Chapter Eleven ABBIE #2
I look at the perfectly poised omega on the other side of Meg, admiring her sleek, platinum bob and her flawless red lipstick.
She looks like she just stepped off a catwalk, but she smells earthy and warm as she flutters her long lashes at me.
“Best trafficking experience of my life.” She smirks at my expression, but then she presses a manicured finger to the side of her throat and her gaze grows wistful.
“I thought I was going to be sold to the highest bidder, but then the truck we were traveling in got hijacked, and the sexiest alpha on two legs was scooping me out of my seat, promising to keep me safe.” She fans herself with the patch of velvet she’s working on and grins.
“I couldn’t dream up a better silver lining, let me tell you. ”
Images of Pitt carrying this stunning woman to safety flicker through my mind and I grind my teeth. The only thing worse would be if he passed her off to Ark, although I have to admit, her blonde beauty would be pretty dazzling against the president’s rugged, dark looks.
Maybe I’m projecting a little of my inner turmoil, because Meg leans into my side, her eyes kind. “She’s dating Threads, if you need clarification.”
“Oh, Threads is a good guy.” He’s also three-hundred-pounds with a trigger temper and I blink as I try to imagine this elegant woman in his arms. “I’m glad you got to safety, Callie.”
“Me too.” That wistful look darkens into something more tragic. “Not everyone is so lucky.”
The thought is unsettling and I rise to my feet, pressing a hand to Meg’s shoulder. “I want to check in with Wings, but I’ll be back.”
The women all smile at me and Blaze shoots me a wink. “Next time I’ll help you make a rhinestone bra, and Wings can thank me later.”
Tricks squawks her protest, but my smile fades as I hurry towards the workshop. Callie’s comments have reignited my fears, and I need to lay eyes on Wings. Smelling like Pitt is one thing, but even a cleaned-up club can harbor alphas who view unclaimed omegas as fair game.
Like the vile specimen of a Viper who suddenly steps into my path.
Jackpot is in his early forties with wiry muscles and the sharp features of a weasel.
He’s also holding a hammer, and as he taps it against his palm, his grin looks as much like an oil stain as I remember.
“Well, look at the prodigal omega. All grown up and back to teach us heathens some manners.”
I don’t try to hide my disgust. “I don’t waste my time on lost causes.”
“Still as mouthy as when you were a kid.” His eyes rake over me, lingering on my inked scent gland. “Thought that boardinghouse would’ve knocked the brat out of you.”
I stiffen, hating the cruel gleam that ignites in his eyes at my discomfort.
It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he knew exactly what was going on in Leading Light while I was there.
Maybe he was even one of Director Narkle’s special visitors, although I never saw him at any of the parties I was forced to attend. “What do you want, Jackpot?”
“Just checking in. And I’m curious how the experiment is going. You could say I have a vested interest in the outcome.”
I narrow my eyes at his leering face. The hairs on the back of my neck are twitching, and I have to stop my hands from curling into fists. “Like usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s what you do, right?” He takes a step closer, his pungent musk wafting over me.
“I heard you take broke-down bitches and try to stitch them back together.” He tilts his head, the hammer now stroking his thigh.
“How’s it going with pretty little Wings?
Managed to flip his alpha switch back on yet? ”
His scent has taken on a hungry edge, and rage swirls through me, because it’s clear this piece of shit is lusting after what’s mine. “Wings is ten times the man you are, Alpha.” I spit the designation like it’s a dirty word. “Now get the fuck out of my way.”
He lifts the hammer, and for a moment I see real violence in his eyes.
I instinctively move into a fighting stance, already picturing the moves I’ll need to make to disarm him before he can make contact.
But just as he looks ready to lunge at me, a huge guy with a shaved head and grease-stained overalls appears behind him.
Jackpot whirls to face him, but the other alpha is already snatching the weapon out of his hand.
“There’s my lucky hammer,” he murmurs in the deepest rumble I’ve ever heard.
“Stop swiping my shit, Jackpot, or one day I might just hit you with it.”
The hammer looks almost toy-like in his massive hand, but Jackpot is careful to stay out of his reach. “You hit me with that, Cruise, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
So, this is Cruise, the head of the club’s workshop.
I look more closely at the other alpha, since he didn’t just put my queen back on her throne, he’s also Wings’ boss.
Despite his build, he has a sweet face, with sky-blue eyes and a full, brown beard.
Or it would be sweet if his mouth wasn’t curled into a savage grin.
“Strange, but any guy who ever said that to me, never came back to fight another day.”
Jackpot just glares at him before slinking away, and Cruise snorts as he sticks the hammer into a pocket of his overalls. “Big talk from a little man, but you should probably watch your back around him.”
I figure everyone looks little to this guy, but I appreciate his words of warning. “Thanks, but I know exactly what kind of man Jackpot is.”
“He’s that itch you can’t scratch, even with steel wool and WD-40.” He pauses then sticks out his hand. “Glad you’re back, Abbie. Wings told me you grew up together.”
“Yeah, we’ve known each other forever.” I shake his hand, impressed that he keeps his grip firm but not overly tight. “I wanted to thank you for what you did for my Indian, by the way. She’s running good as new.”
“I’m glad. She took a bad beating.” His brow furrows, wiping the sweet look from his face. “You know anything about the asshole who did it?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, Ark’s chasing it down personally, so he’ll get it sorted out.”
I don’t really see what they can do if there weren’t cameras in the lot, so I just shrug. I’ve got bigger worries on my mind right now, anyway. “Is Wings going to be okay with you? I mean, as an omega. Does it change things for him at work?”
“Not a bit. Good work stands on its own merit, and Wings is one of the best.” I smile, relieved, and he gestures toward the workshop doors. “You want to come in and say hi?”
“No, I know he’s behind on his project. I just wanted to make sure no one was giving him a hard time.”
“They’ll have to answer to me if they do. Plus, Wings knows how to swing a hammer better than that pipsqueak.”
I’m not sure I’d call Jackpot a pipsqueak, but it still delights me to hear Cruise do it.
I’m still smiling as I step away, but Cruise holds me back for a second.
“Abbie, I’ve seen bikes take a lot of punishment, but what happened to yours was something else.
Keep your eyes on your side mirrors, okay? ”
“I will. Thanks, Cruise.”
I think about heading back to the kitchen to catch up with Glory, but that tight, cold feeling is back in my chest, and I find myself craving fresh air. Not just an escape from Jackpot’s rank scent, but away from everything that is dragging old ghosts back to the surface.
I start to walk blindly towards the back of the compound, seeking distance more than an exit. I can hear my pulse thudding in my ears, sweat popping along my spine. It’s a hot day, but my discomfort is deeper than that. What am I really doing back here?
I catch sight of greenery in the distance where there used to be old jerrycans, broken furniture, and whatever debris was tossed out from the last bar fight.
Old clubhouse, I remind myself, pausing to take in the thick green hedge.
It runs along three sides of a garden, lush and green as if the sun isn’t trying to scorch everything in its path.
Within its walls are rows of vegetables, all neatly labeled and protected by shade cloth, and raised beds of flowers, bursting with color.
I stare at it, entranced by the wave of scents that waft over me.
“Hey, Abbie,” Lyla says shyly, strolling towards me in overalls and a straw hat, a gardening fork in her hand. “Are you looking for Ark or Patch?”
It takes me a moment to spot them, deep in conversation near the hedge closest to the medical center. “No, just looking around. This garden is amazing. We never had anything close to this at the old clubhouse.”
Lyla’s face lights up as she looks around. “It’s the best therapy.” Her gaze darts back to me, her cheeks going pink, “I’m guessing you know more about that than me, though.”
“I’m still learning new things about therapy every day, but gardening is a bit of a mystery to me,” I admit. “It looks like a lot of work, though.”
She nods. “It is, but everything has a time and place.” She reaches out to touch the petals of a nearby rose. “You treat them well, and they give back ten times over.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it. There aren’t a lot of flowerbeds in third floor apartments.
” I think of my mom, scratching out a tiny garden in the old clubhouse.
She had a couple of rose bushes, a few potted plants, and a bunch of herbs, because there was never money for more when it could be spent on bikes and booze.
“Or maybe I’m just not that sort of omega. ”
Lyla tilts her head, curious. “What sort is that?”
“The nurturing sort, I guess.”
“Well, that can’t be true.” She drops to her knees in front of a bush with delicate purple flowers and starts to turn the soil with her fork. “Patch has told me what you do for omegas in your clinic. You’re a real hero.”
Our conversation has caught Patch and Ark’s attention, and I feel a little awkward as they walk over to join us. “Oh. Thanks, but I’m just doing my job.”
She smiles, then turns her attention to Patch, who bends to drop a kiss on her upturned lips. “Are you hydrating, love?”
She laughs, a soft, tinkling sound of pure joy. “Same answer as when you asked a half hour ago.”
“Good.” He strokes her cheek then casts me a careful look. “How are you doing, Abbie?”
“I’m okay. Just admiring Lyla’s green thumb.”
“She’s done an amazing job.” His wariness melts away and he beams at his mate. “This garden has almost doubled since she started caring for it.”
“We’re lucky to have you, Lyla,” Ark adds, and her eyes shine at the praise.
When Patch taps her shoulder, she rises gracefully to her feet and clutches his arm. “Come on, it’s checkup time.”
She nods and smiles at me as she brushes off her hands. “Come back again, Abbie. I’d love to talk some more.”
I watch them walk off towards the clinic, but when I turn back, Ark is staring at me with his intense, dark eyes. “You should do that too.”
I offer a scoffing laugh. “You mean get myself an alpha bite?”
“No, a checkup. Most new members take a physical. It helps Patch to plan for any emergencies. Plus, it means I can put you on our insurance.”
My heart stutters, the thought of Patch testing me, assessing my symptoms… “I’m a medical professional, Ark. I can do my own checkups.”
There’s enough heat in my voice to make him back off, but he just shrugs. “I’m not questioning your skills, but it can’t hurt to get a second opinion.”
“I’m fine.”
I’ve turned away when he catches my wrist. “I know you blame Patch for what happened the night you left, but you should know it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want to sedate you. I made him.”
Betrayal crashes over me, making my mouth drop open. “Why?”
“I miscalculated.”
My face burns and I step away from him, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It was the safest way to get you out of the compound. Or at least, that’s what I told Patch. But the real reason is that I thought it was the only way to let you go. If you were looking me in the eyes…”
He stops abruptly, but I scowl at the regret written all over his face. “You were a coward.”
He barely blinks at the venom in my voice. “And a fucking fool. It just made things worse. You just followed me into my dreams.”
“Stop it.”
“I wish I could take it back.” Instead of stopping, he looks at me harder, like he’s trying to burrow inside my head. “I fucked up. Letting you go was bad enough, but I should’ve done more to protect you in the first place.”
I sigh, suddenly tired of all the things that should have happened but never did. “You weren’t the only one.” I nod towards the rose bushes, blooming with health. “My mom cared more about her flowers than she did me.”
Ark’s hand is back, now resting gently on my shoulder. “She was depressed, sweetheart. She couldn’t even look after herself.”
“I know.” Patch had explained it to me when she first tried to swallow a bottle of pills.
She was sick, and while she loved me, she couldn’t always make good choices.
It’s why Wings’ parents had first started inviting me into their pack suite, but I push those memories aside.
“Did your dad ever end up telling you about your mom?”
Ark pulls a face, his gaze drifting over the garden. “Just that she was a girl at a rally. She had me, walked out of the hospital, and that was it. No name, no forwarding address. At least she left a note pinned to my blanket. ‘Property of the Iron Flyers MC.’”
I flinch, because the mystery around his mom’s identity was a common topic of speculation in the old clubhouse. It’s bad enough that his dad was such an asshole, but to discover that his mom left him without a backward glance must have been a bitter blow. “I’m sorry, Ark.”
He nods, but then gestures to our surroundings, his sweeping arm taking it all in. “This is where I belong. Not because of a note, or because of Booker, but because of everybody else. Everyone who's come here looking for the same thing.”
I study him, roaming over the strong bones and deep lines, so much harder than the face of a thirty-year-old should be. “You mean the brotherhood?”
“Pack,” he says softly, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “The family we get to choose, instead of the one who let us down.”