Chapter Four ABBIE #3
To my surprise, the sympathy deepens in his gaze as he reaches out and snares one of my frazzled curls. “Because of the nightmares? I heard you a few nights back. Is it from being thrown out of the club when you were a kid?”
It’s actually refreshing hearing him put my trauma so bluntly.
Maybe Janice’s therapist is on to something, because most people who know the bare bones of my story assume I was sent away for my own good.
What early presenting omega would want to live with a clubhouse full of grown alphas, after all?
“The nightmares came after. But it’s why I don’t owe the club anything. ”
“I agree.” He rubs the strand of hair between his fingers, like he’s testing the quality of my shampoo. But there’s a dark gleam in his eyes, and I can taste his anger in the air. “They owe you more than they can ever repay, Abbie.”
“They?” I tap my fingers on the patch on his cut. “Aren't you part of the they?”
“I’m not who the club was when you knew it. And if I’d been there when you were a kid, they would've had to go through me to kick you out.”
My throat tightens at the sincerity in his voice.
Everything about this man reminds me of what the club once meant to me.
A father who was respected by all, a big brother who always had my back, and even my first alpha crush, who just might have grown into the man I wanted to make a life with.
It’s a dangerous combination, and I feel my eyes burn as I lean forward, resting my head on his shoulder.
He was talking about vulnerable moments, and this is about as raw as I get.
“I’m not the kid I once was, either. I can take care of myself, Pitt. ”
“I know.” His voice is a soothing rumble, but it’s the hand that presses lightly to the back of my head that makes my knees tremble. “I’ve been watching you, sweetheart, learning the way you move. You train?”
“Karate. Brown belt, but training for my Dan level at the end of the year.”
He nods, and I feel his energy change, his interest sharpening. “Damn. I'd love to spar with you, butterfly.”
I draw back from him, amused to find a competitive gleam in his eyes. “Maybe. Just as long as you don't pull your punches. I hate it when a guy sees an omega on the mat and backs off.”
“I respect you too much for that.” His lips quirk into a smile bordering on arrogance. “But you'll have to let me make it up to you after I put you on your ass, okay?”
I screw my hand into a fist and bounce it lightly off his chest. “Dream on, Alpha.”
He gives a semi-tragic sigh. “That’s all I've got, butterfly.”
Wings is waiting up for me, but when he tries to ask me about my shift, I kiss him into silence.
Pretty soon, we’re both moaning, and as much as I want to wash off the night, I don’t want to give myself a chance to stew.
Instead, I drop to my knees right there in the kitchen, clawing down his sweatpants and swallowing his dick like it’s a lifeline.
He shouts as he grips the counter behind him, and I wonder if Pitt can hear him on the street.
I imagine him staring up at our apartment window, jealous because Wings is getting so much more than just the fantasy to keep him warm at night.
More fool me, because as happy and sated as I feel in Wings’ arms, the nightmares still slither into my dreams. This time there are no faces, just a perfect monarch butterfly pinned down and burning alive.
I jerk awake, my hand reaching for the lattice of scar tissue on my back before I’ve even pushed myself upright.
I groan and roll to the edge of my bed, the twisted sheets doing their best to hamper my efforts.
I’ve just managed to kick them free when I hear voices coming from the kitchen.
Wings and Pitt, their words a low rumble that dies off altogether as I yawn my way over to the coffee machine.
“You’re here late,” I tell Pitt. “Or early. You sure you’re not sleeping in the hall? ”
He’s leaning against the counter, his boots crossed at the ankles and a piece of toast in his hand. He looks as good as he did last night, although I’m pretty sure his face hasn’t seen a razor this morning. “Sleeping is overrated.”
“Even when you have such nice dreams?” I shoot Wings a wink, but when I catch a glance between them, I huff in annoyance. “What? If you’re going to start talking about the club, can you wait until I’m in the shower?”
“Ark is asking to meet.”
I pause with my cup halfway to my lips. As always, just the sound of the new president’s name makes my skin tighten with something between an itch and a shiver. “Why?”
“Big changes.” Pitt gestures between us. “He wants you both to be part of them.”
I cock a mocking brow. “The Iron Flyers 2.0?”
Wings gives me a tentative glance. “If you want to change something, it’s easiest to do it from the inside.”
Did he get that from a fortune cookie or a tattoo flash book?
I bite my tongue on the snide question, because I know Wings’ heart is in the right place.
And it’s not like I haven’t spent years dreaming of a day when the club might throw open the doors and beg me to come back.
“Which reminds me, I have a training session before work. I’ve got to run. ”
I dump the rest of my coffee in the sink, but as I start towards my bedroom door, Pitt steps in my path.
I breathe in citrus, musk, and the leather of his cut, and if my knees are a little weak, I’m blaming it on my sleepless night.
“Abbie, what about Ark? I don’t want to push, but I think you need to hear him out. ”
I stare up at him, as immovable as a brick wall, but with that sympathetic gleam back in his eyes.
Maybe Pitt’s heart is in the right place, too, and I’m the one who needs to soften up, but it’s hard to fight five years of resentment.
“Let me think about it, okay? But if I decide to talk, it won’t be at the club. That’s a hard no.”
He tips his head, considering. “Neutral ground?”
I give him a breezy smile that almost reaches my eyes. “Just make sure there’s plenty of vodka, and I might even stay long enough to drink it.”