Chapter 7
chapter
seven
If there are sorrier sons of bitches than these three alphas, I don’t want to meet them.
Pitiful is the word, really.
I still can’t believe I decided to hitch my wagon to this runaway train. You’d think, after waiting twenty-some years to pick a pack, my Alpha would have been more selective. But this is the pack he chose.
Spent months making me choose.
Last summer, when I turned forty, I knew I needed to get serious about finding packmates and an omega if I ever wanted a chance at having a family.
But this ?
This was not what I had in mind.
I watch Colt hobble around the kitchen on one crutch. He’s clearly unbalanced, and I know for a fact he’s supposed to be using two. Not to mention the extra strain it puts on his good leg. He’s going to make his injuries worse by fighting them instead of working through them.
Try telling him that, though.
His pig-headed scowl is practically branded into his features.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without it.
From the day the Kings hired me as their new team manager and I showed up at the hospital to assess the damage to our star player, Colt has had this look on his face like he’s ready to fight off the entire world.
Or die trying.
Forget reckless—at this point, it’s just plain stupid.
And I’ve decided these guys need a zero-tolerance policy for stubborn stupidity.
“ Colt ,” I bark smoothly, setting down my tablet with a fierce frown of my own. “ Two crutches .”
He shoots me a venomous look, fighting the order. But, in the end, he snatches the second crutch from its place against the wall.
Hmm. Not even a growl. The guy may hate me, but it seems like his Alpha appreciates clear, constructive directions from mine. Yet another sign that I’m meant to be the leader of this pack, however hopeless they seem.
And, evidently, despite the one small detail that their omega isn’t truly theirs at all.
My gaze trails over the cluttered entryway behind Colt while he limps into the equally filthy kitchen.
Fucking hell . We might have to set the place on fire.
I might have to let them burn along with it.
Anger vibrates through me, the day’s headlines flashing through my mind’s eye. The guys feel my undercurrent of rage snap through the kitchen. Colt collapses into a barstool, muttering about alphaholes barking orders. Dante glances over, his face carefully blank as he flips an omelet at the stove.
I catch his gaze and raise a brow. “I still cannot believe you three did this.”
Dante’s usually a spitfire. The fact that he simply gives a stiff shrug is telling.
“She needed a pack to take her off her sister’s hands and give her a place of her own,” he grumbles, petulant. “We needed an omega to fix our reputation and make everyone think we’d been domesticated. It worked.”
It did work.
Too well.
I’d be lying if I claimed their sweet, red-headed omega wasn’t the main reason I originally expressed interest in joining their pack. I’ve always wanted an omega to care for—and the Locke Pack’s seemed like exactly the sort I’d want to worship.
Bridget is a beautiful woman. Anyone who looks her up online would know that.
But she’s smart, too. I’ve read her interviews in society papers and listened to her interviews on philanthropic podcasts.
She’s well-spoken and, if her constant book photos on social media are any indication, even better-read.
Over the last eight weeks, I’ve put consistent pressure on the guys to introduce us. I figured that would be the final step to legitimizing my place—meeting their pretty little omega and proving I deserve to be the head of her pack.
I had all sorts of plans for that.
Because, surely, they would never add a new alpha if their future omega didn’t wholeheartedly approve. I should have known something was wrong when she didn’t materialize right away.
Actually, I should have known when I walked into their penthouse and saw the complete shambles they live in.
Not to mention, the place smells exclusively like the three of them.
Colt’s salty, oceanic sandalwood. Dante’s sticky mango scent. Jesse’s caramelized, toasted sugar essence.
All decent. But none of them speared me the way an omega’s scent would.
I hate how much the whole thing makes sense. Why they’ve never been photographed with Bridget at public events. Why she never came to the dugout or any of our practices. Why she wasn’t with them when Colt was laid up in the hospital.
I thought they were protective of her. Hoarding her away from me and any other alphas.
And, hell— I respected that.
But this explains a lot. As much as I can appreciate wanting to possess every inch of the woman, would any alpha who actually had Bridget ever leave her at home collecting dust?
Of course not.
Especially not one as arrogant as Dante.
He slides his dark eyes over to me. “You still going over there?”
I close the case of my tablet, leaving the omega’s social media feeds behind. She must have seen the news when it broke yesterday, because all of her public accounts are now private.
Poor baby . I can’t even imagine how hard this has been on her. And she’s all alone in it.
“ We are,” I declare. “This needs to be addressed immediately.”
I can always tell when Dante secretly agrees with me because he ducks his head and turns away. Without admitting he concurs. Instead, he grunts, “Whatever, Pops.”
He needn’t remind me that, compared to them, I am ancient. I’m already well-aware. And dreading young, beautiful Bridget’s reaction when she sees the silver at my temples and the laugh lines on my face.
It doesn’t matter, though.
I need to look the woman in the eye and figure out how to make this right. I may not have a plan yet, but I have a feeling I’ll know exactly what she needs when I meet her.