Chapter 27
Iggy
The nest is coming along, but I'm impatient. We've been working nonstop, getting it ready, fixing and replacing everything from the bathroom appliances to the floors, making Imogen's new room bigger with omega-friendly light-blocking technology.
It’s coming along, sure, but not fucking fast enough because I want Imogen in it yesterday.
The front door rattles downstairs, and I hear her and Cass talking, their voices trailing up the stairwell. I just finished painting the walls, and Cass will install her closet shelves later when everything's dry. It sucks we can't provide her with both a nest and a bedroom like the wealthy packs have, something she probably grew up with.
But, we all agreed it was probably better for me to have a bedroom than for her to have two; that way, if she needs space from me, or if I need space from… not her… never her, but maybe from my brothers or for myself, then I've got it.
I barely make it downstairs to grab Imogen's bags from her as she trudges inside a second time, Cass behind her with his arms full. She wanted to move out of her parent's house with no drama when the time came, so she's been slowly bringing most of her stuff here in case things go wrong once everything is out in the open. For now, we're just dumping all her things in the living room until the nest is done, and since she still crashes at her parents place most nights to avoid suspicion, everything's stacked in a slowly growing pile.
"Imogen, are you a hoarder?" Cass teases after he makes a third trip, stacking her leather suitcases stamped with an expensive logo that even I recognize.
She blushes, "I'm sorry, I know it's a lot. I can go through everything and donate what I don't need. It is excessive."
Cass and I frown at her, but he pulls her chin up to meet his eyes. "Aww, babe, I was joking, I'm sorry. You like pretty things?"
She nods shyly, looking up through her lashes.
"Nothing to be ashamed of. You're not getting rid of a single thing. There's plenty of room. If anything…" Cass sighs, letting go of her face. "If anything, we're sorry we can't provide you with more. Maybe after the dust settles, we can move—"
"Absolutely not!" Imogen shrieks, catching us both by surprise. "I love this home. That's what it feels like. A home. I may have a penchant for collecting too many shoes or pretty dresses, and, apparently, after Red's courting gift, I'm recently very into lingerie."
We groan, but she continues, "But it's just stuff. You guys do provide. In the Hills, I had everything I ever wanted, and my bedroom and nest were the size of this entire floor. But inside that home, it was rotten. Full of unmet expectations, fake smiles, and punitive demands disguised as caring. It wasn't real, and I've never been truly happy, not until you three accepted me. I love this house. Don't you dare change a thing."
Grunting, I shove Cass out of the way and kiss Imogen hard, her sweet cherry taste blooming on my tongue. She hugs me tight, and when I release her, Cass does the same. Then she straightens her shoulders and jokes, with a bright blush creeping up her neck, "However, if these don't all fit in the closet, perhaps we could get a bigger closet?"
Cass laughs, making Imogen light up.
Once we clear her things, I tell her to put on pants. She lifts an eyebrow questioningly but does as I ask, and when she comes out of Cass's bedroom a few minutes later, wearing tight black high-waisted pants and a short-cropped, long-sleeve black sweater, my mouth drops open in awe. Showing off her incredibly toned but curvy body, growing curvier by the week, and with the red lipstick and her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, she looks un-fucking-stoppable.
"These don't look like OFA clothes," I tell her, gripping her hips in appreciation. Unless she's at the club, or hanging with us or Phe, she mostly wears dresses that seem ill-fitting to her personality. Thick materials, weird prints, something someone twice her age might wear. All very prim and proper. Right now, she actually looks her age, like a carefree, happy, twenty-three-year-old woman.
Imogen shrugs, "They certainly aren’t. Well, I do love shopping. These are recent purchases."
Cass snorts, making another joke about her clothing habits. I suppose it's good we know about it now and can prepare since we're about to build her closet.
Finally, I'm dragging her downstairs by the hand, and she follows along happily, her scent open and carefree. More and more as each day passes, she seems lighter. Less sadness, fewer fake smiles. When we bond, it'll be easier to tell how she's feeling and fuck, my alpha and I have a pep talk every day that we have to wait to bite her.
Because we really want to.
I bring her to the far end of the garage, stopping her in front of her present, and she looks around, confused, wondering what we're doing.
"I… I made you something. I mean, I didn't make it. But I fixed it up. It just got back from a buddy's shop, repainted, and, well. Anyway." She might think I'm insane, but I rip off the canvas covering, revealing a cherry red vintage scooter, custom painted, glittering under the garage lights.
My confidence wavers while her eyebrows furrow together. If only all the guys at the club and on the streets—the ones who duck when I walk past, who turn in the other direction—could see me now.
"I don't understand," she says softly.
I rub my hand over my head, feeling out of sorts.
"It's a scooter. I mean, if you're living here… I know you have your own car. But South Loop is small. You might like using this when the weather's nice. They're fun. It's a… your courting gift." I can't look back up at her, she's still quiet.
"You got me a scooter? To drive?"
"Yeah, Im, to drive. It's yours. But you don't have to. If you don't like it…"
"You know, another alpha wouldn't have done this. They'd have said it was too dangerous. Motorcycles, even bicycles, outside of a spin class, were considered off limits, too dangerous."
Her voice is lighter and she steps closer to me, but I feel like a fucking idiot, so I still don't look up. "Yeah, well… fuck those alphas. And I got you a helmet, obviously. And I'll teach you how to drive it. But if you feel unsafe—"
She practically throws herself at me, locking her legs around my hips, lips meeting mine in a ferocious claim.
"Thank you, Iggy," she whispers against my neck. "Thank you so, so much."
"It's… I know it's a strange gift. I'm sorry if—" She kisses me again, effectively shutting off my insecure mutterings.
"I love it. I can't wait to drive it." Her eyes shine, and when I let her down, she shakes her head, staring at the scooter in awe. "No one has ever trusted me to be… capable. I know that's a product of my upbringing, of the OFA… but I've never felt strong until I came here, to South Loop. Or met you, or the guys, or Phe. You all… thank you. This is more than a ride. It's trust. And freedom." Then she squeals, "I can't wait to ride it! Is that what we're doing today?"
I laugh, "Yeah, actually, I thought we could run through the basics. Here, let me grab your helmet." I find the cherry red helmet I bought sitting on the workbench and fit it over her head, securing the strap beneath her chin. Her eyes are glittering the whole time, her skin vibrating with excitement.
I climb on and show her how to use it, pointing out the gas and brake handles. They're so easy to ride, much easier than motorcycles; she just needs to get used to the balance and the slowing down at stop signs and lights. I make her promise me, for the time being, until she gets good at it, not to leave South Loop in it, and she agrees.
She rides it up and down the street a few times, each time whizzing past me, her maniacal laugh on the wind. She's amazing.
I did that. Fuck, that's heady. I put that smile there.
After a few more turns, she slows, and we park the scooter beside her BMW. This time, she climbs onto the back of my bike, and after she gives me shit, I put on my helmet, and we head out. I ride around for a while, and though she clutches my back and leans into me, I can feel how much she enjoys the wind coursing through us. I love riding, there's nothing like it. The scooter may be small and won't reach those speeds, but when we cruise towards the mountains and back, I know she's happy either way—on the back of my bike, clutching me close, or on her little red scooter, zipping through South Loop.
On our way back to town, we stop at May's Diner. I park out front, and she hops off, animatedly describing every twist and turn we took and how much she loved it.
I'm feeling pretty good about this date so far.
The overhead jingle chimes as we walk in, the place already packed with afternoon diners. Half the room nods or greets as we walk past, each person eyeing Imogen curiously. Her earlier excitement fades, and I can tell she's feeling insecure like I was when I gave her my gift, so I reach back and grip her hand tight, snagging a menu as we walk past all the diners.
I lead her to a booth, and she takes a few minutes studying the menu. And since I always get the same thing, I use the time to study Imogen. She bites her lip in concentration, small bits of worry crossing her features.
It's a lot of new shit. New bike, new neighborhood, new people. Then I remember what she said to Cass a few weeks ago, that she wasn't sure what she liked; her mother, the facility, always restricted her diet.
"What did you order when you went out to eat with Red?" I ask.
She looks up, releasing her lip from her worried bite. "Oh. We had tacos. With steak."
"Carnitas?"
She nods, smiling. "They were amazing."
"You need some suggestions?"
"Yes, please, Iggy."
"You like steak then? And cheese?" She nods.
May ambles over, her gray cloud of curls fluttering with each labored step, giving me an amused grin. "Well, if it isn't my favorite Dante," May winks, making Imogen giggle.
"I'm your favorite till Red comes in and winks at you, then he's your favorite."
May's head tilts and she sighs, probably thinking of Red's pretty face. I'm not jealous; if anything, all that attention would drive me insane. I'm cool with being the scary-looking brother with a slightly crooked nose, tattoos, pocked acne scars, and a mean scowl.
"You're right. Maybe I need a new favorite. Perhaps it's this pretty young thing you've brought with you. She already seems too good for you degenerates." Imogen's cheeks flame, mouth dropping in shock that the sweet looking old lady called me a degenerate, but it only makes May laugh. "I'm just teasing, sweetheart. These boys are practically family."
I put in an order for Imogen, and May tucks the pen she didn’t need behind her ear, leaving us in silence.
"You didn’t order anything," Imogen points out.
"I always get the same thing."
"So you’re a regular. It seems like you guys are regulars everywhere you go; everyone knows you."
My lips press, and I nod. "True, yeah, we’re known. But it’s like that here. Everyone knows everyone. I mean, there’s a lot of people that live in Loop, but it’s still got a small-town vibe."
"I like that. I miss that. When we lived in California, the town I grew up in was really small. I went to the OFA a few towns over, and it housed omegas from the entire county, but it was still really small, with the omega population being so tiny. But even spread across the county, it felt like I knew everyone."
"You miss it?
"Sometimes… I think I miss when things made sense. I was frustrated with my parents even then, but we still got along, we talked more. Now… we moved here, they moved into the Hills, and suddenly, their quest for wealth became their only focus. At least in California, they seemed to enjoy life. Here, it’s all work and money and status."
"I’m sorry, Im."
She smiles warmly, "Thank you, Iggy. It’s alright, though. Well, it isn’t, but I’m pretty happy where I ended up."
Our food arrives a few minutes later, and I watch in amusement as Imogen eats a steak and cheese sandwich with a fork and knife, cutting and forming small bites, one at a time, while I devour my steak and eggs.
"You’re into brinner," she muses, in between bites.
"What’s that?"
"Brinner! Breakfast for dinner. Or late lunch, I suppose."
I look down at my plate. "Never heard that before. I guess so. Honestly, sometimes I don’t wake up till four in the afternoon, it feels like breakfast time to me."
"Have your sleep habits always been so erratic?"
I finish chewing the last of the steak and push the plate away. I'm impressed by the dent she put in her sandwich, but she's done eating, too. May eyes me from across the room, and I nod.
"Pretty much since I was a kid," I reply after May takes the plates away. "It used to be worse. Some years, I sleep normally, but I’ve always been somewhat of an insomniac."
"I feel like you all know so much about me and my family. But I don’t know anything about you, where you come from. Were your parents betas, like Red’s and Cass’s?"
"Nah, I grew up in a pack."
Imogen might notice I’m being evasive, but she looks at me so earnestly, so trusting, I feel like a dick for not wanting to share the darker shit. Maybe I just want to spare her.
But she keeps on smiling and blinking sweetly, waiting for more, so I hedge, "Shit wasn’t great. It’s one of the reasons I wasn’t interested in an omega before you. My mom… she uh. She basically spent her days in the kitchen or on her back. Didn’t matter who was around, or if I was standing right there. One of my dads would say get down on your knees or lift your skirt, and she’d do it. They were abusive fucks. I hated it. Them. Pack life."
"That’s absolutely awful. For her and for you. I'm so terribly sorry, Iggy. No child should have to go through that. No wonder you were so reluctant. But you and the guys formed Dante pretty young, didn’t you?"
"Yeah, that’s true. I guess, when I met them, they were good people, and we had Alma and Phe, and shit just felt right. They were stronger than the people who raised me. Their families were good people. Forming Dante was as easy as breathing. But once we became an official pack, that’s when the expectations set in. We weren’t purposefully trying to buck against the system. I just didn’t want to be told what a pack should and shouldn’t do. I got enough of that shit growing up. My dads always telling me what makes a real alpha, a real man. Plus, I didn't want to be like them. Sometimes I get ragey, and when I get pissed, I have a hard time not overreacting with my fists. I never wanted to take the chance I could hurt someone." An omega, or you, I leave unsaid, but she nods in understanding.
She’s quiet, and looks sad, so I nudge her foot under the table.
"Are they still… around? Alive?"
A slight shake of my head, and Imogen gasps. She’s too fucking sweet. "My mom died a few years after I left. Supposedly some cardiac event, I don’t know. I suspect my fathers just used up all her life and she had nothing left to give. I'm pretty sure my dads are still kickin' it somewhere, but who the fuck knows. Or cares."
"I am very sorry, Iggy. That’s a lot."
"You’re sweet, you know that?"
Imogen smirks. "So, your insomnia…"
"I just never knew stability when I was a kid or when one of my dads was gonna wake me up and wail on me cause the trash wasn’t out or some shit. So now, I dunno, I have trouble falling into it, getting real rest. It doesn’t matter. I’m fine Im, I promise."
She looks unconvinced, but I’m saved when May comes over with one big ass slice of pie and two forks.
"Did you order this?" Imogen asks in amusement after May drops off the plate.
"Cherry pie, sweetheart, is my all-time favorite thing, and I eat so much of it here that I don’t even need to order it anymore, May just knows what I like." I cut a piece, filling the fork with a dainty, Imogen-sized bite, and hold it out.
She lights up and leans forward, red lips parting, mouth closing around the spoon. Her eyes close in pleasure, a few crumbs falling on her lips, and she moans, and the sound shoots straight to my cock.
I crook my finger, gesturing her closer, and she leans in. I lick the crumbs off, then kiss her, tasting that sweet cherry pie on my mate's lips.
"Nothing has ever tasted so fucking good. It’s you, Imogen. The taste of your lips, your skin, your slick, deep inside your pussy, your flavor changes, darker, brighter, more intense. I could taste you for days. That’s how I knew you were the one. I couldn’t get you out of my head before I scented you, but once I did… cherry fucking pie… it was all over. You’re it for me, Im."
She’s panting and gives me a slight, jerky nod before I pull away, taking another bite of pie. We finish it in silence, and before we head back to the warehouse to hang with the guys, Imogen wraps her arms around me, legs squeezing me tight from behind after we climb on my motorcycle.
"Have you ever had sex on your bike, Iggy?" She whispers into my ear.
I growl in response, revving the engine. Imogen giggles, and it's the sweetest sound over the roar of my bike.
I fly through the streets, then drive to the back of a quiet park, to a small copse of trees where no one ever goes. One of the benefits of never sleeping is that you know all the good spots because you have all night to find them while everyone else wastes away in slumber.
I tug down her pants and taste her cherry scent within seconds of parking, and then she's impaling herself and riding me on the bike, praising me, my piercings, and all of her gifts. We're home before sundown.
It was a perfect fucking date.