Chapter Thirteen ABBIE #3
There’s a lost look in his eyes and I curse the bullshit in my head. How could I make him feel like he was anything but the best man I’ve ever known? “I love your body, and I don’t care about your designation…”
“Yes, but I care about it. I mean, I need to understand how it works now, so I can give you all the best parts of me.”
I stare at him, astounded once again by how he can turn all of his needs into a desire to please me. “This is about both of us, Wings. I want to give you my best parts, too.” I roll my eyes, my cheeks heating. “I mean, the one or two bits that aren’t always screwing up and saying the wrong thing.”
“You’ve got a lot more good bits than just one or two,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening with arousal. “How about we go back to our room and I point them out? I could even sketch them, if that helps.”
I laugh against his lips, liking that idea a lot.
But we’ve been so wrapped up in each other that we didn’t hear some of the others wander out from the bar.
As we sit up, there’s a splash from the deep end and I catch my breath at the sight of Ark hitting the water.
He glides through the tangle of kids like a sleek panther, little hands grabbing onto his back and shoulders until he’s dragged to a stop.
He gets his feet under him, laughing as he plucks the kids off and tosses them back into the pool.
I blink at the sight of his smile, so carefree it’s more blinding than the sun reflecting off the pool.
“Um,” Wings says behind me as I slowly rise to my feet, “I probably should have mentioned that…”
I barely hear him, my gaze locked on the wide, brown plane of Ark’s back.
There are still a couple of kids clinging to him, but it doesn’t block out his tattoo completely.
It’s too big for that, an intricate backpiece that stretches from his shoulder blades to just above the waistband of his swimming shorts…
Flames. Movement. The unmistakable curve of butterfly wings…
“Why would he do that?” I ask, a moment before something hits me square between my shoulders and I crash forward into the pool. The shock of the water makes me gasp and I come up spluttering and coughing, chlorine burning my lungs. “What the fuck?”
“She tripped!” Mimi exclaims, hands in the air and a shit-eating grin on her face. “It’s not my fault you were making goo-goo eyes at Ark.”
I glare at her from the water, and she scuttles back out of reach, but I’m way past putting up with stupid pranks. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself, Mimi.”
Her eyes flash with satisfaction. “Language, butterfly. Anyone would think you’re not the perfect little legacy princess you pretend to be.”
“Shut it, Mimi!” Wings growls as he kneels at the edge of the pool so I can grab his hand.
As he pulls me out, I strip off my soaking tee before I think to reach for his towel.
Mimi, of course, doesn’t miss a thing, her chuckle turning to a high-pitched shriek.
“What the hell is that thing on your back?”
I freeze, knowing that dozens of eyes are now staring my way. I can feel them moving closer, craning their necks for a better look, and no doubt grimacing at the sight. Because unlike Ark, I don’t have a beautiful tattoo of a monarch butterfly inked on my back.
“You’ve got a big fucking mouth, Mimi,” Wings grinds out, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Maybe you should learn to shut it once in a while.”
But the other omega steps into my line of vision, her lips puckered in disgust. “Did you do that to yourself? Is it from a whip? Chains? Some kind of weird kink game gone wrong?”
The temptation to shove her into the pool is almost overwhelming, but I wrench my tank back on, hating the way it scrapes over my sensitive skin.
Most of the time I’m grateful that the damage is out of sight, but there’s something really vulnerable about having scars on your back.
No matter how you try, or how many layers you wear, you can never trust that they’re covered all the way up.
“Like everything else in my life,” I tell her, hating the catch in my voice, “this is none of your business.”
“Abbie!” I look up to see Ark hauling himself out of the pool and groan.
Of course, he got the perfect view, and now he’s going to grill me in front of the whole club.
I straighten my shoulders, refusing to cower as his dominance crashes over me, as shocking as the cold pool water. “In my office now, both of you.”
I look at Wings, but the sympathy in his eyes makes my cheeks burn and I drop my gaze.
“Come on,” he says, quietly, handing me the towel.
As I press it to my dripping hair, he wraps an arm around my waist and steers me away from the pool.
I can feel every eye on me, wondering, judging, but I keep my gaze fixed on the door.
Once again, I’m the oddity, the center of attention for all the wrong reasons.
Even with Wings right beside me, I feel a tremor of defeat ripple through my chest.
Why did I even come back here?
Wings is fine with Pitt and Cruise looking out for him, and Ark and I keep rubbing up against each other, and it’s rarely in a good way.
Bluff might as well have been a figment of my imagination, and there’s just enough snakes left in the nest to mean I’ll always be looking over my shoulder.
Everything would be easier back in my apartment.
I could go back to work, get back to the dojo, and no one would be staring at the legacy princess with pity and disgust in their eyes.
My mood dips even lower when we step into Ark’s office and I find Pitt already there, his arms folded over his chest. His worried gaze settles on me, and I wonder if he was out by the pool, too.
Did he see the ugly reality of the scars I’ve never explained to him?
Or did Ark just call him in here to deal with another club problem?
Ark goes straight over to his desk and pulls something soft and gray out of the bottom drawer.
I blink in surprise as he hands me a sweatshirt with a faded Rangers logo on the front.
I don’t need to lift it to my nose to smell his scent clinging to the fabric.
“It gets cold in here sometimes,” he says gruffly, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Put it on.”
“You’re wet, too,” I point out, because while he’s slung a towel around his neck, his damp swim shorts are still clinging to his thighs. “Why don’t you put it on?”
“Because anger overheats me,” he says in a low, clipped tone, “and right now, I’m pretty much ready to boil over.”
Which means I probably shouldn’t argue with him over something as basic as a sweatshirt, so I pull it over my head.
I’d prefer to remove my clammy tank, but there’s no way I’m stripping off in front of him again.
When I’m done, I wrap my arms around myself, trying to absorb the warmth of the fabric.
“Do we really need to make a big deal out of this?”
Pitt shuffles his feet, his gaze skipping between me and Ark. “What’s going on?”
“Her back is scarred,” Ark says shortly. “And despite what that stupid bitch out there thinks, it’s clearly not self-inflicted.”
I roll my eyes at him, anger and embarrassment warring inside me. “Of course it’s not.”
Wings’ arm slides back around my waist. “She’s never told me what happened,” he says quietly. “That should give you some idea of how bad it is.”
“And how much I don’t want to talk about it,” I add. “It’s old news, anyway. Why do we have to dig it back up?”
“How old?”
I shake my head at Ark’s relentless tone, but his jaw tightens, and I sigh. “It happened just after I left here.”
“The boardinghouse. You were there for less than a year.”
“For good reason.” At his searing gaze, I shrug. If he wants the truth, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. “The director was a pimp. He invited his friends over for parties. For a fee, they could pick out an omega for the night.”
Wings groans into my hair, but Pitt squeezes his hands so tight, I can hear his knuckles pop. “They fucking touched you?”
“No.” I give him a pointed look. “I was trouble. The first one that tried to purchase me nearly lost an eye, and most of the others backed off after that.”
There were still a few who saw me as a challenge, a new omega who needed to be put in her place, but I made them limp away, too.
Eventually they gave me a wide berth, since a challenge is only enticing to that kind of alpha if they know they’ll eventually come out on top.
And that was definitely not guaranteed with me.
“The director punished me by skipping meals, stripping my room, making me kneel on rice. All the usual bullshit. When I didn’t give in, he tied me to a radiator and turned it on.
I don’t know if he forgot I was there, or if he was just that sadistic, but a doctor was visiting one of the other girls and he heard my screams.”
Pitt curses, his face gray with shock, but Ark rears to his feet, striding forward to grip my shoulders. “Lasting Light. Director Narkle.”
“Yes, but…”
“He went missing,” Ark grinds out, turning to give Pitt a grim look. “Doesn’t mean he gets to stay that way.”
“We find him,” Pitt snarls, his mouth a vicious twist, “and we strip every inch of skin off the prick!”
“No. I mean, you can’t find him. Ever. I made sure of that.” They both stare at me and I frown. “You think I’m making it up?”
“You were seventeen, butterfly,” Pitt says slowly, like the fact pains him. “Are you sure…?”