Chapter Three WINGS
It turns out that Pitt is waiting for me somewhere in the hospital, and when I’m ready to check out, Abbie brings him to my room.
She sticks close to my side as he walks over to my bed, his hands shoved in his pockets and a rueful look on his face.
He’s a little taller than me, but has a lot more muscle, and even when he’s looking downcast, it’s clear he’s as dominant as an alpha can be.
Which means I can’t really blame him for chasing my ass down and biting me when I was out of my head on his pheromones.
“Hey, brother,” he rumbles, a slight lilt in his voice from growing up in Puerto Rico. “Good to see you’re looking better.”
I nod, but it feels like someone’s jerking my strings. There’s nothing comfortable about my body right now, strung out on both my crazy hormones and the painkillers Abbie gave me during my hormonal hissy fit. “Hey, Pitt. Thanks for bringing me here, brother. And sorry about…Well, all this shit.”
He shakes his head, his gaze flitting between me and Abbie. “I fucked up by biting you. I just reacted, but I should’ve held it together until I got you here.”
“The fever would’ve probably been more advanced if you did,” Abbie counters, surprising us both.
Pitt is watching her with a kind of strained fascination, and I feel jealousy curl in my gut.
Not that I can blame him for being attracted to her.
Abbie’s a knockout, with a delicious peach and cloves scent that sinks deep into your brain, but she’s got a wary, watchful way about her that plucks at my protective instincts.
Given that Pitt is the club enforcer and a golden gloves boxing champion, I’m not surprised that he looks like he wants to wrap her in his arms and strip her out of her scrubs at the same time.
The truth is, I can smell his arousal, the same way I can smell my own sickly-sweet perfume.
I grew up in a cramped clubhouse and went to war in places where soap was a rare commodity, so I have no problem with filtering scents.
As a latent, I tended to lump all other alphas into a general musky category and get on with my day.
But it’s a whole different deal when you’re an omega, biologically wired to hunt for alpha pheromones.
And Pitt smells like a mountain forest after a long, grueling hike. Pine needles, citrus zest, and just a hint of mint, all mixed together in a mouthwatering rush.
Jesus, middle schoolers at their first dance are less fucking awkward than I am right now.
Thankfully, Abbie gets me back on track, explaining that I’ll have a few fever spikes over the next few days, but nothing we can’t handle at home.
She also makes it clear that she’s talking about her apartment and not the Iron Flyers’ clubhouse, where the reception might be unpredictable, to say the least.
Pitt nods along, but I can sense his rising anxiety, the same way I can feel Abbie’s wary calm. When she’s done, he folds his arms, looking every inch the club enforcer. “I’d like to come along, if that’s okay. Just to check the place out, make sure he can recover without any interference.”
It’s pretty obvious he means interfering alphas, since his gaze keeps flicking to the bite on my throat. Another inch, Abbie told me, and he would’ve got my scent gland, which is something my fuzzy brain is still trying really hard not to process.
Abbie tilts her head, not insulted yet, but on the verge of getting there. “You really think I’d take Wings somewhere that wasn’t safe?”
“It’s not that.” He sighs and palms the back of his neck. “I tried to talk myself out of this conversation, but it’s not happening. I just feel really protective towards you right now, even though I know you’ve got each other’s backs.”
“We do.”
“I know. I’ve seen Wings fight, and I know he could take care of you both, if it came to that.”
“And I’m never more than a few feet away from a scalpel,” Abbie adds, giving him one of those sweet-but-deadly looks that makes my dick hard and my pulse race.
“Yeah.” He huffs out a breath and swipes his hand over his shaved head, wafting more of his scent my way.
I grit my teeth so I don’t gulp it down like a junkie, and Abbie steps between us, smoothing her hand over my chest, like she knows exactly how chaotic I feel right now.
And of course she does. Not only is she a kickass therapist, we’ve been reading each other’s moods since we were kids.
It was the best way to navigate all the shit that goes down in a compound full of violence-prone alphas.
“Can I just hang out for a little while? Just until I know you’re both okay. ”
Given Abbie’s feelings about the club, I wait for her to turn him down, but she surprises me by agreeing, although she does it with a steely look in her eye.
“You can check the place out and reassure yourself that he’ll be fine.
But if any other Flyer turns up on my doorstep, you’re out, and I won’t let you back in again. ”
Pitt frowns, his scent souring at the edges. “I’m not interested in bringing the club into this. Whatever happens, it’s just between the three of us, okay?”
Abbie shrugs, like she doesn’t put much faith in a Flyers’ guarantee, and when one of the doctors sticks his head in the door, she steps out to finalize the paperwork. She’s back a moment later with a wheelchair and I pull a face, because it’s not exactly the kind of ride I was hoping for.
“Doctor’s orders,” she tells me as I drop into the chair with a huff. “I’ve had to twist a couple of arms to get you released into my care, so don’t rock the boat.”
“I’ll be as good as pie,” I tell her as she wheels me out of the room, my cock tingling at the thought of getting her home.
Competence is a massive fucking turn-on for me, and there’s nothing I love more than stripping Abbie out of her street scrubs and kissing her tension away after a long shift.
But I also have a thing for the way she handles me, like I’m not a foot taller than her, and used to taking corners on a wet road at a lean angle of over forty-five degrees.
It’s like she thinks my limbs won’t work unless she guides me around with pats, nudges, and hip bumps.
It’s bossy as hell, but the truth is, I eat that shit up.
Still, I grumble a bit as I’m transferred from the wheelchair to a clinic transport vehicle.
It’s basically a stripped-back F350, big enough to take a stretcher, but without all the bells and whistles of an ambulance.
I sit on one of the bench seats while Abbie takes the other, Pitt’s Road King rumbling behind us like he’s riding our back wheel.
The suspension is shit, but it’s thankfully a short trip, and then we’re unloading at her place, Abbie pointing Pitt towards the undercover garage and telling him to meet us at her apartment.
My energy is flagging, so I’m glad she nudges me into the elevator, her arm around my waist as she leads me to her door.
I feel the same electric buzz I always get when I approach her apartment, smug in the knowledge that I’m one of the privileged few she lets into her inner sanctum.
Except for the six-two alpha who quickly jogs up the stairs, his gaze roaming over us like we’ve been out of his sight for a week.
“That’s a beautiful cruiser you have down there,” he tells Abbie as she leads us inside.
“Thanks. I upgraded the rear shocks and put in the Mustang seat, but the rest is exactly how I found her. It was parked at a friend’s grandmother’s place, sitting pretty under a tarp for nearly a decade.”
Pitt blinks, clearly surprised by how chatty Abbie gets when she’s talking about her Indian queen.
Her face softens, that wary look fading from her eyes, and I smile as I drop onto her couch.
I watch as Pitt obediently follows her around the apartment, nodding approvingly as she points out all the security features she’s installed.
To his credit, he doesn’t mention the packing boxes that still line one wall, or the fact that the apartment has the bare minimum of furnishings.
I’d like to think it’s because Abbie is a minimalist decorator, but I’m pretty sure that when you’re thrown out of your home at seventeen, you’re wary about accumulating too many things in case they’re snatched away from you.
“Like I said, no one is going to hurt Wings here.” As they return to my side, Abbie looks me over with a clinical eye. “You’re probably feeling a little wiped out, huh?”
“Wiped out but wired,” I tell her, hooking my foot around her calf and pulling her towards me. “I think I need a little of your bedside care.”
Her brows lift, but a familiar heat kindles in her eyes. If she’s aware of the alpha watching our every move, she doesn’t show it, her fingers feathering over my lips. “You’re going to have fever spikes for a couple of days, so you need to rest while you can.”
Rest is the last thing on my mind, and as my scent thickens in the air, all three of us know it. I place my hands on her waist, drawing her close until I can bury my nose in her belly. Her breath hitches, and as her fingers dig into my shoulders, I can feel her melting under my touch.
Fuck, this is what I live for. The soft, pliable moments when she drops her guard and turns to putty under my hands.
“I can get you some suppressants if you want to just take a nap,” she murmurs, but her voice is a throaty rasp, and I can taste her sweet peach scent on my tongue.
Heat pools in my jeans, and while they laundered them at the hospital, I’m on the verge of ruining them a second time as she pulls me to my feet.
The kiss she gives me is way too brief, a teasing swipe of her tongue on my throbbing lips.
I make a sound halfway between a growl and a whimper and she squeezes my hand. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”