Chapter 28
Lynn
What a thoughtful gift Cobra had given me.
The bracelet definitely did not contain a tracker despite being heavy as shit on my wrist. I’m sure that was just coincidence.
Like the new photo frames dotted around his room definitely did not have hidden cameras watching me at all times.
I didn’t start shit about their presence for two reasons.
I could see how jumpy and paranoid Cobra was, and he hated being away from me as much as I hated him being out of my sight.
Also, I couldn’t fucking talk. Every time I opened my mouth, my chest closed up, dread pressed in on me, and my words got stuck in the back of my throat.
It had been four days of this and I was getting sick of it.
Frustration welled behind my breastbone and I took my anger out on my jeans, widening a few of the rips as I dragged them over my ass and fastened them with angry motions.
I was sick of this room, and this silence, and I wanted to see my friends even if the thought made me want to throw up.
I could do it. If ChaCha was okay enough to hammer down the door and demand I get my ass out of the room yesterday, I could actually get my ass out of the room today. I could face them, even if—
ChaCha thrashing, trying to unseat the alpha trapping her on the dirty mattress, her desperate cry filling the basement as she failed.
The scent of mould and cum and piss.
The metallic taste in my mouth as I fought, scratched, bit, snarled.
Jessia’s purr faltering as the pain became too much for her to process, falling silent. Too silent.
“I can do this,” I rasped, ignoring the way my chest shook, my breathing ragged. “I’ll be fine.”
I forced my feet to turn me towards the door, made myself take a step, but I stopped at the last second to snatch the teddy bear off the dresser. It was black, with a sparkly purple skeleton embroidered on its body and buttons for eyes, and I knew damn well one of those buttons was a camera.
“You’re coming with me,” I told it. Well, told Cobra. I felt better having him with me; it gave me enough strength to get out the door and down the hallway.
I’d made it through the sanctuary door before it occurred to me that I just spoke to myself out loud. It was a sad little pep talk, but it felt like a victory to speak at all.
Eyes turned towards me when I entered the sanctuary and I strangled the absolute shit out of the bear, just daring anyone to say something about the way I clutched it in my fist. But no one even noticed the bear; they rushed towards me like a flurry of chickens at feeding time, and the visual made me smirk.
Anyone would think you fuckers missed me. That’s what I wanted to say, but I opened my mouth and nothing came out.
“Don’t stab me, don’t stab me,” Mercedes chanted, throwing an arm around me in a rapid hug that I allowed because I was still weak. I glared, though, just to make my opinions clear.
When she moved back, I came face-to-face with my pale, trembling friend.
Jessia practically threw herself at me, and I went one further than allowing her to hug me.
I gripped her tightly, my arms locked around her, and even though I kept my eyes open I could see that basement.
I could smell it, hear the grunts and barked commands, and my whole body locked up.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”
“Alright, ladies, break it up,” a coarse, female voice rose above the others. Thora, the only other person from the farm who chose to stay here with the Knights. She met my eyes and added, “Not you, two. You keep this lovey-dovey shit going. It’s good for you.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was reluctant to release Jessia. Her scent was scorched, bitter instead of her usual sweetness, but she was breathing, and she’d spoken.
I was afraid, I tried to say. You were so silent for so long, and I thought I’d never hear your voice again.
My tongue was heavy, alien inside my mouth. It clung to the roof of my mouth and refused to move, so I just rested my forehead against her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For keeping me safe.”
I reared back. Shook my head vigorously. What the fuck was she talking about? We were assaulted constantly for two fucking days. I didn’t keep anyone safe. I didn’t do fuck all.
“Lynn,” she breathed, her eyes big and full of tears, teeth grazing her bottom lip as she fought the emotion. She held onto me even as her hands shook. “When it—when—” Her throat rose and fell. “I know you distracted them to spare me.”
I dropped my gaze, something like shame sitting on my chest. It didn’t fucking work. No matter how hard I fought, how loudly I growled, how many times I insulted their pride, their dicks, their mothers, it wasn’t enough to make it stop.
I smoothed my hands down her back, careful to avoid any injuries I recalled her getting, and I frowned when her wardrobe finally registered.
A dark grey sweatshirt three sizes too big, and black pyjama pants with scotty dogs all over them.
Her hair was straight, falling around her shoulders in its natural state.
Her face was free of makeup. Our eyes locked when I drew back, and held for a long, significant moment.
“Have you seen ChaCha?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“I think she’s hiding out in Sweetie’s room. She’ll come around eventually,” she said, infusing hope into her voice I wasn’t sure she even believed. “Have you eaten? We should eat, and then we can talk about the scent you’ve drowned yourself in, and—”
I caught her hand when she moved away. Squeezed it. She didn’t have to fake any of this shit for me. She didn’t have to pretend everything was fine. I wished I could fucking say that, but the words swelled in my throat, my chest tightened, and they refused to come out.
Instead, I released her to retrieve the knife I’d brought. I’d got one for ChaCha too, but that would have to wait.
Jessia laughed hoarsely when she saw the knife. “Really, Lynn. Knives aren’t the answer to everything.”
Yes, they are, I mouthed.
She smiled, but worry knotted her brow. “You can’t talk…?”
I shook my head. Glanced away.
“Well. Good thing we kept that whiteboard.” I lifted my head to watch her slouch across the sanctuary to the fridge, pulling off the whiteboard that currently had a dick drawn on it in red marker. “It’s permanent,” she said with a wince, “but the black pen should write over the penis fine.”
I snorted. Accepted the pen and the dick board, and wedged my skele-bear in the crook of my arm so I could write beside the graffiti: I hear Devil has a massive cock.
She groaned, and gave me an annoyed stare. “Not this again. Stop trying to matchmake us.”
Never. Especially not after everything she’d been through. Everything we’d been through. Devil was her mate. He knew her soul, knew what she needed. I would have given anything to have Cobra as my mate, to have us hardwired together at the most primal level.
I erased what I’d written with my sleeve and wrote: He gives great hugs. They’ll help.
Even if the bastard had sworn me to secrecy, I could drop hints.
Jessia’s shoulders slumped when she sighed. “I don’t know if I can—be around anyone. You’re different, and everyone here’s different.”
Because we weren’t alphas? There were betas in garrotte’s gang too, but the mind was a delicate thing and I could understand thinking alphas were the problem. Their growls hit harder, barks hurt worse, and the knots were violent when taken by force.
I nodded to show I understood, but I wrote, Devil’s safe. Always.
The look that filled her eyes was so sad, I hugged her again.
“Tell me Cobra’s taking care of you,” she murmured into my hair. “Or I’ll learn how to use this knife and put a hole in his throat.”
A laugh cleared the tightness in my chest. “He always takes care of me,” I said, and startled at the sound of my own voice.
She hugged me fiercely, squeezing so tight a dozen bruises flared to life, but I didn’t complain because that weight on my chest eased a little bit more. All we needed now was for ChaCha to join our huddle.
“Where is she?” I whispered, not trusting my voice to speak any louder.
Jessia shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve seen her a few times, always with Sweetie, and she’s pretending to be okay but…”
But the basement had followed us home. Just like the farm followed me to the compound. I wanted to scream. I’d been here before and it took every bit of strength and will I had to claw my way out.
“We should… have a girl’s night,” Jessia suggested tentatively. “Here in the sanctuary, or maybe in the garden.”
“I’ve got a case of wine,” someone called from the kitchen, proving how private our conversation was. Not at all.
“And we’ve got those chicken skewers that need using,” Mercedes input, smiling warmly at me when I lifted my head.
I sighed. They were all going to get involved, whether we liked it or not, because we were a big happy family here, and that’s what family did—stuck their nose into your business and made themselves welcome even when you threatened to stab them somewhere squishy.
I rolled my eyes. Mouthed fine, and Mercedes gave me a proud smile like I’d achieved a remarkable feat.
We all jumped when a loud bang came from behind us, whipping around to watch ChaCha kick the door in—she shouldn’t be kicking anything with her injuries—and hurry into the sanctuary with an orange pot clutched in oven-gloved hands.
“I smuggled us some contraband, but we’ve gotta eat it before Sweetie notices it’s missing,” she said, her eyes snagging on me for a long, charged moment.
When I gave her a little wave with my middle finger extended, she grinned.
Nowhere near as brightly as normal, but it was ChaCha enough that I could breathe a little easier. She had Sweetie, and us; she’d be okay.
I jerked my chin at the pot with a silent question, and a faint hint of wickedness entered her eyes.
“Feast your eyes on this, ladies.”
Jessia and I closed the distance, peering into the pot to see a gelatinous yellow substance.
“Is that—” Jessia breathed.
“Pure, melted cheesy heaven,” ChaCha confirmed, staggering over to the kitchen table and refusing help when we tried to share the weight. “Get some bread, tortilla chips, a spoon—choose your weapon. We need to destroy the evidence before he notices it’s gone.”
I smirked and took a seat, and for a while as we devoured an ungodly amount of queso, the basement was a little further away.