Track 5 Extraordinary Machine
I’m in a weird, depressed and confused state. I have been since I left to run errands yesterday morning, knowing that when I got home, Liam and Rafe would be gone. My little cottage that had felt so cozy, too small with them there, felt huge and empty when I returned, groceries in hand.
Disappointment hit hard and fast, and I had to swallow it down and force myself to unpack and put away my food. When I went to put away my cold items, I stared for far too long at the two items held in place with a magnet, a folded piece of paper and a matte charcoal gray business card, with gold embossing on it. The business card just says Rafe Cordova with a phone number on it. Nothing else. No explanation of what his business is or what he does.
Though I suppose everyone is aware enough of who he is to already know what he does by the time he hands over his business card. Scrawled under the gold in purple glitter ink is a second phone number with the words private cell in front of it.
That was enough to have me gawking at the small slip of paper for far too long before I made myself move, taking the magnet off the items with shaking fingers and holding them in my hand.
I reverently run the tip of my finger over the number before setting the business card aside and unfolding the paper.
I hate to leave you, lovely. But we’ll see you again soon. We have to come back to track down that singer. Use the number if you need anything.
XO,
-L
He didn’t sign his full name and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. If he’d signed it Liam Cordova , was he worried I’d sell it or something? I would never do that. Hell no, having a note written to me by the man I’ve had a crush on since I was a teenager is worth more to me than any amount of money.
I like that he only signed with his initial; it betrays a certain amount of intimacy. Like there could only be one L in my life, and it’s obviously him.
It’s silly, but I tucked both the note and the business card into my current song writing notebook, like maybe it will spark some kind of inspiration. And honestly, it might.
I mean meeting Liam Cordova, sleeping in the same bed as him? Those are things that dreams are made of. Or at least what my dreams are made of.
He doesn’t need to know about how I used to dream of this exact thing happening. Back when I was a lonely tween with only Gage as my best friend. I didn’t really have time for anything else. My parents put me to work early, always at the restaurant, bussing tables, washing dishes, delivering food, until I got old enough to handle money and use the grill.
I worked so much that, looking back, I don’t know how I even kept up my friendship with Gage. Between school and work, I had so little free time.
It’s a wonder he spent time with me, seeing as he was the Lake Kilrose golden boy, before he joined the army and left forever.
No, not forever, for seven freaking years, though. A long freaking time. On top of that, I haven’t heard from him in… months. Which is unusual, but I know if anything was wrong, I would know.
His parents would have told me. They know what he means to me. Even if they don’t approve.
The most likely reason for his radio silence is that he’s busy on a mission he can’t tell me about, and I just have to accept that.
Even if I hate it.
I’m not proud of it, but I spend too long looking up the Cordova pack online, reading everything I can until late in the night and early this morning before I have to get ready for work.
There’s a lot to sift through.
More than it ever really occurred to me, but I guess that makes sense with how famous they are.
I get overwhelmed with the amount of information and stop reading the millions of articles. Instead, I scroll through Liam’s official social media sites, reading his posts. Some of them I can tell are written by someone else, while there are some that have his fingerprints all over them.
It’s sick and I need to stop, but I don’t, drinking in every iota of information about them, about Grayson, their prime who spends more time out of the limelight than Liam and Rafe, and Rafe is really only in it because of his bodyguard status.
The number of women the Cordova pack has been linked with is… staggering. And seeing their faces on Liam’s posts leads me down rabbit hole after rabbit hole, all but stalking each woman.
I told you it’s sick . I’m not proud of it at all. Worse, the only thing it serves to accomplish is making me feel so very… normal , underwhelming. Every woman linked with them is an actress, a supermodel, a singer, a philanthropist or bad ass CEOs, like the photo I found of them at a charity gala with Cicely Blake, the omega founder and CEO of IndulgScents.
My claim to fame is a 10k following on VidTid where no one knows who I actually am, and a tiny diner on the lake.
Yeah, there’s no way Liam and Rafe will come back for me, not when they’re used to dating women like Hollis Grailess or Cicely Blake.
At that depressing thought, I shut down my laptop and drag my feet to get ready for work. I call it getting ready, but really I just put on SPF, grab a Snack Shack t-shirt from the stack in my dresser—white today—and throw on a pair of cutoff jean shorts.
That’s one nice thing about owning and working at what amounts to a fast-food place on a lake. No one expects you to be fancy.
After throwing my hair into a bun on top of my head and kicking my feet into a pair of worn converse, I head to work.
The Snack Shack is just far enough away from my cabin that I don’t want to walk, and just close enough that taking my car seems silly, so I always ride my bike. Rain or shine. It’s my only form of exercise, besides the early morning swims I take three days a week in the lake when the weather isn’t as cold as a witch’s teat.
The lake is quiet when I pull up outside my restaurant. It’s not quite warm enough yet for the tourists and lake goers to be out on the water yet, but I know that will change in an hour or so.
Just enough time for me to prep for the day before the first customers show up.
The tasks are familiar, brainless almost since I’ve been doing them so long, some of them—like filling the napkin holders, putting ketchup, tartar and fry sauce into singer serve ramekins and stocking straws and cups near the drink machine—I’ve been doing since I was a child, five or six years old.
By the time Annie, the seventeen-year-old who works for me over summer break, arrives, I have everything set up and ready to go. She arches her brow as she takes in the space, normally there’s at least one thing she needs to do before we open, but I worked like a madwoman this morning, needing something to distract me from the fact that two days ago I met Liam Cordova, slept with him in my bed and I will never see him again.
Something about that feels intrinsically wrong. So fucking wrong, but I know it’s the truth.
Two days of internet stalking his entire pack has made it more than clear I could never stack up against the type of women they date.
Annie trails her finger along the sparkling counter. “I heard something totally freaking bonkers at the bonfire last night,” she says in a cajoling tone.
I know where this is going, but I keep my voice neutral, bordering on disinterested as I say, “Oh, what’s that?”
“Tommy West says you had Liam and Rafe Cordova at your house for pizza.” I can feel her gaze burning into me, and it’s everything I can do to not completely cave and tell her everything. Sure, she’s younger than me by seven years, but the girl is sharp and relentless. Before I can come up with a suitable response, she stomps around the counter. “Unbelievable, Sorrel! You met Liam Cordova two days ago! We worked together all day yesterday, and you didn’t say a thing! I thought we were friends.”
Guilt gnaws at me as I turn to face her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… They didn’t exactly want me to announce their presence, you know?”
She folds her arms over her chest and sniffs. “I suppose that makes sense.”
I smile at her grudging tone. “Tell you what, if they come back, you’ll be the first to know.”
They won’t come back.
“Fine. Apology accepted.” Her arms drop and a wide smile curls her lips. “What were they doing in town?”
I hit the button on the till and pretend to count the drawer, even though I already did it. “I think they were just on a drive in the country. Their car broke down not far from my place and they needed to call for a tow.”
“Oh, but Budd was having a sciatica flare up!” He always is.
I nod. “Right, so it took them longer than expected to get the tow and so I fed them dinner. It’s really not a big deal.”
“Not. A. Big. Deal?” She sounds flabbergasted by that statement. “How is having the biggest celerity in the work in your house not a big deal?”
I shrug and don’t look at her. “Haven’t you seen the articles, Annie? Celebrities are just like us!”
She laughs, like I hoped, and shakes her head. “I still think it’s kind of a big deal.”
I think it is too.
“Well, regardless, I doubt they’ll be back. However, hundreds of people will soon be swimming in our beautiful lake and needing sustenance. We need to be ready.”
She huffs and gets to work, even though I can tell she wants to grill me more.
The day progresses in its normal routine. Burgers, fried foods, soft serve, milkshakes.
I’ve made a few changes since my parents passed away and I inherited the business. Most of them centered on where we source the food from. As much as I can, I try to get local ingredients. All the vegetables are from a farm about an hour away. The buns are baked in a little bakery in Kilrose and the cheese is from a local dairy farmer, unless someone wants American. Then it’s Kraft all the way.
I had hoped to switch to local meat as well, but the price on it is just out of the realm of possibility right now and I definitely can’t afford it. Though we do grind all the meat and form the patties ourselves.
Or I should say ‘myself’, because I’m the only one that does it.
I’d hoped that making these slight changes would be enough to help me feel more in control, less like the business my parents loved running is a noose around my neck. But nothing seems to help.
The number one reason for that?
The Stillwell pack.
No matter what I do, I can’t escape them.
A shiver works over my spine as I think about the interactions I’ve had with them in the past. The threats. The demands. The promises that feel more like shackles around my feet, I’ll never escape.
Speak of the devil.
I look up as the bell over the door dings, and then freeze, my spatula hovering over the sizzling beef patty on the grill in front of me. Not for the first time, I resent the kitchen wasn’t designed with the grill facing the back of the Snack Shack.
“Sorrel,” the viper who just entered purrs, eyes running from the top of my hair pulled into a messy bun, down my sweaty t-shirt, and to my cut-off shorts. “You look tasty as ever.”
I grit my teeth and resist the urge to snarl. “Stephen.”
Annie looks between the two of us, her teeth sunk into her lower lip. The last thing I want is for her to leave, but she’s obviously uncomfortable, and she’s only seventeen and my employee. There are no customers besides the ass staring at me with a possession that makes me feel dirty, and not in a good way. Stephen Stillwell isn’t her problem, he’s mine. I flip the burger and then look at her. “Annie, can you go wipe down tables for me?”
She lets out a relieved breath and nods. “Of course, Sor.” A second later, she’s out the door carrying a spray bottle, a clean rag and gray plastic bin to grab any bottles or cans left behind by the customers.
I don’t look up as Stephen moves closer to the register, leaning his forearms on the counter. His gaze runs hungrily over me as I add cheese to the patty, squirt a little water next to it and then cover it with a metal bowl. I ignore him as I leave the cheese to melt and move to prep the buns.
“You gonna ignore a paying customer?” He asks, sounding amused.
“Are you actually going to pay this time?” I ask, without looking up from my task. A timer goes off and I move to the fryer, pulling out the waffle sweet potato fries that made The Snack Shack famous on the lake.
“Oh, you know the deal, Sor.” I grit my teeth harder when he uses my nickname, forcing a familiarity that I desperately want to erase. If he never said my name or addressed me as anything ever again, I would be a lucky woman. “I don’t pay. I’ll never have to pay. At least not until you can.”
He’s not wrong. Stephen and his entire pack don’t have to pay for anything here. It’s part of the agreement my parents signed when they took out a loan from him to keep us afloat during the pandemic. They’d thought they would pay it back in a few months, once the original outbreak died down, but no one could have predicted that the pandemic would last for years.
I’ve been making payments, trying to get it to a more manageable level, but goddamn, the interest rate they agreed to is insane and I haven’t made a dent in it. At this point, I’m not even sure that the business is worth the amount owed.
That familiar weighed down, hopeless feeling hits hard and fast, and tears momentarily blur my vision as I tip out the basket of fries onto the metal heated counter and use the shaker to sprinkle salt over the crispy goodness.
By the time I’m done with that, I need to build the burgers.
“Don’t cry, Sor.” Stephen says, rounding the counter, like he has the right to, coming to a stop right next to me. I don’t look at him. I just need to get this one order out and then I’ll take a break. Annie can come in and hold down the fort while I deal with… this. Him .
I just need him out of my restaurant.
“You know you have other options,” he murmurs, running his hand down my arm, a waft of his overpowering tea tree scent hitting me hard, making my eyes tear up more as I force down a gag. “If you joined my pack, we’d forgive the debt.”
Join the pack. The one that is well known for treating betas like shit. No better than servants, but bonded forever, unable to escape, until the alphas tire of them and toss them out. Slaves. Alphas rule supreme in Stephen’s pack. I know they’re shopping around for an omega too, and I can only imagine how that poor girl will fare. Probably chained to a bed, naked at the disposal for her alphas whenever they want to fuck her.
In theory, I’m not against that. So long as the person being chained to the bed is a willing participant and has the option to tap out at any time. Plenty of my fantasies include bondage. But not with a pack like his. Never with a pack like his.
“I’ll lose this place before I join your pack, Stephen,” I say, tucking the burgers into their red and white paper boats and then dumping scoops of fries next to them. “I’ve told you that repeatedly.”
He growls. I know in that moment I’ve misjudged his mood. I thought he was relatively calm, relatively happy. Usually I can get away with being blunt with him when he’s like that, and he’ll laugh it off with the threat that he’s going to keep asking and eventually I’ll say yes.
Not today. His fingers bite into my bear arms as he spins me to face him before he backs me up, right into the grill. One of his hands curls around my neck as he forces me closer to the heated surface, cutting off my air.
“You listen to me, Sorrel.” He leans in close until his nose is touching mine. To anyone who might come in, who might glance through the window, it probably looks intimate, like we’re having a private moment. But I can’t fucking breath. I need him to release me. Now. One of my hands braces on the edge of the grill, to keep him from pushing me any farther into it and the other curls around his wrist trying to move his fingers, but he only tightens them.
“You are going to join my pack someday soon. You are going to be my good little beta whore, or I am going to take everything from you. Do you understand?”
Black dots the edge of my vision. The last thing I want to do is agree, but I’m pretty sure if I don’t, he’s going to keep choking me until I pass out. I should nod, or give some kind of assent, but I can’t bring myself to. And it’s not like he’s going to actually kill me. Not today, at least.
Probably not ever because he wants me, wants to own me.
I have no clue why.
When I don’t agree, a snarl pulls at his mouth and he pushes harder on my throat, bending me back. My hand slips, the tips of my fingers slide onto the hot surface of the grill for a moment before my body yanks them off on instinct with a soundless, airless cry. I fall back, spine arching. My back presses against the hot metal long enough that I know I’m going to have a burn.
The bell over the door tinkles and he releases me, stepping away from me as I gasp in air and curl my burned hand into my chest as tears stream down my cheeks. While Stephen turns to greet whoever just entered with his snake charmer’s smile firmly in place, I drop to my knees and scramble for the first aid kit and the burn gel I always keep on hand under the counter.
The burns on my fingers aren’t too bad, I can tell by just looking. They sting right now, but I’ve burned my hands enough to know that they’ll feel better in a few hours. The one on my back, however… Fuck, it’s probably going to blister.
“Sorrel?”
An unfamiliar voice saying my name has me blinking up in confusion. Stephen’s boat shoes move closer to me, standing over me like I’m his to protect. My aqua eyes meet a set of concerned gray ones. Gray eyes I recognize, because I was staring at them this morning through a screen. Now I am looking up at him from my knees as he leans over my counter. “Are you alright?” he asks, concern laces his tone as he takes in the first aid kit spread open on the floor.
“Grayson,” I whisper. “Grayson Cordova.”