40. Chapter Thirty- Eight
Chapter Thirty- Eight
Willow
“Willow? Willow!” Lincoln’s panicked voice calls after me as I race for the bathroom. Bile rushes up my throat, setting it on fire. The second I get there, it releases, splashing all over the ceramic sink. The image of decapitated mice seared into my mind.
A calm hand pulls my hair back while another rubs a soothing circle on my back.
“Were they real?” Tears fill my eyes, thinking of the suffering those poor animals went through just to fuck with me. This is my fault.
“Were what real, baby girl?” Lincoln spins me around, my face landing against his chest. Sweet caramel replaces the coppery tang of blood. Still holding me tight, he snags a little mouthwash cup and fills it in the sink. The plastic chills my fingertips as I stare at it. “Drink.”
The order makes sense, but I don’t move. I can’t. Mice are all I can think about.
“The mice, Lincoln. Were they real? Did they kill those poor defenseless creatures to send me a message?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure, baby girl,” he says. “I didn’t get a good look at them. I was more focused on you.” He pauses, looking at me like he can see everything. All the bruises, the utter devastation of my life. “Wanna tell me why you think it’s a message?”
To stave off telling him, I take a sip of the cool water. It’s time to confess everything, but where do I even begin?
Cujo enters the bathroom, with Bruce hot on his heels, and I jump so hard that I choke. He clocks the overreaction, gaze scanning me from head to toe. Appreciation warms his eyes when he realizes I’m wearing his T-shirt like a dress.
“You okay?” Bruce comes forward, jumping to his full height and putting his paws on my shoulders.
The puppy hug helps, and I lay my head momentarily along his muzzle.
When he drops to four feet, I reach over, grab my toothbrush and make quick work of cleaning my teeth.
Mint replaces the flavor of bile, helping me to face my Alphas.
“I’m not hurt.” I choose something as close to the truth as possible. Am I okay right now? Absolutely not, but I’m physically unhurt, and that is the only thing I can give them at the moment.
“Bruce and I checked the perimeter.” Cujo surprises me; I didn’t even know they left the house. Bruce bounces and weaves around, going over to stand beside Cujo. For once, he doesn’t nip him. Is this the beginning of a friendship? It’s a tiny win amid the enormous pile of shit.
“And?” Lincoln prompts. Cujo’s eyes dart between us as though not wanting to say anything.
“Please, tell us what you found. You don’t have to spare my feelings.” He flips his knife from hand to hand, a nervous tic I’m learning to recognize.
“It’s all clear. There were a few more mice scattered around the front lawn. Also…” He hesitates, and I step toward him, placing my hand on his chest. “Your car was vandalized. Slashed tires and some stupid message.
“What did it say?” I already know, but still need to hear it.
“Little Mouse, come out and play.” His hand covers mine. “Tell us what it means.” Cujo studies me, seeing too much. I place the water on the counter, watching the rivulets of condensation slide slowly down the side to puddle on the ceramic.
“You both need to leave. Get away from this. From me.” After the best night of my life, the very thought of them leaving makes me want to crumple to the floor. But I need to be strong. There’s no doubt in my mind that Pack Mordred is watching now. Waiting for the right time to strike.
“Nope. You don’t get to do that, Willow. No pulling away because you’re scared.” Cujo lifts me effortlessly, capturing me and holding me against him. But I don’t try to wriggle free; instead, I shove my nose into his neck and take a deep sniff.
Enjoy it now. Once we tell the agents, he’ll be gone.
“I’m not afraid for me. I’m scared for you. People close to me end up dying. I couldn’t live with myself if Pack Mordred killed either of you.” I wait for him to put me down, to push me away, but he just cuddles me.
“Nobody’s going to touch us.” Linc slips his phone into his pocket, then steps closer, turning this into a hug sandwich. “But we need more information. What do the mice mean?”
“They’re me.” It whispers past my lips, taking me back.
Little mouse. Little mouse. You’re only alive because we want you to be. They meant to kill me back then, but I escaped. This time, they won’t make the same mistake.
“Baby girl, we know you’re scared. But we need a little more to go on than that, if you can.
” Linc wrestles me from Cujo, then backs out of the bathroom heading for the kitchen.
He carries me to the table, then takes a seat, keeping me firmly planted in his lap.
Cujo joins us, settling in close, before Bruce wiggles in between.
“Honeybee, we know you’ve got demons. But I promise we’re bigger, badder, and more deadly.” I want to believe him with every fiber of my being. My inner omega trusts them entirely, although it’s been such a short time. Taking a deep breath, I decide they deserve the right to know me. The real me.
“I’m not sure where to start,” I explain.
“Anywhere.” Linc hugs me closer, and Cujo reaches for my hand. Looking down, I watch my ruined fingers twine with his, the ache in my bones becoming more apparent with each motion.
“Well. For starters, my real name isn’t Willow. It’s Wilhemina Banyan. Though before I had to choose a name for witness protection, my close friends and family called me Willow.” Both keep their eyes on me, not reacting at all to the realization. “Which both of you already know.”
They glance at one another, a silent conversation.
“You’re right. We know a bit, honeybee. About the party. About you being taken, along with your sisters. About you being dead. But everything else is a mystery.” Cujo brings my hand to his lips, running them over my tortured fingers, his eyes trained on me.
“They called me little mouse. While I was a captive”—I use my Alpha’s touch to anchor me, refusing to fall back into the darkness—“my sisters and I were mainly used to torment my father. Devlin, the leader of Pack Mordred, seemed to have some sort of issue with him. But my dad didn’t have the faintest idea who he was.
We still don’t know why they killed my parents.
Gavin thinks it is because of money, and while it might be, they enjoyed our pain too much for that to be the only reason. It was personal.”
“And they’re still out there?” Lincoln asks, his heartbeat sure and steady beneath my ear.
“Yes. Most of them, anyway. When the agents stormed in to release us, Malachi was caught.” Just saying his name makes me shiver.
“Tell me what he did, honeybee.” Cujo kisses each individual knuckle, making it clear that he sees my imperfections and doesn’t care.
“He’s the Alpha who took a mallet to my hands while I played piano. The devil who made me keep playing day after day through the pain, just so my father could watch.” Tears make my sight blurry, and I lay my head on Lincoln’s chest, growing weary.
“And his trial is why they’re working so hard to get to you. They need you scared.” Lincoln connects the dots.
“Yes. The plan is for me to give a video testimony in a few weeks.” Fear settles around me. A living, breathing thing.
I’ve just found my scent-matches, and I’m not ready to let them go. Nor am I prepared to die before seeing Aspen again. But they’ve tracked me down, and my time here is done. At best, I’ll need to leave: At worst, they’ll kill me before the trial.
But I won’t go down without a fight.
“Well. I know you refused before, but the safest thing would be for us to take care of him. No more Malachi, no more trial,” Cujo callously declares, and I sit up quickly.
“Please reconsider, baby girl,” Lincoln agrees, nodding.
“My answer’s still no. It’s our chance to find Pack Mordred. This trial could bring them out of hiding.” They both shake their heads.
“Honeybee, you are not going to be used as bait for that fuck Calloway and the government. Plus, they’ve already found you. We need to turn the tables and hunt them instead.” What he says makes sense, but what will happen to Aspen?
“I agree. But this safe house is compromised. It’s time for you to move in with us.” Lincoln tightens his hold around me.
“What? No way! I can’t do that! I’ll be putting your friends in danger.” Both Gy and Cujo scoff at that.
“Please, we’re a well-trained militia, more powerful than any puny little pack.
Not to mention, the Hellbent Hounds’ property is one of the most secure spaces in the entire country.
It’s surrounded by landmines, filled with combat vets, and we have an arsenal of weaponry that would blow your fucking mind.
Let us protect you, Willow.” Linc’s voice cracks.
Leave the safe house? Move in with my scent-matches? Hunt Pack Mordred? It seems like an insurmountable task. Yet, the idea of resisting Devlin and his cronies is powerful. Taking control instead of being controlled.
“Yes. If you’re sure. We’re going to need to be careful, though. Pack Mordred still has one of my sisters. I don’t want her getting caught in the crossfire.”
Linc swoops down, pressing his lips to mine in the sweetest caramel-apple kiss.
“We’ll do everything we can,” they promise. “Now, let’s get you and Bruce packed. I’ve already asked the prospects to come here and clean up. They’re bringing a tow truck for your car as well as a scanner to make sure nobody placed a tracker on the vehicle.”
“That’s definitely a thing the car has. Gavin and Calloway put one in it.” A muscle twitches in Cujo’s jaw.
“I guess we’ll need to alert them to your change in location. But not until you’re safely on Hellbent property,” Cujo grumbles, rubbing a finger along the ridge of his nose.
I wiggle, eager to get out of here and away from the mice. Linc releases me, pressing a kiss to my shoulder as I stand.
They follow suit, grabbing things like food and dog bowls.
“What should we pack immediately? The prospects can come back to get anything else. Think about what you need for a night or two,” Linc offers.
“Not much: a few changes of clothing, my laptop, and Bruce’s stuff.” I hesitate, wanting to load up my nest and bring it with me, but that’s an enormous undertaking. Still, the thought of leaving it all behind sits like a concrete block in my stomach.
“Willow. Tell me why your scent just soured,” Cujo demands.
“It’s nothing. Just silliness.” I wave him off, expecting that to be the end of it. Strong hands grip my hips, lifting me off the ground effortlessly until we’re at eye level.
“Humor me.” He brings me closer, and my legs automatically wrap around his waist, leaving him to palm my ass.
“It’s just… my nest. Can we come back for it another time? I don’t want anyone else to touch it.” It’s my haven, my calm in the storm. The idea of anyone besides my pack touching it makes me sick.
My pack. Holy shit. No. I can’t think like that.
“Let’s take it all. I’ll help you.” He nips at my lip, and my heart soars. How does this gruff biker know just what to say to make me melt? “I’ll text someone to bring an extra car. Your comfort is important.”
“I can do without it.” I object, not wanting to be any trouble.
“Fuck that. Put me to work.” He whisks me away, toward my nest, and for the first time in forever, I wonder if fate knew what she was doing when I landed on the Hellbent Hounds’ doorstep.
Can I really have everything?