13. Olive
We park inside a large, heated garage. The space looks big enough to hold a dozen vehicles.
A collection of sleek sports cars and oversized SUVs fill the concrete floor.
I stare through the windshield. Exhaustion crushes my bones.
My limbs feel like lead. Escaping the freezing grocery store parking lot drained the last ounce of my adrenaline. My defenses lie in ruins.
Finn unbuckles his seatbelt. He opens the driver's side door and steps out. Walking around the front bumper, he opens my door.
I unbuckle. My legs tremble on the concrete floor.
"I've got you." Finn wraps his thick arm around my waist, supporting my weight.
He guides me toward a thick wooden door. Opening it, we step into a mudroom and pass through to a sprawling, luxurious kitchen. Warm air hits my freezing face.
The intoxicating pack scent hits my lungs.
A hurricane of pheromones fills the mansion.
A distinct base of crisp citrus anchors the space.
The ozone of a thunderstorm blends with rich cedar, crushed black pepper, and juniper.
The aroma wraps around my exhausted brain.
As much as I hate to say it, it feels like home.
My inner Omega purrs. Fighting the instinct takes too much energy. I let the scent pull me under.
Malcolm and Lawrence stand near a huge marble island. They both wear dark sweatpants and plain t-shirts. They look up the second we step into the room.
Lawrence drops a dish towel onto the counter.
He crosses the floor in three long strides.
His eyes scan my face, taking in the dark circles and my pale skin.
Malcolm steps up beside him. His intense, dark eyes sweep over my shivering frame.
I spot Victor standing in the shadows near the hallway arch.
He keeps his distance. He crosses his arms over his chest, his posture rigid.
His icy eyes track my every move. He looks terrified to step closer.
My phone buzzes inside the pocket of my jeans. It vibrates a second time. Then a third.
I pull away from Finn's supporting arm. My hands shake pulling the device from my pocket. The bright screen blinds my tired eyes.
Three incoming texts from Chloe glow on the display.
Chloe: I have the kids. I packed a bag. We left the house.
Chloe: I'm at mom's place right now. You know she’s already complaining.
Chloe: Olive, please answer me.
A deep breath tears out of my throat. Relief washes over my chest. She believed me. She took the kids and ran. She left him. The suffocating anxiety about my nieces sharing a roof with that predator vanishes.
A fresh tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.
"Olive?" Lawrence keeps his voice low and steady. "What happened? You look like you want to collapse."
I lock my phone screen. The three Alphas standing around me look tense. Their protective instincts radiate off their skin, eager for a target.
"My sister texted me." I grip the phone tight. "She took her kids. She left her husband. They drove to my mother's house."
Finn frowns. "The brother-in-law. We knew he lived there. Is he the reason you ran?"
"He trapped me in the kitchen." The confession spills out of my mouth before I can stop it. "He waited for my sister to leave. He made disgusting comments about my new status. He told me an unbonded Omega begs for any cock they can get. He tried to grab me."
The temperature in the kitchen drops ten degrees.
The collective Alpha energy in the room darkens.
A vicious, unified snarl rips through the space.
Finn bares his teeth, his hands balling into fists.
Lawrence loses his charming playboy mask.
His brown eyes turn black with murderous intent.
Malcolm stills, a terrifying, silent rage rolling off his towering frame.
Even Victor shifts in the hallway. A feral growl vibrates in his chest. His hands grip the wooden doorframe hard enough to splinter the paint.
The suffocating dominance in the room makes my knees buckle.
"I smashed a mug into his face." I rush the words out, desperate to break the violent tension. "I fought him off. I escaped. He burned his face on hot coffee."
"I plan to burn a lot more than his face." Lawrence bares his teeth, his voice dripping with venom.
Finn turns toward the garage door. "I'll break his spine."
Panic spikes in my chest. A pack of millionaire athletes catching murder charges on my behalf ruins everything. I need a distraction. I need to change the subject right now to stop them from hunting Rick down.
"My stuff." I point a shaking finger toward the hallway. "My storage unit. I have to figure out my storage unit."
Finn stops in his tracks. He turns back to look at me.
"I keep my entire life locked inside a metal box across town.
" I force the panic into my voice, using the mundane mess of my apartment to distract them.
"All my furniture. All my clothes. I used a cheap padlock for the door, and I don't have the cash for next month's rent. I can't leave my things there."
The shift in topic works. The Alphas drop their focus on Rick. The murderous rage recedes, replaced by the immediate need to provide for their distressed Omega.
Malcolm takes a step. He stands in front of me. His towering frame blocks out the rest of the kitchen.
"You look exhausted." Malcolm keeps his voice low and steady.
"It's getting late, and we have morning skate tomorrow.
Just write down the access code and give us the locker key.
I'll hire a moving crew to head over there tomorrow after practice.
They can clear the whole unit out and bring everything here to the east wing. You won't have to lift a single box."
My independent Beta mindset screams in protest. Handing over the key surrenders the last shred of control I possess over my life. Taking their help forces me to admit I need a pack to survive.
But my exhausted bones beg for surrender. The idea of dragging boxes up a flight of stairs makes me want to weep.
Looking into Malcolm's dark, steady eyes, I see a shield. He wants to carry the burden for me.
I reach into my pocket. My fingers brush against the cold metal key.
Gripping the key, I hesitate for a second. I take a ragged breath and make the conscious choice to drop my armor.
I set the key on the marble island.
Malcolm picks the metal up and slips it into his pocket. "I've got it covered. Come on. Let's get you settled into a room."
Following Malcolm out of the kitchen, I walk down a wide hallway. Finn and Lawrence trail behind us. We pass a sprawling living room and head down a long corridor. The floors switch from dark hardwood to plush carpet.
"This is the east wing." Malcolm speaks over his shoulder. "We sleep on the opposite side of the house. You have this entire section to yourself."
He pushes open a thick oak door at the end of the hall. He steps aside, letting me walk in first.
The bedroom looks like a suite at a five-star hotel. A huge king-sized bed dominates the center of the room. Thick velvet curtains frame wide windows. An open doorway leads to an attached bathroom of white marble.
Finn stands in the hallway. He stays out of the room, respecting the boundary. "Get some sleep, Olive."
They pull the thick oak door shut. The latch clicks into place.
Absolute quiet wraps around me. I take three steps into the room and drop my duffel bag on the carpet.
My knees buckle. I kick my boots off and peel my stiff denim jeans down my legs, kicking them aside.
Sleeping in street clothes sounds like torture.
Leaving my oversized sweater and underwear on, I crawl up the mattress and crash into the pillows.
The plush bedding feels like a cloud.
Sleep drags me under. The dark, dreamless void swallows my exhaustion. I stay buried in that deep oblivion for hours, dead to the world, letting my battered body shut down and repair itself.
When I crack my eyes open again, sunlight filters through the thick blackout curtains. The dim morning glow paints the room in soft shadows. April weather warms the air outside, signaling the start of a new season.
Waking up brings a brand new nightmare.
The suppressants wore out of my system while I slept. Sleeping in a warm, secure house after days of freezing in a cramped car stripped away my remaining stress.
My body feels safe. A safe body stops fighting the inevitable.
The late-presenting Omega Heat crashes into me hard and fast. The "Bunnies in Spring" jokes the nurses used to tell make terrifying sense now.
I kick the duvet off my legs.
My skin burns. A fever cooks my blood, turning my veins into liquid fire. I pant through my open mouth.
A thick flood of slick pours from my center.
It coats my inner thighs and dampens the expensive cotton sheets.
The raw, desperate ache in my pelvis turns into a demanding throb.
My clit swells, aching for friction. My breasts feel hypersensitive.
The fabric of my oversized sweater grazing my nipples sends agonizing jolts of electricity straight down to my core.
I need a nest.
A frantic, restless energy consumes my mind. I scramble off the mattress, my bare feet hitting the plush carpet just long enough to raid the room.
I run to the closet and pull down three extra wool blankets. I throw them onto the king-sized bed.
I drag the duvet into a thick ring around the edges. I stack the large down pillows to form a protective wall, enclosing the center. I pull the wool blanket over my shoulders, sinking into the middle of the soft fortress.
It feels wrong.
A frustrated whine tears from my throat. I punch the nearest pillow.