god, this soap,” her voice rings out. Then louder, making sure we hear: “Almost makes me forget I’m being held captive by four knot-headed assholes!”
I laugh. Fiery little thing.
I glance around at the others. They’re all just as tuned in to the sounds from that bathroom as I am, even if none of them will admit it.
She’s probably not trying to sound the way she sounds. She probably thinks she’s being tough and menacing. But those groans, the way she keeps moaning over the soap and the hot water. I’d bet anything that every alpha in this room is dealing with the same problem I am.
Silas sits beside me, his huge frame taking up two-thirds of the couch. Built like a goddamn fortress. Still as stone, those dark eyes fixed on the bathroom door like he’s trying to will her through the wall. Jaw tight, hands flat on his knees. He hasn’t moved in ten minutes.
Darius has his head in the fridge, pretending to look for something. Yeah, right. Hand frozen on the handle, attention zeroed in on that bathroom like the rest of us.
“You gonna close that fridge, Darius?” I call out. “Or are you just cooling off the whole damn house?”
He blinks, shaking himself out of it. “Fuck off, Elias,” he says, slamming the fridge shut.
Then there’s Archer, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Stoic as ever. He acts tough, but on the inside, that male is softer than he’d ever let on. Right now, he’s probably debating whether to check on her. Make sure she’s alright. Make sure the water’s warm enough.
Before I can give him shit about it, another moan drifts out from the bathroom. This one is longer. More drawn out. Every one of us stiffens, nostrils flaring.
“Christ,” I mutter, shifting on the couch. I’m starting to get light-headed.
Images of Blue flood my head. Her body under the spray, water running over her skin. Those blue eyes, defiant even, soaking wet and chained to a wall.
Fuck.
“You bastards can’t keep me here forever, even if you have soap that smells like peaches!” she shouts, followed by another guttural moan—the mouth on this female.
She’s going to be a handful. The kind I can’t wait to get my hands full of. My cock twitches at the thought, and I don’t even bother feeling guilty about it.
We caught ourselves one hell of a prize with this omega. A prize I fully intend to unwrap.
The others shoot me a look. They can read my mind. Fuck ‘em. It’s not my fault, my dick does most of the thinking.
I’ll have to break it off with Pam. Not that we were officially anything. Just a hookup that went on too long. But who wants a beta when there’s an omega with a mouth like Blue’s? Pam’s going to lose her shit, but that’s a problem for future Elias.
I’m about to head to my room to take care of my little problem when a muffled sob breaks the silence.
The moaning, the cursing, all of it just stops. What comes through instead is raw, broken, and awful. The kind of crying that doesn’t come from a stubbed toe or one bad day. This is the sound of someone who’s been holding it together for a very long time and just ran out of rope.
“Shit,” Archer mutters, his stoic facade cracking. He pushes off the wall and takes a step toward the bedroom. “We should unchain her.”
“Not happening,” Darius replies. “That’s an order.”
I swallow hard. Archer is right. We shouldn’t have chained her in the first place. But Darius and his hard head…
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be grateful. Happy to have a roof over her head, food in her belly, and a pack to belong to.
That’s what omegas want, right? To be claimed. To be safe. Quiet, submissive, and gentle.
But this one. This one’s feral. And omegas don’t cry unless something really, truly terrible has been done to them.
Silas hasn’t moved, but something in his posture has changed. His hands aren’t flat on his knees anymore. They’re fists. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping under the scar.
Darius stands by the counter, his back to us. He hasn’t said a word, but his knuckles are white where they grip the edge of the countertop.
None of us knows what to do with this. We’re alphas. We fight things. We fix things. We don’t stand around listening to a girl cry and feel helpless about it.
But that’s exactly what we’re doing.
“Maybe we should—” Archer starts, but the water shuts off. We all hold our breath.
“Son of a bitch!” Blue’s voice comes from the bathroom, rough but back to anger. The stomping of her feet on the tile tells me she’s pulled herself together. Or at least shoved it all back down where she keeps it.
Rustling. The sound of her rummaging through the clothes I left on the bed.
“Fucking alphas and their fucking hospitality,” she grumbles.
More shuffling. Sounds like she’s going through her backpack before that hits the ground, too. Then the bed creaks as she climbs in. Despite all the attitude, I hear a small gasp.
“Goddamn, these blankets are soft,” she mutters, sounding almost offended by it.
Then another sound. Quieter this time. The sound of someone who hasn’t slept in a bed in three years and whose body is finally, against all protest, giving in to comfort.
I grin, imagining the scowl on her face as she burrows into the bedding. My amusement fades when I hear her voice again.
Softer.
“It’s okay, Charly. We won’t be here long.”
Charly?
My brow furrows. I glance at the others and see my confusion reflected in their faces.
“Rocky, stop worrying. I’ve got this under control.”
Rocky?
Who the fuck are Charly and Rocky?
I think back to her backpack. And then it hits me.
The vaguely person-shaped stick, propped up carefully in the front pocket of her pack, like it was something precious. And the rock. Smooth and round, tucked in beside it. I’d noticed the rock, of course, but I didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t big enough to do any damage.
Charly. A stick.
Rocky. A rock.
Her only companions in the wilderness. The only things she’s had to talk to for three years. That explains her constant stream of self-chatter. I can’t imagine feeling that alone in the world.
Up until this moment, I’d been thinking about Blue the way I think about most things: with my dick and my ego and the fun of the chase. The gorgeous, feisty omega who bit me, choked me, and cursed me out—and wasn’t that exciting? Wasn’t that a thrill?
But this. A girl so lonely she named a stick and a rock and told them goodnight. A girl tucking herself into bed right now and reassuring her imaginary friends that everything’s going to be okay, because there’s no one else in the world to reassure her.
That’s not exciting. That’s not a thrill.
That’s the loneliest thing I’ve ever heard.
I want to go in there. Pull back the covers and wrap her up and tell her she’s not alone anymore, that she doesn’t have to talk to sticks and rocks because she’s got us now. But I know exactly what would happen. She’d take my eyes out. And honestly, I’d deserve it.
We fucking chained her to the wall.
So I stay put. I stay on the couch, and I stare at the ceiling, and I listen to the silence coming from her room. After a while, her breathing slows and evens out. She’s asleep.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” I say, barely above a breath.
I look around at the others. Archer’s jaw is tight. Silas has his eyes closed, head bowed, both fists still clenched on his knees. Darius hasn’t moved from the counter.
Nobody speaks.
We all heard it. We all understood.
And for the first time since I saw her, I’m not thinking about how to get into her pants. I’m thinking about how to make sure she never has to talk to a stick again.