Chapter 36 Brek
brEK
The shirt is some stupidly soft material and feels like it’s made of clouds as it falls to cover my skin.
The sleeves are long, and the collar isn’t loose around my neck.
I know this isn’t my shirt because of the material.
The tag says it’s cotton, but I think it’s lying.
Unless you can weave clouds into cotton, this is some damn magic.
I like the long sleeves and closed front because I can’t see all the scars on my skin.
Most of them are stupid little things that Doc Mark says will probably go away with time.
I swear, most of them shouldn’t have left marks at all.
Then again, I have a scar on my right pointer finger from a paper cut I got when I was ten.
Some things are just meant to scar, I suppose.
The bullet wound will probably leave a permanent mark on me. It’s healing well enough. It doesn’t hurt anymore. The skin is closed over now without any itchy scabs. The infection is gone. But the ugly scar remains.
It’s unsettling to see it. Especially when I catch a glimpse of it in the mirror, and that moment rushes back at me. It’s sent me to my knees more than once. I swear, in those moments, I can feel the phantom pain of the bullet slicing through my skin and my scream getting lodged in my throat.
Pain throbs through my body for a second before my surroundings come back, and I remember where I am.
Home. Safe. Never again will I need to run for my fucking life from other people hunting me like a damn animal.
I brush my fingers through my hair, and my gaze lands on the numbers burned into the back of my hand.
For some reason, more than anything, these numbers are the most triggering marks on my body.
Maybe because I can’t not see them. They’re there all the time.
Glaring at me. Reminding me I’m little more than prey.
Without fail, two images flicker in my head every single time I see it. The young teenager, brutally murdered before my eyes, and the mutilated body I stumbled across as I made my way out of the stream bed.
Closing my eyes, I bring my hands down and pull the sleeve over my hand to cover it. I’m so focused on ridding myself of the memories that I don’t hear Voss come into the bathroom. He rests a hand on my shoulder, and I practically jump out of my skin.
“Sorry,” he says quickly and pulls me against him. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you didn’t hear me.”
I shake my head, catching my breath and trying to calm my racing heart. “It’s okay.”
He kisses the corner of my lips. “I brought something for you.”
“Yeah?”
Voss takes a step back and grips my hand, pulling it away from my body. He lets it go when in front of me and pulls out a small piece of fabric. I watch as he slides it on. I stare as the 718 on my skin disappears under it.
The fabric is thin, fingerless, and almost identical to the tone of my skin. A weird sense of peace settles over me as I look at my hand and can’t see the brand any longer. The fabric feels thin, but it’s not transparent.
“Mark is looking into different options to get rid of it, short of tattooing over it like a lot of people do to hide scars. There are a lot of reconstruction techniques used for burn victims that he’s researching. He sent me a link to purchase these for the time being.”
“I can’t see it,” I say, somewhat shocked.
“I know. Pretty epic, no?”
I grin. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He grips the back of my head and kisses me soundly. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
I have no idea what we’re doing. All I know is that Daddy Jalon wants to talk to us. We haven’t talked about the ordeal in the weeks I’ve been home. I’ve been surprised, honestly. I thought for sure there’d be some discussion.
We cross the hall to Axl’s room. The nanny is there already. Axl has been bathed, and he’s wrapped in a towel. One of those cute ones with a hood. The hood has dragon ears. I love everything about it.
“Thanks, Margo.”
“Of course,” she replies. “Emily will be here in a few hours for our shift change, so if I don’t see you again, have a good evening.”
Voss smiles and wraps an arm around her shoulders for a half-hug. “Thank you. You as well. Give that husband of yours a swift kick in the ass if he’s let the house go while you’ve been here.”
Margo sighs. “I’m sending him to you for a whooping.” She kisses Axl’s forehead and flashes me a smile on her way to the bathroom. Probably to clean up after Axl’s bath.
I love how everyone who works here quickly becomes part of the family. Axl’s nannies are no different.
I watch as Voss dresses his son. He pulls me over and places my hand on Axl’s belly while he readies a bag. There are straps on the changing table, but he doesn’t like to use them. They’re not actually going to prevent a rolling baby from toppling over.
Axl looks up at me. His arms and legs kick out, and his mouth opens. He’s all drooly. He’s always drooly. I love his hair. It’s so damn long already.
It doesn’t take long before Voss has the backpack on his back and picks Axl up.
He kisses me again and then heads for the door.
I grin as I follow. He kisses me a lot. At every single transition in what we’re doing.
Even if it’s something as simple as changing the position we’re in while watching television.
Christmas is in less than a week. You can tell as you walk through the big house. It’s decorated like a department store for the season. It’s elegant, playful, and magical. I could spend days just wandering around.
We step into the elevator and go down to the parking garage.
I climb into the passenger seat as Voss gets Axl strapped in.
Even the concrete columns in the parking garage under the house are wrapped in garland.
There’s a tree at the entrance and lights draped all over the place. It’s beautiful for a parking garage.
We’re just heading to the office building. The Estate is expansive, so it takes a few minutes to get there. We don’t park underground this time, but right out front. Voss always says it’s a privilege he takes as being the son of the king.
I love that he and his brothers are now referring to Daddy Jalon as king, like we do. It’s pretty funny. I wonder what Jalon would say about it.
Then we’re unloading again. It’s always a process with a kid.
I don’t mind, but I certainly appreciate needing fewer things with me as an adult.
As it is, I swing Axl’s pack onto my back and grab the bouncy seat from the trunk while Voss unbuckles his kid.
It’d probably have been less work to walk here.
It’s funny that we carry all this stuff with us, since I know Voss’ office has everything already.
Not this specific seat, but three different options.
He has a mini fridge filled with breast milk, and his second office room, which holds all kinds of electronics, now has a wall of shelves filled with baby needs—diapers, blankets, clothes, toys. You name it, it’s there.
I love that he brings Axl to work often. He has the option to utilize his nannies, but that’s only reserved for sometimes. They’re always there in case, but generally speaking, he likes to father his kid, as he says.
I’m surprised when we step into the conference room and most of my friends are there. Most of Voss’ brothers and uncles. As we take our seats, Briar, Uncle Noaz, and Emerson join us. Last to come in are Rhodes, Bennett, and the pack of wolf dogs.
Okay, I’m going to call them like I see them. They’re dire wolves taken right out of history. I’m as intimidated by them as I am enthralled.
“Go say hi,” Rhodes says as soon as they step into the room, and immediately the wolves turn from alert to house dogs with their tails wagging and tongues sticking out as they trot around the table to find someone to love them.
Bennett beams as he takes a seat. “Such sweet puppies,” he says on a sigh. I’ve heard him say those same three words maybe a hundred times now.
I’m not the only one who finds it amusing, though. Puppies. Right.
“We’re all here,” Jalon says. “Good. Let’s begin with what happened at the reserve. Voss?”
“I found the man who runs it. He’s a billionaire who’s been known to donate heavily to political candidates in favor of the death sentence, forceful removal of immigrants—legal or not—and would like to ‘bring back’ the cruelty in which the LGBTQIA+ population has been treated in the past. He has a private island off the Florida Keys, which is why his IP was bouncing off there, though he’s from Oklahoma,” Voss says.
“Noted. Where is he now?” Jalon asks.
Voss looks at the triplets. “I gave him to Ellory to play with.”
My eyebrows rise. What does that mean?
Ellory grins. “I’m tag teaming with Malcolm and Azlan. It’s Azlan’s turn.”
Jalon inclines his head. “Anyone else involved besides this single man?”
Voss shakes his head. “Not that I can find. We haven’t shut down the website, though.
I’m monitoring those who are booking and researching those who have booked in the past. I’m disgusted to tell you that this operation has been live for five years.
That’s based solely on the identification numbers they brand their prisoners with. There’s a lot to unpack here.”
“Very good. Rhodes?”
“We played out the rest of the scheduled hunts, and the world is now safe from at least twenty-three nasty people. I’ve set up trail cams all over the place, particularly around the barracks, lodges, and branding shed.
They’re Voss’ cams, so they’ll transmit what they find via satellite every twenty-four hours, and they hide far better into the surroundings than your typical trail cam, so we’ll see even if law enforcement begins poking around long before they realize the cameras are in place. ”
“The guards?” Jalon asks.
I frown. Voss frowns. Rhodes frowns.