Chapter Nine
Brooks
I answer the phone on the fourth ring. It's too early in the morning for this call to be anything but an emergency.
The only reason I'm awake right now is because of the nightmares.
Every goddamn night for two weeks, the same bad dream.
A skewed, tortured version of the last time I saw Laz.
You're not supposed to dream in color, but these dreams have a red hue.
The same red as that woman's dress, the exact shade of her lipstick.
My subconscious is stained with that garish shade of red.
“Hello?”
“Brooks,” Laz gasps my name like a prayer or a plea.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing. I… nothing. I just wanted… I needed …”
“Where are you, Laz?”
“Home. In the bedroom. Beside the bed, on the floor.”
Panic seizes my chest. “Why are you on the floor? Are you hurt?”
“You didn't change your number.” He sounds like he is drifting, but I can hear the exhaustion in his tone.
“No,” I say, sitting up straighter. “I didn't.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I?”
Silence for a few moments.
“No,” he breathes, “I guess you wouldn't. Where are you?”
I don't like this. Something is very wrong. “I'm at home,” I answer, keeping my voice steady and low. “In bed.”
“I miss it.”
I take a breath. “The bed?”
“Everything,” he sighs.
“What's wrong, Lazarus? What happened? Tell me.”
“Shh,” he rasps. “Shh. Just stay.”
I don't know what he means, but I wait nonetheless. A few seconds drag on before a door slams, and then I hear Laz's Alpha.
“Did you call someone?” she asks him.
“No.”
“Don't lie to me, honey. I heard you speaking.”
Laz sighs. “I was convincing myself to stay.”
She laughs. “Of course, you're staying. Where would you go?”
“Away.”
She laughs again. “You're ridiculous. Come on, then. Let's get you in the shower. You have an appointment this morning.”
“I don't want any more appointments, Kris. I'm done.”
She laughs once more. No. She cackles.
“I'm serious. You have enough money to buy an entire town if you want it. I'm tired. And bored.”
“You're pouting,” she says, but I can hear the lack of humor in her tone.
“Maybe,” Laz says, sounding farther away than before. “But I'm still done.”
“You're done when I'm done.”
“You'll never be done.”
“No,” she says firmly. “I won't. So get your filthy ass up and get in the fucking shower.”
Silence, and then rustling fabric. Then a solid thunk.
“I'm fine,” Laz says. “I'm fine.”
“Here,” she says sharply.
“Just give me a minute. I'll go. You don't have to do that.”
“You have two minutes.”
The door closes loudly a few moments later, and then Laz is back on the line.
“Bye, Brooks.”
The call ends, leaving me breathing too hard and shaking.
What the fuck even was that? Why did he call? What was the point? He obviously needs help. He called me for a reason.
Fuck.
Fuck.
It's none of my business. Laz is none of my business. Not anymore. He has an Alpha.
Why did he call me?
The way she was speaking to him was disgusting. She spoke to him like he was nothing. She called him filthy. I have been angry with Laz for years, but I never once called him names. I would never call him filthy. No one deserving of an Omega would ever be so cruel.
Why would she speak so cruelly to him after such a display of affection at the restaurant?
I don't understand any of this, but the longer I sit here replaying every moment since I first saw him again at the fight a few weeks ago, the angrier I get. Oh, I am beginning to roll in my anger.
She's abusing him. And even if she isn't, she's allowing someone else to. That much is obvious.
Why was she so adamant that Laz and I have a reunion?
I have to make some calls. I don't care if the sun is barely over the horizon.
I need answers, and the quickest way to get them is to call on people I never hoped to speak to again.
I don't care. I'll find out what's happening to Laz.
Whatever the cost to myself, I will find out because he needs help. He needs it badly enough to call me.
Three days later I have my answers. Or enough of them to make enough assumptions to buy another godforsaken, miserable fucking plane ticket.
“Do you have everything you need?” Mrs. Richards asks, handing me a small carry-on bag.
I nod. “I don't need much. I'm just going up to check on him. Nothing major.”
She arches a brow. “And I don't need to refresh one of the spare bedrooms?”
She's asked that question twice now, in different ways.
“No,” I tell her flatly. “That won't be necessary. And if it becomes necessary, I'll call. Don't trouble yourself.”
“Okay.” She smiles at me.
She's going to refresh a bedroom regardless of what I say. She has already decided what's going to happen in this situation, and she's going to prepare for it. Maybe she's right. I just hope she doesn't decide to open the bedroom directly beside my own.
“I made oatmeal cookies for the trip. They're in the bag.”
“With raisins?”
She gives me a look. “Don't be ridiculous.”
I smile at her. “Thank you.”
“Save him at least one.”
I sigh and kiss her cheek on the way out the door. She thinks this is going to be some grand romantic rescue. It won't be.
The flight gives me too much time to sit still and think.
I want to drag Laz back home, kicking and screaming if necessary.
I want to save him—from himself and everyone else.
But Laz won't be saved if he doesn't want to be, regardless of the situation he's managed to put himself in, and I won't force it on him.
I have never forced anything on him, and I won't now.
If he's to be saved, it must be his choice.
This woman.
She's supposed to be his Alpha. But no decent Alpha would ever do the things she does. She's made a career of using Laz's body to move up in society. She uses him to create leverage. She uses him to make deals. She uses him to blackmail people.
When she first started, she was little more than a small-time under-the-table investment manager, somewhat like a bookie.
Once she acquired Laz, she began moving ranks.
He gave her a means and pathway to greater wealth, and with it came greater opportunity.
Now, she's in the big leagues. Lawyers. Cops.
Doctors. Mayors. Politicians. High-end crime bosses.
Assassins. They all circle her because of Laz.
Laz is a prize, no doubt, but none of this circling is because they want to have him for themselves. None of it. She's used Laz to gain leverage over these people, and now a disgusting amount of money is involved.
She lets these people use him, her Omega, for money.
It's such an absurd thing to even consider. I could never let another person touch my Omega, much less fuck them for money. Hurt them for money. For social standing.
This plane cannot contain the rage seething inside me. I have to maintain a sense of calm if I am to do anything that will make a difference here. Laz called me because he knows I will help him. I can maintain my composure for that reason alone.
I will keep my temper at bay. I will maintain a calm demeanor.
I will use every single one of the fucking breathing exercises my doctor has shoved at me.
I'm going to need them to get through this flight because I cannot crash into this situation like a crazed lunatic Valla if I am going to find out exactly what is happening.