This Thing of Ours

Chapter 1

1

“ A llison, I’m Detective Jack Hill. I’m here to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” he says carefully.

For a man his size, with his strong, pressing designation, it must take a lot of practice to maintain his even-keeled demeanor, but given his job, it’s not surprising. He even manages to keep a straight face when he finds me sitting in what should be his seat in the interrogation room, making him take the one in front of the camera that’s undoubtedly set on record .

Hill walks slowly around the table, getting close enough to touch my shoulder as he passes, but then his presence isn’t the issue. It’s his scent. It’s almost suffocating in the way it floods the room.

“Sorry, before we start, can you open a window?” I wave my hand around, trying to disperse his sharp citrus scent. It burns my throat in warning.

“Of course, sorry,” he says, going to the small window and unwinding it a couple of inches. The fresh air dilutes his scent.

He waits until I look his way again and offers a small, understanding smile. “I used some desensitizer before I came in. Maybe not enough?”

The sharpness of the chemicals in the desensitizer makes the overtones of pity more evident. The interrogation room was saturated by the stench of it, even before Hill arrived.

Pity stinks like burned sugar.

Each time I breathe in, the taste presses over my senses, making me feel sick, reminding me of what happened. A small whine of distress falls from my chest.

I tug on the brim of my cap, pushing my reading glasses up the bridge of my nose and reclining away from the table, farther out of the view of the camera too.

Gypsy from the Omega Rescue Center responds instinctively, reaching out in comfort, but at the last second, her hand detours and she pushes over a glass of water. She’s already sensing I’m not a fan of her touchy-feely sunshine.

“It’s okay, Allison,” she says quietly, lessening the guilt I feel at rejecting her good intentions. But good intentions aren’t going to keep me safe.

Hill pretends I’m not hovering on the edge of a meltdown. “How’s that?” he asks, coming closer. His question isn’t about his Alpha smell, and we all know it. He wants to know if he can sit to start the interrogation.

“Better. Thank you.” Lifting the water, my hand shakes, and the three of us ignore that too. But when I hiss in pain as the glass hits my split lip, Gypsy’s anxiety breaks, making her bounce out of her chair. We’re quiet as she fusses in the corner, finding one of those instant ice packs and pushing it over without saying a word.

“We can do this later,” Hill insists softly.

Fighting myself not to stand up, I shake my head. I want to walk out the door and never look back, but there’s a process, a part to play. “I need to do this now.”

He doesn’t argue, and once Gypsy sits, they both stay quiet, making it apparent they’re ready when I am.

Using the straw Gypsy found earlier, I take a tentative sip of the water.

“Not too much,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

And I do know. The first time I gulped water down, I threw it back up. Although, that may have had more to do with the residual stress of being attacked and the pain medication they gave me not agreeing with me. Along with a hundred or so other reasons.

Without looking, I know Hill is studying me, which isn’t alarming. He’s here to take my statement, to talk about the reasons my face now resembles a patchwork quilt. All he’s doing is looking at the whole picture before he starts searching for answers.

The proof of what happened is literally all over my face—fractured eye socket, split lip, and bruising to my larynx, internal and external. If I take off my clothes, he’ll witness more proof of what Rocco did.

Suffering through the humiliation of an invasive rape kit all but stripped layers off me, and I won’t ever give my permission to be examined in any capacity without a lawyer present again. Apparently, the medical team, like Rocco, had a hard time believing me when I said no.

“Do you need anything before we start? More pain relief, something to eat?” Hill asks, looking at me directly for the first time. His brown eyes are full of justice, which is good. And fucking pity, which is hard to see.

“I’m good,” I snap back unnecessarily. My Omega softer side pushes through, needing to comfort him after I was a bitch. “Honestly, I just want to get this done. And then I’m hoping the offer Gypsy made still stands.”

“Of course,” she soothes, making a conscious effort not to touch or look at me too much. Gypsy was all soothing touches and cuddles when she first arrived, until I bared my teeth, daring her to continue.

“Thanks, Gypsy.” I smile without looking at her. Again, it’s the fucking sadness in their eyes that guts me. I’m a victim. I mean, theoretically it’s not wrong, but still. “Everyone here has been really helpful.”

She makes a noise, as if she’s the one hurting, and considering her role at the Omega Rescue Center, she probably is. My resolve crumbling, I flick my eyes to hers, and as I expected, they’re brimming with the weight of my reality. At the same time, she looks battle weary. This is just another day for her. Another Omega getting beaten up.

“So,” I start abruptly, trying to stop either of them from scenting like burned sugar again. Because if I don’t, I know I’ll fall apart, and I’d rather do that without an audience. “What do you need to know?”

“It would be good to hear some background from you,” Detective Hill says, his careful temperament coming into play again, making him sound more robotic than anything. But I’m good with the lack of emotion—it helps. He focuses on his notes as he starts talking again. “I read the statement you gave before, and I know you’re aware that we have the Alpha responsible in custody. Charges are being filed as we speak, but anything else you can add would be a great help.”

I shake my head, still stunned at what happened, because Rocco’s reaction and physical attack literally came out of nowhere. Well, maybe not nowhere . Once before, Rocco said he didn’t ever want me to put an end to our very casual relationship. I remember laughing it off, thinking it was his post-sex endorphins talking.

Now, I wear the marks of his rage on my body. And my soul.

“Umm,” I mumble, ignoring the pinch of pain as I raise my chin and look at Detective Hill. “We’ve been hooking up for a month or so. And things were fun. Good, even. He’d crash at my place, or I’d go to his for a few hours. I was always upfront, saying I didn’t want anything else from him.”

“No intention of packing?”

I shake my head. “No. We were compatible but not scent matched.”

And there is a difference. A significant one. Most packs these days choose compatibility over falling victim to primal attraction. At least with compatibility, you know what you’re getting into. With scent-matched mates, there are these wild and fanciful connotations to the connection.

But I’ve witnessed the side of scent matching that no one talks about. I’ve seen what happens when your scent matches find something better—your soul gets shredded by the very Alphas who swore they would treat you like gold and always protect you. Being scent matched doesn’t mitigate evil intentions.

Still, compatibility alone isn’t enough for me to build a pack. My life doesn’t allow for anything but casual relationships. Not that I ever wanted more from Rocco. Temporary fun. That’s all he ever meant to me.

“I didn’t believe we had enough in common for us to talk about what we were doing next month, let alone packing,” I explain.

Detective Hill looks down at his notebook. “Did he push you to pack?”

“No.”

“But he had an issue when you said you wanted to keep things casual?”

“No. He had an issue with me saying I didn’t want to see him again.”

“It says here that you were at a bar when this happened. Why?” he asks while reading from his notebook, but I guess reading the victim statement is different from hearing from the victim.

“I’d been getting some weird vibes off him. I wanted the safety of being somewhere public when I broke it off. Not that it made a difference.”

“What kinds of vibes?” he presses.

I pin him with a look. If he would let me speak without cross-checking and interrupting, we would finish a lot faster.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. It highlights his stress, mirroring the expressions of every person on his team I’ve seen tonight.

“I guess I was picking up the same vibes from Rocco you were”—my eyes purposely drop to the table—“but it looks like, while I only had my intuition to rely on, you have a rather large file of evidence against him. So, Detective Hill, who exactly is Rocco?”

His lips flatten, and his shoulders droop slightly, all but confirming they know a lot more about Rocco than I do. “Are you new in town?”

“Newish. I moved here a few months ago. I keep to myself and mainly work,” I confirm, sitting back in the chair, ready to find out exactly who I was sleeping with.

Hill gives me a tight smile. “That probably explains it.”

“Rocco is someone to you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Rocco Quinn is a member of a local gang under the control of the Bratva. Have you heard of them?”

“Everyone has.” My gut sinks as everything falls into place. I literally hear the pieces clicking together. I stare Detective Hill down because I am not intimidated by the revelation that I was casually screwing a fucking gangster. If anything, it pisses me off. “He never mentioned it, and I never delved too deeply into his private life. If I went to his place, it was for a few hours. I never stayed the night, because I prefer my space. I didn’t meet any of his friends.”

Hill jots down notes, and I use the time to mentally review my time with Rocco, because I am not fucking stupid. Usually, I’m pretty good at reading people and situations. So, what happened this time?

I’ll have to blame pure exhaustion. Since moving here, I’ve been working two shitty jobs, trying to make it on my own. And Rocco was easy in the sense he gave decent orgasms and didn’t require much of my limited energy.

“I don’t like being punched in the face or choked out when I tell someone I was casually hooking up with that I don’t want to see them anymore, Detective. I really don’t care who Rocco is, because once I leave this office, he will not see me again.” I obviously leave off the part where Hill won’t see me again, either.

“He will have people out looking,” the detective warns.

“Yeah,” I scoff a laugh, “but everyone is running from something, aren’t they?”

Thankfully, Hill’s attention stays on the Rocco situation and not my flippant comment. He tips his head in question, looking a little shocked. “You’re still prepared to testify, knowing he’s connected to the Bratva?”

“I’m not going to be testifying about who he is associated with; I don’t know anything about that. I’m happy to file a complaint, so he doesn’t hurt anyone else. Hopefully, he makes it easy and admits he’s guilty of assault and attempted sexual assault.”

Gypsy’s refusal to look at me only confirms that, sadly, I’ve got little to no hope of Rocco admitting he is an asshole. By the weary look on her face and the familiarity she shares with the detective, it’s not hard to figure out there are plenty of assholes in this town.

“Did he give you anything while you were dating?”

“Not dating. You have whatever permission you need to get a team together and go through my apartment, top to bottom, in case he stashed something. He wasn’t a gift giver.”

“I’m finding it hard to understand how you’d be?—”

I raise my hand to stop him from going on. “So do I. I’ve been going over everything since this happened, wondering what I saw in him. But the truth is, I saw an Alpha who was available. I saw a companion when I was feeling like company and needed physical relief. I never saw a future.”

“I’m not passing judgment and never would. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here to make sure you are all right and to determine if you’re prepared for the headache that comes with testifying against someone like him.”

I keep my face straight, hiding behind words because, while I said I would file a complaint, I never said I would testify. If I can do anything to provide evidence against Rocco, I will, but I won’t ever take the stand against him on the chance it draws the media’s attention to me.

“If I don’t do it, who will? The woman he attacks after me? What about if she doesn’t have the same tenacity as me?”

Detective Hill’s eyebrows rise slightly, like he’s agreeing before he changes tactics. Maybe because I was adamant I wouldn’t be a star witness for anything other than an assault case. I actually think he’s relieved. He’s probably seen other people before me silenced.

Together, the three of us work through my statement before I sign as Allison Monet, and then we’re shaking hands, promising to keep in touch.

“Take my card, please.” Detective Hill pushes it across the table as we all stand, getting ready to leave. “If you need me for anything, just call, and obviously, I will contact you if I hear of him making threats against you on the street.”

“Like I said, my time here is done. I’m not sure where I’m going yet.”

“Okay. Let me grab my keys and a team, and we can accompany you to your apartment to collect your belongings before we circle back to the Omega Rescue Center.”

I turn around, and Gypsy is already next to me. “I’ll come with you, if you like. Many hands make light work,” she says quietly, all but confirming this is not her first battered Omega assist.