Chapter 51
Chapter fifty-one
ASH
“You fucking slut.”
Papa’s voice is just above a whisper, and that terrifies me more than if he was raging, pulling out his hair.
From just inside the doorway, he holds up a newspaper with a two-page spread titled “Hot Omegas on Ice.” My eyes lock on a photo of me and Beckett at the museum. My hair is thrown back in laughter, his arm is around my waist, and we look… happy.
“You lying little bitch. You think I wouldn’t find out?
Explain this,” he demands, jabbing his finger against Beckett’s face so hard the paper tears slightly.
“You’ve been fucking the hockey player? He has a pack, right?
Pierce and Liam. They killed your brother.
You thinking about that when they have their knots stuck in your dirty pussy? ”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The room seems to shrink around us, the walls pressing closer.
“You better be making money on that and not getting dicked down for free”.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Estelle is still standing in the doorway of the bathroom, rage curling her lip.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Who am I? I am absolutely someone you should not be talking to like that.”
Oh, fuck.
“Tell your little friend to mind her own business while we discuss family matters.”
“Tell your shitbag father to shut the fuck up. We’re leaving.”
“She’s not going anywhere. Lynn belongs to me.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I blurt, my voice shaking. “Especially not you.”
“After everything I’ve done for you? I kept a roof over your head, food in your belly. I protected you after Reed died.”
“Protected me?” The words taste bitter. “Is that what you call it? You gave me to men twice my age for heat.” Shame floods me, dropping my voice to a squeaky whisper.
“Omegas need knots, don’t they? You were fine. I watched the whole time.”
“Papa! You… You watched.” I clamp my jaw shut, hoping that will keep me from throwing up.
“You sick fuck.” Estelle growls.
“Mind your fucking business, cunt.”
I pull Reed’s knife from my pocket, rage making my fingers shaky. I can’t open it. “Don’t talk to her like that!”
His hand moves faster than I can track, grabbing my wrist and twisting until pain shoots up my arm. The knife drops from my fingers, clattering to the floor.
“You don’t tell me what to do, girl,” he hisses, his face inches from mine, spittle flying.
“Let her go,” Estelle demands, reaching into her bag.
It happens so fast. Papa sees her movement and releases my wrist, lashing out with a backhand that catches Estelle across the face. Her bag hits the floor, contents spilling, the iPad, the mugs and her gun.
All three of us freeze for a half-second, eyes locked on the weapon. Then everything erupts into motion.
Papa lunges for the gun. I throw myself at his legs, trying to trip him. We crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs, his elbow catching me in the ribs, knocking the air out of me. I claw at his legs, his arms, anything I can reach.
Estelle recovers, snatching up one of the T-shirt wrapped mugs. She swings it, aiming for Papa’s head, but he rolls at the last moment. It smashes on the floor with a dull crack.
“You fucking bitch!” Papa roars, kicking me. I roll away, desperately searching the floor for either the gun or Reed’s knife.
I spot the knife a few feet away and scramble toward it on my hands and knees. My fingers close around it, just as I hear Estelle cry out behind me.
I turn to see Papa with the gun in his hand, already turning it toward Estelle, who’s backed against the wall.
“No!” I scream at the top of my lungs, lunging forward, but Papa’s other hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of my hair. He yanks me back so hard my vision goes white. My hearing must be jacked, too because I think I hear someone shouting my name.
“Oh, Randal,” Estelle chuckles, “you’re about to have a very bad day.”
“Please, Papa, just put the gun down.”
It’s pointed right at Estelle’s face. I feel like I’m shouting but whispers come out. He has a fistful of my hair, and he’s pulling so hard my eyes water. My skin crawls where he touches me.
“Shut up,” he hisses, spit spraying my cheek. “This bitch thinks she can walk in here and take what’s mine.”
Estelle kicks a broken coffee mug to clear a path. Her face is eerily calm, a thin trickle of blood running from her nose, but she’s almost smiling. Her eyes dart to the window, then back to Papa’s face.
“Ash!”
Papa hears it too. His body stiffens against mine, the gun wavering slightly before steadying again at Estelle’s head.
“Who’s out there?” he demands, voice tight with panic. “Who did you call?”
Before Estelle can answer, the door busts open, and Beckett fills the frame.
His eyes sweep the room once. My beautiful, sweet, kind, adorable, cuddly hockey player’s face morphs into horror-movie-level rage.
He takes one step into the room. Papa switches his grip so that he’s got me in a chokehold and backs us up against the wall.
Pierce and Liam are here too. Pierce is actually growling.
As the alphas fill the room, Papa’s arm shakes. He pulls the gun in close and presses the barrel to my temple.
“That’s far enough,” Papa barks. “One more step, and I’ll pull the trigger.”
“Let her go.” Beckett is seething. It’s easy to forget how huge he is. Now I know what it’s like to face him on the ice, all his height and weight, all his muscle, coming right for you.
“You really want this little whore? You know she tricks herself out for all the knots she take?”
The barrel digs deeper against my temple, and I whimper.
“You’ve been giving it away to them for free, haven’t you? Knowing what that piece of shit did to your brother?” Papa hisses in my ear, shaking me. “What would Reed think?”
Pierce flinches. His face crumples, raw pain carving new lines. “I didn’t…” he starts, voice cracking.
“Didn’t what? Didn’t leave my boy bleeding out on the floor? Didn’t run like a coward while my son died?”
“He didn’t kill Reed,” Liam says firmly, taking a small step forward. His voice is calm, almost reasonable.
“Nah, but he did tell Reed to kill me. Even gave him the knife to do it. And then ran like a pussy when Reed couldn’t get the job done.”
“Papa, you killed Reed?” I struggle for air as Papa’s arm tightens around my throat. The edges of the room begin to blur.
Pierce’s head snaps up. We connect across the insurmountable space.
Everything goes quiet like it’s just the two of us caught in a hurricane as the eye passes over.
Those few stolen moments of peace and stillness, before the back end of the storm hits and ruins everything.
It’s just him and me and his scent making everything right.
His lips move. I know he’s not making a sound like the words are being whipped away by the whirlwind of everything around us. His lips move, and it’s like I can hear him right in my head.
Ash.
I didn’t kill him.
I loved him.
I love you.
I reach for him. Papa yanks me back, and the eye passes; we’re back in the storm.
“Let Ash go, and we can talk this through.” Liam takes another careful step, hands raised.
“Ash?” Papa barks out a laugh and jerks my head back painfully. “Her name is Lynn.”
“My name is Ash,” I rasp out, digging my fingers into his arm to get more air.
“Shut your mouth.”
“If you hurt her,” Beckett says quietly, but each word shakes the room, “I will end you.” There’s no rage in his voice, just absolute certainty. It sends a shiver down my spine.
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Papa wiggles the gun to prove he has the upper hand.
“Randy, you stupid fuck,” Estelle sniffs and wipes her nose. She almost sounds bored. “I seriously hope you gave me a black eye. We were just going to run you out of town. Now, I don’t want to think about what he’s going to do.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, you crazy bitch?”
“My uncle.” Estelle says simply, as if it’s obvious.
Papa shifts his weight from foot to foot like that’s going to kick-start his brain.
Estelle rolls her eyes. “Enzo?”
At the name drop, I can feel Papa’s heart pound out of his chest.
“You’re lying,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.
“The gambling debts? He’d just squeeze you for the rest of your pathetic life.
What you’ve been doing to Ash? And planning to use her heats to pay off your debts?
Whew.” She shakes head and blows out a breath.
“But this?” She uses both hands to gesture to the whole room, “I don’t know, man. I’d run hard and fast if I were you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but it’s weak, desperate.
“Matter of fact, we’ll give you a head start.” She wags a finger between herself and my alphas. “Put the gun down. Let Ash go, and I’ll give you five minutes before I call my Uncle Enzo, and let these three alphas loose.”
“You’re lying,” he says, shaking, the gun scraping down my cheek a little.
“There’s two things my uncle doesn’t tolerate.” Estelle holds up two fingers.
“Drunk driving and sex trafficking,” Liam says. Estelle gives him a look that I don’t fully understand.
Liam takes a careful step forward. “Put the gun down, Randal. It’s over. No one else needs to get hurt today.”
Papa’s breathing grows more erratic. His arm tightens around my neck, making me gag. Pierce puts a hand on Beckett’s arm to keep him from jumping us.
“Stay back! I’ll kill her. I swear I will.”
“No, you won’t,” Liam says with quiet certainty. “You’d have to kill all of her alphas to get out of this room alive.”
Papa’s body shifts behind me, muscles coiling. I feel the pressure of the gun barrel disappear from my temple, and for one wild, hopeful moment, I think it’s over.
Papa drops his arm and pushes me down. I twist, looking back up at him just in time to see Papa press the gun beneath his own chin.
The gunshot is so loud, it feels like it breaks bones in my face.
My ears ring instantly. Something warm splashes across me and the front of my shirt.
My brain refuses to understand what I’m looking at.
Papa’s body jerks once in front of me, then collapses hard to the floor, like the bones inside him stopped working.
There’s blood on my hands. Blood on my shirt. When I look closer, there are thicker pieces mixed in with it, gray and pink and wrong.
The scream rips out of me louder than the gunshot.
Strong arms grab me and pull me back against a solid chest and a cloud of cinnamon that smells burnt.
Gravity goes all wonky. My stomach drops to my toes as I’m moved through the air.
Beckett places me down, but fabric snags, pulls and rips.
The edge of my tapestry flutters down from the ceiling, settling over my head.
I tear at the fabric and scramble away on hands and knees, clawing at the floor.
“That’s her nest. Not a good idea,” someone says.
My palms slip on the floor trying to get away, away from it all.
“Ash.” The voice is soft.
I don’t stop crawling. Can’t stop screaming.
My hand slides through something wet and I skid forward, catching myself before I fall flat on my face. When I look up, Papa is right there, right in front of me.
His body is twisted on the floor, one arm stretched toward me like he was reaching for something. The front of his shirt is soaked dark and his eyes are still open. His head sits on top of a mess of blackened red meat, wet and slimy looking.
I feel myself get pulled backward and upright. Arms wrap around me from behind.
“Ash, I got you,” is whispered in my ear. A hand covers my eyes, making the whole world disappear into black until there is nothing but strong arms and the scent of fresh clean laundry.