Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
TALLY
I can feel how safe I am. It oozes off them. His nest is saturated with the heady notes of pack, protection, and devotion, confirming the fact I’m safe over and over like a beating drum.
Without question, I can easily lose myself here. Happily, for days.
I nearly do.
Until someone utters panties . How bad is that? Even remembering Daisy telling me who took her, I wasn’t freaking out too much. Unlike what happens when I hear the word “panties,” which only reminds me of the bug I hid in them while dressing.
My stress is sudden and abrupt, like a slap in the face.
But it’s also the reminder I need. I can’t exactly say, stop fucking talking.
Anything you say can be taken in evidence and used against you , so the logical thing to do is get the goddamn hell away from the best-smelling pack I’ve ever met.
To protect them. Or me. Either way, I have to get out of here.
I didn’t even stop to find out their names. The ones I’ve used so far will have to keep working—Genoa Alphas, surly Beta, and my masturbation buddy.
Or I simply refer to them by their scents. Individually, they are home run after home run. Four scents mashed together into one, and I’m floating in Omega heaven. Being in their presence, and in the male Omega’s nest, feels like I’ve won the lottery and am living in luxury.
Which I am not. And it will do me well to remember. I mean, the incentive is not letting them find out I’m a rat and staying alive. So, there is that.
It helps. The sheer level of pain reverberating each time I blink also helps keep me on track. I’m not really a fan of feeling the way I currently do, and without question, I’ll be a lot worse off if they find out what I am.
This pack is essentially Irish Mafia royalty. They’re the next generation touted to run the streets. In their world, you are either a friend of the family or an enemy. My badge alone will brandish me the latter.
While there is fault to my story, that I was ignorant to who they were, I’m sticking to it. The first time I saw the distinctive Irish cross the Genoa Alphas both have tattooed over their bodies, I knew. It’s a symbol only used by those in the Irish mafia.
The Jameson we shared made it easy to look past the fact I was in bed with O’Connors. The way they got my body to sing ensured my silence. I was happy to go on with my guilty pleasure too. And I did. Probably would again.
Yet panties is my downfall. One word is nearly my undoing, on so many levels.
Caught in my mild panic, I forget the goddamn pills someone mentioned. Turning back to get them is like trying to walk towards a turbine engine—every step I take robs me of my effort. But I can’t collapse in a ball here; I have to get home.
By the time I’m facing the door again, my ideas about running before they find out what I’ve done fade out, replaced by a huge wave of exhaustion.
I ache, knowing what a shit person I am by lying.
I hurt physically and spiritually. And when I’m at my lowest, silent tears streaming down my face, is when he appears.
“Still such a stubborn Omega.” His lips are at my ear, and he steals the last remains of my fight.
I collapse at the same time he sweeps me off my feet.
“You can’t outrun us, Tally. And here’s the kicker—I know you don’t want to.
Your scent is plain as day. So, for now, you get to sleep in your bed and dream of us, instead of being in the nest Raff made for you, surrounded by your pack.
” His accent is musical, soothing my panic straight away.
“You’re not my pack.”
He laughs in my ear, the sound so incredibly sexy and full of his ego.
“You can pretend all you like, but I’m gonna make sure you know you’re the only one who is slow to admit the truth.
Each of my pack back in that nest we just left knows you’re ours too.
I wouldn’t want to gang up on ya being so vulnerable and all, but I won’t lie to you, either. ”
Our conversation comes to a weird pause as he walks out of my neighbors door, and over to mine. He waits for me to put in the entry code on the door lock.
I glare at him. As if I’m going to put my code in while he’s watching, but when I look, he’s already got his eyes closed. I get temporarily distracted by the smirk on his face. And how stunning he is.
“You need more? I’m more than happy to turn right around, and you can stare at my good looks for the rest of eternity if you like.”
My mouth drops open in shock, but he’s not finished. “You might be sore and broken, but orgasms have been proven to be healing. And since we made you come so hard, so many fucking times in Italy, I reckon we’d have you right as rain in a few hours.”
Though I was bone tired before, his BDE is like pure electricity. He makes me feel like I could run a marathon. He was like this in Genoa too.
With a simple touch, and a handful of dirty words, he has me there again.
I see those memories almost as clearly as being in the nest of his Omega.
The latter is like a bucket of ice water, zapping me of my energy again.
It’s a reminder. The pain from my injuries flare back to life, and I make a weird noise.
Of course he flips everything upside down again. His teasing disappears in an instant, and his “needs” shift from sharing dirty pasts to acting like my Alpha. Even his deep chocolate scent changes, becoming less suggestive and more stabilizing.
“Come on, let’s get you inside. Put your code in. Can you do that for me?” His voice changes like his scent, and I’m a slave to it. Probably him, too, if truth be told.
There’s nothing I can do to hide the way my hand trembles or the loud groan of pain when I stretch too far. I can’t even find the energy to hide the code from him. I want to get inside and flush the fucking bug from inside my panties before curling up in a ball and dying.
“I can walk,” I argue.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he counters as his arms tighten. “How are you feeling now?
“Like shit,” I admit without meaning to.
I’m surprised he doesn’t start grilling me after what I said. He doesn’t walk faster, but he doesn’t let me get jostled by his steps either.
Caring. Looks great. Smells better. Amazing fun in bed. Yeah, this Alpha is dangerous. And it has nothing to do with his surname.
“You don’t want to know my name?” he asks, his question coinciding with us arriving at my bedroom.
Considerate too. Goddamn him.
Being slow and obvious, he lowers me to my feet, and I use the door as support, just in case. Once it’s clear I’m not going to crumble to the floor, he takes a step back.
I twist around, ready to tell him I’m good and he can go, but he’s right there, so close his breath tickles my lips.
“Go shower, but leave the doors open. I won’t come in, but I’m not going to let you shower without someone being here.”
“No. I’ll be fine,” I argue.
And I get what he’s saying. I know the protocol for checking on people who are taking strong medication after an injury, but I will be fine. I’ve been by myself for a long time, and I know myself better than anyone does.
I turn properly and stare him down. I wait, watching him closely while he figures out for himself that I mean what I say.
Letting him in here is more than I would normally do, but that’s it.
It simply doesn’t sit right that I’m here, and his packed Omega, who is just as injured as I am, is there.
Plus, I can’t trust him not to snoop around.
Without explanation, he stomps away, and I release the breath I was holding.
Even though he doesn’t walk straight out the door, detouring instead into my kitchen, I feel better.
A tad sad, but that goes with the territory of pining after Alphas, and Betas, Omegas, too, that aren’t mine.
Not that I’ve had much experience with that scenario.
In a few minutes, he’s back, and God knows where he pulled a freaking tray from, but he has.
And not only that, he’s warmed a couple of the pre-made meals, as well as added packets of crisps and cookies, juice, water, a small pot of tea, a note with phone numbers written on it, a phone, and the medication.
“Wow, that’s a lot.”
He pffts me. “You haven’t been properly tended to if you think this is a lot. That pisses me the fuck off. You throw me out of your house, and now you’re telling me this is a lot… Not coping over here, Tally.”
My gaze drops from his. It’s instinctual, but he has such a pull over me, I doubt I’d have the ability to go against anything he said even if I was firing on all cylinders. On top of that, I can feel his emotions and have a desperate need to comfort him.
I exhale in defeat. “Please. Just go.”
“Look at me,” he says, as if to prove a point, and my eyes fly to his like homing pigeons. “We are a phone call away. Don’t be stubborn.”
He hands the tray over and walks off. I watch him until he’s at the front door, and he knows it. The jerk is preening the whole time; I see it in the extra sway in his hips.
Twisting around, he finds my gaze without searching. Even over the distance, that cocky smirk on his face does bad things to me.
Once he has my full attention, he growls. “And put your damn wedding ring back on your finger.”
I’m left standing, mouth open, with his scent the only thing I can breathe and his words consuming my thoughts. I look down and can’t believe I missed seeing the claddagh ring that’s on the tray.
The shock of his parting shot doesn’t disappear like he does. I actually feel ten times worse, because missing something like a freaking wedding ring is goddamn huge. And it makes me wonder what else I’ve missed.
“Shower, food, sleep,” I coach myself. Or distract, might be more accurate because I do not have the energy to unpack any of what he said in his visit.
Waiting for the shower to warm up, I unpick the seam to my panties, my hands shaking like a leaf.
I experience equal parts disappointment and relief when the small listening device falls into my hand and it’s smashed.
I have no idea when it happened, either.
I flush it down the loo, then walk straight under the shower, trying to drown out the sudden noise in my head.
The shower is divine, and the longer I stand under it, the smaller my worries seem. Washing my hair would be amazing but now some of my stress has receded, I'm too tired. It’s a job for tomorrow.
Wearing my pale blue fluffy hoodie for extra comfort, I sit in the dark and devour the food.
Not because I’m hungry, but because it’s necessary if I want to recover quickly.
The same goes for the juice, water, and medication.
I hobble to the kitchen, leaving the empty plates on the island and triple-checking the door is locked.
I know it is—that’s what the fancy electronic door does—but tonight I need the reassurance.
I’m pretty sure I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow. And considering the position I’m in when my phone pings hours later, I didn’t move an inch in my sleep.
Sitting up to open the email, it’s hard to ignore the way my whole body aches. The message is delivered the same as usual, hidden under other links. As soon as I open and see a parcel has been sent, the same conflict stirs in my gut as when I realized the small transmitter I used broke last night.
Taking another deep breath, I message Walsh, asking if we can meet up, alluding I have something for him. By the time I’ve had a shorter, cooler shower than last night, I’ve got a message back from him saying we can meet up in thirty.
“Shit,” I hiss. I figured, since the sun isn’t yet up, he’d be sleeping so I’d have hours to figure out where the money is. Now I have to either knock on my neighbors door or call them. Knocking seems less onerous.
Checking on the stitches, I find a lump in one spot, but besides that, the doc did a neat job.
The gauze he used was huge, so I swap it out for something more practical, which slows me down because it kills when I have to twist my body around to reach it.
By the time I’ve thrown on a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and two layers of hoodies, I need to run or I’ll be late meeting Walsh.
I’m basically hobbling past the kitchen when something in the corner of my eye catches my attention and I come to a complete stop.
The box I used to stash the money is sitting there, impossible to miss.
And while the fact one of them snuck in here while I was asleep is shocking in itself, what has me raging is the sight of the familiar black crystal vase sitting on my very clean kitchen counter.
Except, it’s bigger than the one at the first rental, and it’s full of at least a dozen red roses.
Of course, there’s more. A note is positioned exactly the same way as the other house too— Don’t be stubborn .
If only the revelations stopped there, but nope, next to this note is the one the owners left on this very counter when I first arrived…
in the same fucking handwriting. It’s identical, and to make sure I understood they were one and the same, the notes are side by side.
But it’s not just the note or the flowers or the freaking box of money from last night that are the issue; it’s the way they’ve so casually outed themselves as basically herding me here, to this apartment.
My hands shake for a very different reason as I walk back into my bedroom and grab what I need. I feel slightly less murdery when I flip the note to the blank side and leave the wedding ring in plain sight.
Walsh texts again to let me know he’s running early. I have no choice but to deal with him before I sort out this meddling pack.