CHAPTER TEN - BIRDIE
I come back to myself slowly, one aching, trembling muscle at a time. I don’t know if I actually passed out or if my brain just went offline, but I have a lump on the back of my head, and the bed is drenched in pudding.
Goddamn motherfucking doctor.
I hate using that word when I think of him. He’s Reeves, the sadistic, twisted asshole who buys up omegas and tortures them in the name of science.
I bite back a snarl as I peel myself off the floor and stare down at the remains of my dinner tray.
Only the bottle of water survived, the rest of the food spread across the comforter in a creamy, crumbly smear.
When my hands stop shaking, I stack the bowls on the tray and place it carefully on the nightstand.
Stripping the bed takes more effort than I want to admit, and I wince at the matching wet patch on the front of my sweatshirt.
When I’ve scooped up the worst of the mess, I carry it over to the pile of drop sheets.
At the rate I’m going, I’ll have cycled through all of the pack’s bedding before I manage to make my escape.
Escape. My first and only objective, even before I was sold to Reeves.
But how can I do that when I have a goddamn tripwire attached to my tongue?
Snatching up one of the drop sheets, I peel off the ruined sweats and wrap it around myself.
All I want to do is try and sleep off the throbbing ache in my head, but I know I won’t last long in the cold attic without clothes or proper bedding.
Grabbing the ruined sweats, I remove the attic key from my pocket and roll them into the ball.
After making sure all my scars are covered, I head out into the hallway, the drop sheet trailing behind me in a dusty whisper.
I never felt more like a ghost than the moment when Axel looks up from the kitchen table, his eyes widening in surprise.
There’s an intensity in that look, especially as it sweeps me from head to toe, lingering on my bare feet.
I avert my gaze to study the kitchen. It’s rustic, like the rest of the cabin, but every surface gleams. There aren’t many knickknacks or personal touches, but it still has a warm glow, and I wonder what it would be like to sit down at the sturdy table and have another bowl of that chicken soup.
Something so simple, but it’s still hard for me to imagine.
The compound had a dining hall, but it never lived up to the fancy name.
A dark, cinderblock building, it always smelled of burned food that had usually run out before the omegas made it to the front of the line.
Alphas needed lots of sustenance to fight the good fight, while omegas could survive on air, supposedly.
When my gaze returns to Axel, I realize he has a cloth spread out in front of him, a rifle broken down into separate parts for cleaning.
My nose twitches at the familiar scent of gun oil, solvent, and alpha musk.
As usual, it brings back other, more disturbing memories of the compound, but I push them aside.
One thing my time in the lab taught me was how to compartmentalize one shitty set of memories from another.
“Birdie? Everything okay?”
I don’t know how he can smell like a forest drenched in rain when he’s only a few feet from a crackling fire.
I also can’t help noticing that the firelight plays over his arms, illuminating every lethal groove and bulge.
I can feel my pulse flutter in my throat, and I hold out the ruined sweatshirt, my gaze dropping to stare at the table. “Sorry.”
It’s only a whisper, but even that much makes me flinch.
I can feel his gaze on my face, but he doesn’t say anything as he reaches over and takes the sweatshirt out of my hand.
“It’s okay,” he says after studying the stain.
“Accidents happen. Unless this is just your way of avoiding my chicken soup?”
I frown, glancing up through my lashes. Instead of a scowl, I’m surprised to find a hint of a smile on his stern face. “No.”
“Good, because that’s about as fancy as I get when it comes to cooking.” I shift warily at the warmth in his tone, and he puts the cleaning rod down and nods to the opposite side of the table. “You want a seat? I can get you some more food, if you’re hungry.”
I shake my head, gesturing awkwardly to the sheet wrapped around me. Clothes have to come before food, no matter how badly my stomach aches to be filled. Axel studies me a moment longer, then leans back in his chair, his gaze turning towards the living room. “Colt?”
His summons is met with a sleepy snort, and then Colt’s bleary blue eyes appear over the back of the couch. “Boss?” His gaze slides my way, lighting up with a wicked gleam as he looks me over. “Oh, hey, Baggage. I didn’t realize we were having a slumber party.”
“We’re not,” Axel says with a hint of warning in his tone. “Birdie needs fresh clothes. Get your lazy ass up and fetch her some.”
Colt is off the couch before Axel has finished speaking, a devilish grin on his face as he slides up behind me.
For the first time his scent isn’t clouded by rum, and I’m surprised by how potent his natural fragrance is.
A guy with his looks shouldn’t be blessed with warm, earthy undertones that make you think of sun-dried laundry.
“My vote is still on a slumber party,” he says as he brushes a finger over my cheek. I catch a gleam of banana pudding on the tip before he puts it in his mouth with a smacking, sucking sound. “And look, Baggage brought snacks.”
I roll my eyes, but Axel’s authority is already swelling in the room. “Stow it, Sergeant!” he barks, folding his arms across his broad chest. His eyes are as hard as flint as he subdues his packmate. “You’re behind on laundry duty. Washed, dried, and folded before you go to bed.”
Given the way he smells, the irony brings a tiny smile to my lips, but Colt is too outraged to notice. Axel, of course, catches my slight slip, his head tilting in curiosity.
“Come on, boss,” Colt whines, leaning against me as if I’m all that’s keeping him from collapsing dramatically to the floor. “I can’t lift my arms after all that shoveling.”
“You barely made it twenty feet,” Axel scoffs.
“I was laying the foundation for tomorrow’s epic effort,” Colt explains and when I snort, he flashes me a pair of soulful puppy eyes. “My arms are so broke, I can’t even tuck myself into bed without help.”
“Bedding as well,” Axel goes on, ignoring his dramatics. “And make sure you use the good detergent.”
“But boss!”
Axel fixes him with a hard, narrowed stare. “One more word and I’ll make you iron them, too.”
Colt slumps towards the laundry room with an aggrieved sound and Axel huffs a laugh as he leans back in his chair.
“Pretty sure we don’t even have an iron, but that threat seems to work every time.
” He waves at the nearest chair again. “Please, Birdie. Sit, because it might take a while for him to get his act together.”
I’m tempted to smirk, because as annoying as Colt can be, there’s something vaguely puppy-like about him.
There’s no mistaking what he is – a six-foot alpha with alarmingly fast reflexes – but his attention isn’t all bad.
Although, I’m not stupid enough to mistake the fluttering lashes and lingering touches as anything other than casual seduction.
We’re snowed in, Colt is horny, and flirting seems to be his version of a personality.
“Colt’s harmless,” Axel says when I’ve finally settled on the chair, the sheet still clutched tightly around me. “If he steps over the line again, I’ll yank him back, and he’ll end up with more than a busted door. But he won’t. He’s just grieving Charlie, and your attention seems to distract him.”
I shrug before I remember it’s my dead brother he’s talking about, and I shouldn’t look so unfazed by his mate’s grief.
But Axel seems distracted, his gaze drifting until it settles on the crackling fireplace.
“None of us have taken it well, to be honest. Charlie was our world. That kind of loss changes everything.”
I sit quietly, and it’s not only because my throat feels so raw.
It’s obvious they’re all grieving, and for the first time I have to wonder how that feels.
Not the sense of loss – I know that only too well – but to be on the receiving end of all that longing.
Looking at Axel, I can’t help but compare this brooding, unsmiling man to his portrait in the attic.
The contrast is so brutal, I feel something shift uncomfortably in my chest.
“The thing is, Birdie,” he says, his gaze drifting back from the fireplace, “we’ve been given a mission.”
I raise my brows and his gaze sharpens. It’s as if saying the words aloud has made them real, his back straightening and his hands going automatically to the rifle in front of him.
I watch him reassemble the pieces like it’s second nature and I’m instantly annoyed with myself for leaving Hog’s knife upstairs.
Not that I think Axel is going to shoot me, but it’s always a bad idea to forget that alphas are predators, and never more dangerous than when they’re wounded.
“Three weeks from now, maybe a little less,” he goes on as he packs up his cleaning supplies. “You think you can put up with us for that long?”
I shrug, because it’s not like I’m going to pull out my escape plan blueprint and walk him through it.
“Yeah,” he sighs, placing the rifle on the table. “I guess we haven’t exactly given you much of a choice.”
There’s a clear note of regret in his voice and I push away from the table. If he’s about to offer me some half-assed apology, I don’t want to hear it. Words are simple; it’s actions that wound.
Gathering the sheet carefully around me, I get to my feet, but I’m still woozy from hitting the nightstand, and I stumble against the edge of the table.
Axel is immediately upright, his arm extended like he plans to grab me.
I lurch away from it like it’s a raised fist, and something painful crosses his face, making my heart thud.
“Jesus, Birdie.” His stricken gaze is pinned to my collarbones. “Maggie said you were hurt, but I didn’t think…”
Ah, shit. The sheet has slipped enough to expose a few of my scars, and they happen to be some of my more graphic ones. If I had a voice, maybe I could distract him, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away, even when I struggle to cover myself.
“Some of those look really fresh.” His hand lifts again before he clenches it into a fist. “Is that burn on your shoulder from a fucking cigarette lighter?”
Reeves’ goon was actually going for my cheek, but my elbow to his chin deflected him, and my shoulder took the brunt of his anger.
I grimace at the memory, but Axel is already moving around the table, heading in my direction.
I stumble out of reach, and he lurches to a halt.
“Okay. I won’t touch you. Just… Fuck, Birdie. ”
He breathes loudly through his nose, and I watch curiously as he bows his head and folds his arms tightly against his chest. He seems to be struggling with something, and I find my gaze drifting back to those baby hairs on his thick neck.
I can see the line of his jaw clenching, and I move uneasily as he lifts his head and meets my eyes.
“You know your way around something like this?” He gestures to the gun on the table and I nod. “Good. You show me you can handle it, and I’ll give you a weapon of your own.”
I narrow my eyes, because good soldiers like him don’t just hand strangers their guns, especially when they’re living under the same roof.
He must read the skepticism in my face because he shakes his head, his face grim.
“What I’m saying is that you’re safe here, Birdie.
No more bullshit from Colt, no more creeping around like it’s enemy territory.
You have your space, your own weapon, and anything else you need.
And if you want to stay here post-mission, the attic is yours, or we can take you with us off the mountain. Help you start up somewhere new.”
I stare at him, not because I’m shocked by the offer, but because he really seems to believe it.
There’s a fervent glow in his gaze, and I can feel the intensity of his words prickling against my skin.
It’s not a command, but all of Axel’s considerable authority is bent on making me believe.
I’m safe. I have choices. The Lawson Pack is invested in my future happiness.
Fuck, maybe Reeves was right. The way to fix a broken pack really might be to wave a damaged omega under their noses.
“Fresh clothes,” Colt announces, breaking the tension.
He saunters across the room, a stack of neatly folded laundry in his arms. “Two sets, with more on the way. Clean sheets and a blanket, extra fragrant.” He holds them out, a devilish glint in his eyes as he looks me over.
“Want me to wash that sheet as well? I can peel it off you if your hands are full.”
“Take that stuff up to her door,” Axel barks, staring him down. “Then clean up your own room. There’s plenty more laundry for you to do in there.”
Colt’s face falls, but he doesn’t argue, shooting me a wink as he heads to the stairs. Once he’s gone, Axel nods towards the kitchen. “More soup?”
It’s a crazy segue, but my stomach rumbles on cue, and he chuckles. “Should be still warm. Help yourself. Goodnight, Birdie.”
I nod my head, even though it feels as scrambled as that banana pudding I flung across the attic.
Because if Axel is to be believed, I don’t need to plan my escape.
I don’t even need to sleep with one eye on the door.
I can eat his soup, wear Colt’s clothes, and accumulate all the weapons I want until I decide to catch a ride down the mountain.
For someone who’s never been given anything that didn’t come with a blistering sting in the tail, it’s a dream come true.
But they’re not the enemy.
They’re overbearing, annoying, and way too alpha, but the real threat is the one out there. The asshole who is pulling my strings and quite literally pushing my buttons.
For what? As a favor to the general?
I don’t believe that for a second. Reeves never does anything that doesn’t advance his own twisted plans. Maybe he wants something from the military, but I’ll bet my last breath that he wants something from me, too.