Chapter 8
Eight
Otillie-James
Y ou didn’t rescue animals for a hobby without befriending a vet or two, and Anakie Remorne had quickly crossed the line from professional acquaintance to friend. As I stood Spartacus on the metal table in front of her, she was trying hard not to laugh as I explained that I’d been picked up for cockfighting, then been busted by Truett and Sonny for having a veritable farm at the house.
Anakie was a few years older than me, a Beta in her late twenties, and she ran the vet clinic with her husband Rex, a six-foot-six former Australian rugby player, who was one hundred percent Alpha. They had an Omega and another Alpha at home, who would all tease me just as mercilessly next time I came to dinner.
“You should’ve called me. I could’ve picked up the rooster and treated him, rather than putting that on your new… friend.” Unlike Truett and Sonny, Anakie didn’t think I was an idiot. However, when I’d brought the kittens in for their vaccinations, I’d mentioned Lancelot. Rex and Brock—Anakie’s other Alpha—had appeared at my house that night and “talked” to him. I didn’t know what had been said, but I assumed it was to tell him that they could murder him and no one would ever suspect a thing.
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, I didn’t have a lot of time to give instructions, considering I was in the back of a cop car. By the time Truett bailed me out, Lancelot had already patched him up, or I would have brought him in myself.”
Anakie hummed, but listened to Spartacus’s chest and checked his lacerations, giving him the full work-up. I couldn’t do half the rescues I did without her help. I wasn’t an endless fountain of money, despite Citrine giving me a credit card and telling me that I could use it for whatever, whenever. I really didn’t want to take her money. I had a work ethic, even if this wasn’t a typical nine-to-five job.
I worked at a doggy daycare three days a week to pay for most of the food costs for the animals, but medical expenses were another thing altogether. Sonny would probably give me the money in a heartbeat, but I didn’t want to rely on him for that. I’d hate for him to think I was a gold-digger. I’d heard it enough when I was in high school—how my dad was only with Citrine for her money, that we were trash, trying to slither our way into polite society. All that crap.
It was complete bullshit. My dad adored Citrine. He would love her if she had nothing. He’d lie down on a fire ant nest for her. Fight a grizzly. Even wear a tuxedo.
Finally, Anakie wrapped her stethoscope back around her neck. “He’s in generally good health, considering his lifestyle before you rescued him. I’ll give you antibiotics for his wounds, but you should still keep an eye on them. If they start to weep or smell bad, bring him back. You know the drill.” She peeked around the doorway toward the waiting room, before leaning closer. “Mrs. Pilzner and her schnauzer are out there, so be quick. How’s your stepbrother reacting to your new roommate? I bet that came as a surprise.”
I shrugged, because honestly, Sonny had been pretty chilled out about it. “Not bad. I gave Lancelot a haircut, and he shaved yesterday, which makes him look a lot less…”
“Wild?” she supplied, and I nodded. I swallowed hard, hoping Anakie wouldn’t read too much into it.
More than just looking more civilized, Lancelot now looked handsome. So fucking handsome. Battered and scarred, but instead of making him less attractive, it somehow made him beautiful. Like he was a brass statue that had once been shiny and new, but now he’d patinated into something breathtaking.
I didn’t know his story; I hadn’t pried. But the amount of damage he had on his body, especially his face and chest, told me he’d been through something. That he needed more help than I could give him. It was more than just needing a hand up, a warm place to stay, and food in his belly. It felt like he also needed a professional to heal the wounds festering below the surface.
I knew he was wounded there too. It was in the way he’d watched me last night, his gaze as injured as the skin of his cheeks. And his very fine chest. And abs.
Man, his abs.
“What’s that face?” Anakie asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
I wiped my expression clear. “What face? I better go. I might introduce Spartacus to Gert today, so he has a bit of company.” Gert the goose was grumpy, but she could be a real mother hen when she wanted to be. She’d once adopted two baby birds. And a baby bunny that had appeared from god knows where. I’d even had to steal one of the foster kittens back, after she’d managed to herd it into her nest. She wouldn’t take Spartacus’s shit, but she’d take him in.
Anakie’s snort was sympathetic as she stroked Spartacus’s head. “Good luck, buddy. You’ll need it with that old battle-ax.” We talked a little longer about everyone else’s needs, and I got more kitten formula.
Then, as I was leaving, Rex appeared. “Come for dinner this week. We’ll put something on the grill and have a few beers. You can even bring your mate Lancelot.” He grinned, showing dimples that I knew had suckered Anakie in the first time they met. “We’ll even bake you a cake with a nail file in it… You know, for next time.”
I flipped him the bird, very subtly since there were other people here, and I’d already embarrassed my family enough for one day. “Better come to mine instead, so Anakie and Sophie can get white-girl wasted with me.” Sophie was their Omega. “Besides, Sonny’s staying at my place too, and he’ll be sad if he’s left home alone. Also, my dad got one of those Blackstone things before he left, and I'm pretty sure he said I was supposed to use it.”
Rex looked horrified, muttering about seasoning and regular use, like outdoor cooking was a religion. Shaking my head and promising to call, I paid my bill, got the meds, and headed back to the estate.
After dropping Spartacus back home, I immediately left again to run errands. Lance and Akio weren’t at home, and I tried not to worry. He was a grown-ass, capable man. He didn’t need me to coddle him. It was good that he was leaving the house.
But still, I felt anxious.
I distracted myself by going to the tractor supply store on the outskirts of town to pick up my weekly feed order. I also grabbed a cheesecake from Jill’s CheeseCheeks, which was a bizarre name, but they made a Basque cheesecake that could make you weep tears of joy.
When my phone rang on my trip home, I almost didn’t answer it. Truett’s name flashed across the screen, and I was already rolling my eyes. “Hello, you’ve reached Finding Screamo, South Carolina’s only sex store and bait shop. Unfortunately, we can’t come to the phone right now?—”
“ Otillie-James ,” he said in an exasperated tone.
I snorted. “Oh, Truett, it’s you. What can I do for you?” I’d never admit it, but I’d always lived for the snarky relationship I had with Sonny’s best friend. He challenged me. He didn’t look at me like I was a vulnerable piece of glass, the way my Dad—and even Sonny—did. He looked at me like I was a honey badger about to gnaw off his hand. I loved that, even if he did drive me insane.
“I need you to come down to my office today. I’ve got a meeting with the assistant DA, and I was hoping you’d come with me—maybe give him that look, like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, and convince Strat to change his mind about prosecuting you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Strat Wilmington?” There couldn’t be that many men named Strat, even in the South. “I was friends with his little sister Elizabeth before she moved to California.” Elizabeth Wilmington was beautiful. An all-American kind of beautiful, like a doll with a perfect heart-shaped face, a button nose, and dazzling blue eyes.
But she listened to metalcore music and hated the world, high school, her parents, and anything to do with high society. We’d bonded immediately, outcasts of the upper class. No one had been more surprised than me when she’d designated early as an Omega, then immediately ran away to California to be a model.
While I’d never out her, I was fairly sure she was gay. It was part of why she’d rebelled so hard. If being poor and from the sticks was a reason to be ridiculed, being a lesbian and an Omega would have been abhorrent to the society matrons. She’d been expected to marry young, produce blue-blooded Alphas, and live miserably ever after, just like they had.
I was glad she’d gotten out.
Truett grumbled. “Yes, that Strat. He prosecutes for the district attorney’s office now, and he’s got the animal cruelty case.”
Well, that was a relief. I’d met Strat a couple of times during my friendship with Elizabeth. He was around the same age as Sonny and Truett, but they’d gone to different private schools. Elizabeth had been kicked out of that school for smoking in the bathrooms, which was a well-kept secret. Publically, her parents had just suggested that the new school was better suited to her ambitions. Her ambition had once been to overthrow a government, so I wasn’t quite sure how another snooty private school would have helped that.
Either way, I’d found Strat to be nice. Elizabeth had adored him, and she’d tended to hate everyone else, and even barely tolerated me, so if that wasn’t an excellent reference, nothing was. He’d been polite and welcoming, basically the exact opposite of his parents.
I knew he’d gone on to become a lawyer, but half our graduating class had gone on to be a lawyer, or business consultant, or a banker. Some big-money bullshit that was generational, rather than earned.
What I hadn’t realized was that he knew Truett, or that they operated in the same circles. I hadn’t spoken to Elizabeth in far too long. I made a mental note to catch up with her, maybe send her a message.
“Well, that’s good news. He must know I’m not out here killing chickens for fun. So why do you sound like someone just pissed in your Wheaties, True?”
He growled down the phone line, and the noise made something tighten low in my abdomen. I squashed down the feeling. I was only allowed one inappropriate crush, and right now, I was pushing my luck with Lancelot. And Sonny.
Who was I fucking kidding? Truett had been a frequent star in my dirty dreams for a long time, not that I’d ever admit it to him or anyone else. Ever.
“I just don’t like the guy, that’s all.”
Hmm. I had a suspicion that it was more than that, but Truett was a surly bastard, so maybe it was that Strat rubbed him the wrong way.
“Can you make it?”
I looked at the cheesecake box, knowing it would be a giant waste of time to go all the way home to put it in the fridge, only to trek back down the freeway again. “Fine.”
Twenty-five minutes later, we stood outside the DA’s office downtown. Truett was dressed in a beautifully tailored three-piece suit that made him look delectable, if it wasn’t for the scowl on his face.
“If you aren’t careful, the wind will change, and your face will look like a cat’s butthole forever,” I teased him lightly. “You don’t have the personality to pull off a butthole mouth and still get laid.”
Giving me an annoyed look, he gently nudged me into the foyer and past the security desk. The guard eyed the box of cheesecake suspiciously, but seemed to decide it wasn’t anything nefarious.
Jabbing the button for the elevator, Truett looked at the box with annoyance. “I can’t believe you brought a fucking cheesecake to a meeting with the person who literally wants to put you in jail.”
I shrugged. “Citrine said it was polite to bring a gift anywhere you go.” I didn’t add that the whole thing had originally been for me. Better he thought I was just embracing Southern hospitality. His expression said he knew I was full of shit, but fortunately, I was saved by the elevator doors opening.
There was a reception desk, the assistant behind it a stunning redhead. She gave us a bright smile, her eyes lingering on Truett. “Mr. Heathstone, welcome. Mr. Wilmington will be with you shortly. Can I get either of you coffee, water?”
I shook my head, though she wasn’t even looking at me. Truett gave her his most charming smile, the one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, thank you. We’ll wait over here for Wilmington.” With light fingers on my spine, he directed me toward the leather couches that were too low and hard to be even remotely comfortable. Taking the cheesecake from my hands, he rested it on his own lap. “I understand that you know Strat, but please, let me do the talking. Don’t mention anything incriminating. If he asks you a direct question, try and keep your answers as vague as possible.”
I rolled my eyes. I’d do my best, though. I wanted this to all be over just as much as he did, if not more. It was my criminal record on the line, which could affect my plans for the future. My dreams of my own farm, where I could take as many animals as I could. Where I could finally put my connections to good use for once.
Finally, Strat appeared, the look on his face warm but professional. He was handsome, his blue eyes almost mirthful. Didn’t seem very lawyer-ish, but Truett was my baseline, and he was a surly bastard at the best of times.
“Truett, come on in. Bring your client.”
Maybe Strat didn’t remember me after all. He led us through the spacious hallways, filled with bland art and beige carpet that must’ve been a nightmare for the janitorial staff. Finally, we reached an office with Strat’s name on the door, and he indicated we should enter.
“Please, grab a seat.” Shutting the door, his smile got wider. “When I saw the name in the case files, I thought there was no way this could be the same girl who was friends with my little sister, but how many Otillie-James Balers could there be in the world?”
Truett raised a brow. “If we’re lucky, only one.” He pulled out the file from his briefcase. “Let’s get down to business?—”
But Strat ignored him. “Is that a cheesecake from Jill’s CheeseCheeks? That place is my dirty little secret. It’s around the corner from my gym, and I’ve definitely undone my hard work on the way home more than once. Their Nutter Butter cheesecake…” He drifted off, longing on his face, and I laughed.
Opening the lid of the box, I showed him the half cheesecake. “Unfortunately, it isn’t Nutter Butter, but you’re welcome to a piece of my Basque cheesecake.”
He clapped his hands together with a grin. Man, did he get more handsome in the last few years? He’d always been very pretty, in the same way his sister was. Great cheekbones, golden skin. He was a little like Truett in that way.
“I’d like that, Otillie-James. Every day is a cheat day if there’s cheesecake involved—wouldn’t you say so, Truett?” Walking over to a coffee machine that sat on an antique side table, Strat pulled out three small plates and teaspoons. Of course he’d have a coffee machine and plates in his office. Why not?
“I’m a bit of a coffee snob, so this was the first thing I bought for my office when I got the assistant district attorney job. Can’t burn the midnight oil if you aren’t properly caffeinated.”
He placed everything on his desk, and I used the knife he’d produced from somewhere to slice up the cheesecake and move it messily to each plate. I wasn’t going to win Hostess of the Year anytime soon—yeah, that was a real thing down here. A way for Omegas to woo the Alphas. Thankfully, I’d only been dragged to a couple, though the canapés were usually good, and everyone generally ignored me, so it wasn’t too painful.
After passing a slice to Strat, then another to Truett—who begrudgingly took it—I sat back down. “Sorry. I was on my way home with it in the car when Truett called, and I didn’t want to waste it.”
Strat groaned around his fork. I totally got the food porn thing now. Watching his tongue flick out and get a piece of cheesecake from his lip was absurdly attractive.
Clearing his throat, Truett eyed me, his expression telling me to behave. What did he think I was going to do? Climb across the desk and offer myself up for Strat to use as a plate? Unlikely.
Though that one might go in the Flick Folder for later, once I was home alone.
Strat gave me a warm look that told me he knew exactly where my thoughts were, and I suddenly realized why he was so different from Truett. Physically, they were quite similar: stacked and strong, wearing the hell out of their tailored suits. No, it was their auras that were different.
Strat Wilmington was an Omega. An Omega district attorney? Hell yeah. A sexy-as-fuck district attorney.
“So, if you’re amiable to doing a little work on your break,” Truett snarked, shaking me from my lustful reverie, “could we talk about the charges against my client here?”
Strat met my eyes, and I thought perhaps he was laughing at Truett. “Of course, Truett. I haven’t forgotten that you’re all work and no play. The evidence isn’t circumstantial, but I also know that if this goes to court, you’ll be able to drag enough character witnesses from the woodwork to have her declared a saint, my own family included.” He lifted his chin in my direction. “Otillie-James, patron saint of strays and lone wolves.” I flushed, but he continued. “So how about you tell me what you were doing there?”
“You already have her statement,” Truett argued.
Shrugging, Strat forked another bite of cheesecake into his mouth. Chewing slowly, he just smirked. “Be that as it may, I’d like to hear it directly from her—if that’s okay with you, Counsel.”
Truett looked like he was going to argue again, and I placed my hand on his thigh to stop him. It was a hard thigh. Obviously, he didn’t skip leg day.
Wait, what am I doing again? I really had to get my libido under control, before I ended up cellmates with someone named Barb the Bitchmaker.
“It all started with some kittens…”