Chapter 2
Two
Truett
I n the six years since the day I first met Otillie-James, I’d learned a few things about my best friend’s stepsister.
One, she had a heart that was way too big and full of empathy, and it got her into more trouble than any single undesignated girl should be able to achieve.
Two, that empathy didn’t often extend to the human species, and especially not to me. Otillie-James and I butted heads more often than not, so Sonny was always between us, playing mediator.
Three, she was stubborn as hell. So I knew with absolute certainty that when I told her to wait for me, she’d do the exact opposite.
I would bet my license to practice law in the state of South Carolina that she’d be out the door of the station any minute now, just to spite me. It was why I just sat in the parking lot, leaning against my Maserati—which she’d once called a giant cock on wheels—and waited for her to come to me.
Satisfaction hummed along my veins when the doors opened, and out came one Otillie-James Baler in wrinkled clothes, a plastic bag of her possessions clutched in her hand. When she looked out and saw me, her eyes narrowed.
Stepping back, I opened the passenger door. “Get in the car, Otillie-James.”
She lifted her chin, and I could see the argument brewing in her pretty mind. I gave her my stony Alpha expression that said I would not be swayed, and that she was either getting in this car herself, or I was picking her up and stuffing her in.
Sighing heavily, she stomped over. “I can make my own way home, Truett.”
Shaking my head, I herded her toward the open door and waited there until she’d buckled herself in. She glared at me like a petulant child, and I shut the door with a little more oomph than I normally would. Moving around the hood, I briefly wondered if she’d make a break for it. However, she showed a little bit of maturity and stayed in the car as I slid behind the wheel.
When her father and stepmother had gone off to Alaska, they’d made Sonny promise to keep an eye on her, which he had. Of course, that meant we had to keep an eye on her. She was twenty-two, for Christ’s sake, not an infant. Though I guess if last night had proved anything, it was that she might actually need a babysitter.
Finally, the silence became too much. “Remind me again what the fuck you were thinking?” She just turned to stare out the window. “This is serious, Otillie-James.”
“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, her eyes flashing in my direction. “Tillie, or OJ. Hell, even Juice, if you have to. But stop full-naming me like you’re my dad.”
“Fine, OJ.” My sarcasm was in full swing. “If they send this to trial, and you get found guilty, you’re looking at jail time, at worst. At best, community service and a criminal record.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You were busted with a fucking chicken at a cockfight, OJ. That’s like being busted with a suitcase full of drugs and telling the cops you were just holding it for a friend. It’s hard to prove that you weren’t there for the wrong reasons, and your pretty little face and innocent eyes aren’t going to sway a judge.”
She was seething. “I’ll get a good lawyer. A lawyer who doesn’t think I’m some stupid kid who doesn’t think through her actions. A lawyer who’ll bring up the fact that I tried to get those damn fights shut down for weeks before I took matters into my own hands.”
I growled as I pulled off into the gated community that held the Chalmers Estate. It was always like this with her. “You’ll do no such fucking thing. If I let another lawyer handle your case, they’ll fuck it up, and you’ll end up in jail. Then I’ll have to explain to Buck why his daughter is the fresh meat at the Women’s Correctional!”
As I pulled up to their gate, OJ almost launched herself out the door. “Here’s fine. I can walk up the driveway without getting into trouble.” I had anecdotal evidence that wasn’t true at all.
I narrowed my eyes at her. She sounded a little too eager to get rid of me, which set my lawyer—and general OJ-wrangling—instincts onto high alert. So I relocked the doors and pressed the gate open button. “I’ll drive you to the door. I insist.”
She ground her teeth so loudly, I could hear it. “ Fine. ”
I tried to keep my amusement locked down as I pulled up the driveway, and the first sign that maybe something was amiss was a goat eating Citrine’s azaleas. OJ’s eyes went frantically wide, but I pretended not to notice all the goats as we drove past, and she relaxed a little.
As we pulled up in front of the house, and I unlocked the doors, OJ was out like her ass was on fire. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll message you about the court case. Thanks again.” She slammed the door, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. As if I was just about to drive away now.
For as long as I’d known her, Otillie-James’s emotions had played out across her face like a children’s picture book. She sucked at poker, but would have been an incredible mime.
I lazily climbed from the driver’s seat and followed her up to the door. She whirled around on her toes, looking guilty as hell. “What are you doing?”
I happened to be a great poker player, so I just looked at her blankly. “I thought I’d come in, so we could discuss your case, and how things are going to progress from here.”
Screwing up her nose, she stood in front of the door. “Can’t we video call or something?”
Finally at the end of my patience, I gave her a hard look. “Cut the crap, OJ. You look more guilty than a priest in a whorehouse. You know I’m getting inside, whether you come up with a million lame excuses or not, so better to just get it over with now.” She looked like she was going to protest. “Or you know, maybe I could just drop by and visit some other time. I still have a key. I can just let myself in.”
She looked both furious and frustrated. It was an attractive look on her pretty features. “Whatever happened to the right to privacy, Mr. Lawyer?”
I grinned. “Went out the window when you got caught at a cockfight. I’ve messaged Sonny too. He should be over after his shift.”
She sighed heavily, her shoulders sinking. “Fine. Don’t freak out.” As with every time we verbally sparred, I felt both elated at winning our little tussle, and achingly guilty at her look of defeat.
Pushing open the door, the first thing I noticed was a three-legged dog with its tongue sticking out the side of its mouth unnaturally. It had bulging eyes and fur that was dishwater brown and wiry. It looked like it had died at some point, been buried in a pet cemetery, then someone had dug up its corpse and reanimated it.
“Doodles!” OJ cooed, scooping up the ugly beast. “Let me get your medicine.”
Another dog bounded in, though bounding might have been an exaggeration. It hobbled in, too round to do more than waddle and wag its tail enthusiastically. Its wagging tail had tiny fat rolls around the base.
The more I looked, the more animals I saw. A small bird with no feathers that looked like something served up at a Michelin star restaurant. A cat with one ear, one eye, and a tail that jutted out at a weird angle.
And is that a fucking pig?
“What on earth…”
A man strolled into the room, holding a bandaged-up rooster, his eyes running over the full length of OJ’s body. “I was worried. I was going to call the ‘Whoopsie’ number.”
My senses tingled. A Beta.
I stepped in front of OJ defensively. “Who the fuck are you?”
The sound of OJ’s sigh as she stepped around me pissed me off. “No need, Lancelot. Someone ratted me out and called it on my behalf.”
I was mildly amused that I was the person she had this… man call, if she was in trouble. “I repeat, who the fuck are you?”
He might be a Beta, but he was as big as an Alpha. His clothes were stained and had holes, and he had facial hair that wasn’t even a little bit tamed. The beard made it hard to guess his age; he could’ve been anywhere from twenty to fifty, but I’d seen enough unhoused people on the streets to know that this guy had come from there, and recently.
OJ turned and scowled at me. “Watch your tone, Truett. This is Lancelot. My temporary housemate.”
I ground my back teeth together. “Lancelot looks like he lives under Wildcat Creek Bridge.”
The guy in question stared me down, no embarrassment or anything else in his expression. Stone cold. It took some serious balls—or something seriously broken inside a brain—to be able to hold an Alpha stare like that as a Beta.
The same couldn’t be said for Otillie-James. Her cheeks were flushed with outraged anger. “And what if he did, you self-righteous asshat? Lancelot needed a safe place to sleep, a good shower, and access to food. This house has ten bedrooms, Truett. I had space, and he needed a hand.”
I hissed a frustrated noise. “You know nothing about this guy. He could be a serial killer.” I looked over at him. “No offense.” His expression didn’t change, but he did raise an eyebrow. “He could have raped and murdered you in your sleep. People aren’t all good. In fact, I’d argue that most people are opportunistic animals, who are one unchecked, impulsive thought away from being the worst humanity has to offer. You can’t just invite people to come and live with you, OJ. The world isn’t a damn Disney movie.”
“Don’t patronize me.” She whirled away and strode over to Lancelot, grabbing the chicken from his arms. “How’s he doing?”
Lancelot looked down at OJ, his face softening from its cold mask. “I thought he was too far gone. I patched him up, kept him somewhere safe and warm, and this morning, he was alert and hungry. If you have any antibiotics lying about, it might be worth trying to sneak some medicine into his food. Some of those wounds were deep.”
The chicken didn’t look like a killer. It didn’t look like a justifiable reason to end up in prison, either.
OJ nodded. “We’ll keep him isolated for a few more days, and then we might try introducing him to Gert. She won’t take his shit, and I’m hoping with some food and safety, he’ll integrate easily. Sometimes creatures just need a chance.”
At that, the girl, the man, and the rooster turned to stare at me, like I was the one being unreasonable here. Sonny needed to hurry the fuck up so I wasn’t outnumbered.
Sighing like I was the most disappointing creature on earth, OJ turned and moved toward the kitchen. “Is everything okay? The kittens?”
“When it was clear you wouldn’t be back, I did their night feeds,” the Beta told her, and I followed along behind them, my eyes narrowed. I didn’t know who the fuck this guy was, but I was going to find out.
And what kittens?