Chapter 5
Chapter five
ASH
That’s perfect.
I set the tote bag down, and one of the cute little ankle boots I found tumbles out.
I pick it up and dust it off. Just one little scuff on the toe.
I should be able to polish it out. I give the bag a shake, then lean it against the fence, turning my attention to the little gem of a table.
It’s perfect nightstand height. I wish it had a drawer to hide things in, but that’s fine.
I push on a corner. A tiny wobble I could fix with a bit of glue.
Some sandpaper and a coat of spray paint, it’ll be as good as new.
This neighborhood isn’t the best. It’s not high-end or gated, but it still amazes me what people throw out.
I adjust the bag on my shoulder and balance the table against my hip. I’m a block away from home, so I don’t even need alpha strength to get it there.
I hesitate in the drive like always. Papa left the gate open so I can just push it in.
The stairs squeak, and I still haven’t figured out how to fix it.
I have this awful fear that if I even try to tinker with it, the whole rickety staircase leading to the garage loft will just tumble apart. Probably with me on it.
I use my teeth to hold the tote and pull my key from my pocket.
I awkwardly glance back at the house. Once inside, I close the door softly and set the table down, placing the bag on top.
I fish the pocket knife from my back pocket and tuck it into the plant.
It looked like it was dying when I brought it home, and it hasn’t improved much.
It’s the plant’s fault, not mine. Yeah, I’ll go with that.
“So much for the nurturing nature of omegas,” I mutter. I scatter a few of the dead leaves to conceal the knife.
Sliding the little table next to my futon, I step back with my hands on my hips. It is just the right height. All I need now is a lamp and it’ll look downright cozy.
I tilt my head and consider for a second. I have two tapestries hanging from the ceiling to create a little indoor tent, and if I drape the fabric just so, I could include the table in my makeshift nest. No clue why I’d need a table in my nest, but it’s nice to have options, I guess.
It’s not a real nest. Not even close, but it’s hard to find just the right pillows on sale.
I’m stumped on how to make it cozier with the limited space I have.
There are no online style guides for improvised nests in rundown garage apartments.
Not that I could do a lot of online research.
My phone is so basic. I run out of data before the month is half over.
The loft isn’t much. Not even a real apartment. There’s a toilet, a pedestal sink, and a shower just big enough for me if I keep my elbows tucked in. And no real kitchen. Just a microwave and a hot plate.
It’s grungy and dark and falling apart, but I don’t care. It’s mine.
The door bangs open and I freeze.
“Where the fuck were you?” Papa says.
“I just went for a walk.” I blurt it out, and it’s not even a lie.
“A walk at this time of night?” He steps further into the apartment. Technically, it’s his apartment, over his garage. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Papa, it’s 8 p.m. You picked this neighborhood because it’s safe, didn’t you?”
“You know what can happen to an omega left alone.”
He stumbles over the tote bag, and the boots spill out. He kicks one carelessly into the corner.
“How’s the job?” he asks in that snotty tone I’d get smacked for. He doesn’t really want the answer.
“It’s great.” I force a smile.
“Making enough for rent yet?”
I cringe. He knows I’m not.
“I wouldn’t have to charge you rent if you just came back inside.”
We’ve had this argument over and over. He thinks it’s ridiculous that I don’t want my bedroom right next to his and that I’d rather live “like a stray dog in the garage”, even if it’s only twenty-five feet from his house.
My logic was that since we moved to Nashville for a fresh start, it made sense to try living on my own. He’d been drunk during that conversation, and his beta pride won’t let him go back on his word.
“I don’t like you being out after dark, Lynn,” he grumbles.
Lynn. He’s never called me Ash. I used to think it was so he wouldn’t be reminded of my mother, Ash Lee. Sometimes, I think it’s because he wants even her memory dead.
“Reed wouldn’t like it either,” he adds.
I barely hold back a sob. Just barely.
“Reed knows exactly how dangerous alphas are.” His words start to slur slightly.
I don’t respond. Any response would probably get me in trouble.
By now, he’s circled the whole room. He pulls back a corner of a tapestry to peek inside, holding it between two fingers like it’s disgusting.
He’s weaving on his feet and tugs a little too hard.
Half the tapestry falls, and he tosses it aside.
My skin feels like it shrinks three sizes.
“Is this your nest?” he asks.
I just nod. If I open my mouth, I might throw up. He used to crawl into my nest all the time, make me sit on his lap as he drank his beer. Leave his scent everywhere.
“Your heat must be coming up soon.”
Sweat breaks out on my forehead.
“I’ll have to rent a hotel room again,” he says, thinking out loud. “I’m not bringing alphas to this.”
My mouth waters, puke threatening.
His phone rings, and he looks down at it. “Don’t stay up too late,” he says casually as he heads for the door. He answers the phone on the landing.
“Matteo,” he says, using his lawyer voice, part charming, part scheming. “No, no, you know that’s not part of the deal. I have until the end of the month to make payment.”
His chuckle fades as he makes his way downstairs.
I take a few shaky breaths until the nausea passes. Then I rip both tapestry pieces off the wall, ball them up, and stuff them deep into my laundry basket. I need a closet. Someplace safe. Someplace I can just be an omega. Someplace he can’t touch.
I dig my fingers into the dead leaves for Reed’s knife. Turning it over in my hands, I trace the triangle that was carved into the handle.
“Just in case.” That’s what he said when he gave it to me. I didn’t need to ask just in case of what.
The memories, like vivid snapshots, come rushing in again, just like they did at the restaurant with Timber when they were all ignoring me. I was able to push them back then, but I don’t want to now.
I was used to shouting, fights. They were almost daily occurrences since Reed became an alpha.
Papa had taken it as a personal insult that Reed was now better than him.
Like he did it on purpose just to piss Papa off.
They fought every day. But this wasn’t a shouting match. The scream was the sound of death.
I hit the bottom of the stairs just as Papa chased Pierce out the door. Pierce paused and caught me standing there.
“Run, motherfucker.” Papa cocked a shell into the shotgun. “This is your fault. You did this.”
He was covered in blood. Pierce. Papa. Both.
And Reed. On his back in a swimming pool of blood. A fountain of it gushed from his middle.
I froze. I wasn’t able to move.
Reed looked at me. His face was the color of paper.
“Pierce.”
His last word was his best friend’s name. The friend who had killed him.