Episode 2 The Beauty and the Aftermath #2
“You fuckin’ bi-” The curse ends on a yelp as he’s yanked away from me and tossed to the sidewalk. A huge hulking presence steps between the two of us, and I sag when I realize it’s Creed.
He glances over his shoulder at me, silently checking that I’m okay, and I give him a quick nod.
Satisfied, he turns back to the douchebag who wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. “Next time a lady tells you ‘no’ you’re gonna wanna listen,” Creed drawls low and dangerous.
The alpha sputters on the ground for a moment before he scrambles to his feet, as though that will make Creed have second thoughts about beating the shit out of him. “Or what?” he sneers.
Well, he’s clearly too stupid to live.
Creed sighs, there’s a scuffle that I barely see and then my friend is flipping open the other alpha’s wallet and snagging out his ID. He tucks it into his pocket and then tosses the wallet back. “We’ll be watching, Harvey Daniels of 227 Marchwood Street.”
He doesn’t explain who ‘we’ is or answer the ‘or what’ question. But then he doesn’t need to. He’s a six foot six giant of a man, with malice radiating out of him. It must be nice to have that kind of power.
Harvey slides his angry gaze to me, like this is my fault, and then scrambles away, taking his vomit soaked shirt with him. Creed watches him go, keeping his body between me and the muttering alpha, and then he turns toward me, concern clear on his face. “You alright, Ren?”
I wave a hand. “I’m fine. Just… a little icked out, you know?”
His jaw hardens and he nudges me in the opposite direction from the one Harvey went in. “You shouldn’t be working here anymore, Ren. It's not safe.”
I can’t help but smile at his overprotective demeanor. “Working at a bank is arguably one of the safest places I could be. Certainly safer than the yoga studio.”
“Which you also shouldn’t be working at. You’re in recovery. You need time-”
“I need to not sit around my nest all day wallowing. That’s not going to change anything. This is my life now, Creed, my new normal. I need to accept that and figure out how to live with it.”
I expect some kind of response, but he’s weirdly quiet. His hand settles on my lower back to guide me around a corner. “Creed?”
He glances back over his shoulder, and he urges me along faster. “What?” I ask, following his line of sight but not seeing anything.
He sighs as he ushers me to his car. “I know you said you don’t want guards, Ren. That you don’t want us watching your every move, but I think you’re gonna have to get over that real fast. Especially if you want to keep working.”
“What? Why?”
He opens the door and I move to get in, but his hand on my arm keeps me standing.
“Turn toward me and look over my shoulder.” When I just glare up at him, because there is no way I could look over his shoulder—the dude is massive—he chuckles and angles his body so he’s still protecting me, but I can see around him.
“At the corner,” he murmurs. “Near the coffee shop.”
I find the area he’s describing and stare at it. A moment later a blond head pops around the corner, glances at us, and then pops back, as though they were checking that we haven’t left yet.
I frown and glance up at Creed with arched brows. “I don’t know what that means? They’re fans of the show?”
“Maybe,” he says, helping me into the front seat of the car.
As the door closes, I take a deep inhale, letting his familiar petrichor scent sooth me, even if it still smells a little wrong to my omega.
I click on my seatbelt as he rounds the hood and slides in next to me.
“But that man has been lingering outside the bank or at the coffee shop every day since you started working again. There’s a black sedan that idles outside the yoga studio and follows you home, Ren. Every day.”
I’d been feeling feverish from the other alpha’s proximity, but now I’m shivering. “Tell me, Creed.”
He glances at me and blows out a breath as he starts the car. “We think you’ve either got a stalker, someone who saw you on the show and became obsessed with you. Or the Bravonnian monarchy is watching you.”
There’s a lurch in my chest. Even though I know when he says ‘monarchy’ he doesn’t mean Forsythe. He means the queen. Though why she would be watching me I have no idea. I’m halfway across the world from the Ashbourne pack.
They publicly rejected me.
She can’t possibly think I’m some kind of a threat.
I wish there was a way for me to reach out to the Ashbourne Pack and just verify with them if this stalker is someone I need to be concerned about.
But of course. I don’t have a way to do that.
It's not as though we exchanged phone numbers.
I suppose Jude could probably track one down for me, but then what would be the point of that?
I don’t want to actually talk to them.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
There’s an aching, longing part of me that very much wants to talk to them.
But I’ve been working hard to snuff that part of me out.
It would serve no one. They made their choice, and now I have to live with it.
When Creed settles into the seat next to me, he leans over and opens the glove compartment unceremoniously, before he turns on the car and begins the drive home, leaving me blinking at the contents. A cell phone.
And a taser.
I glance over at him as he pulls into traffic. “Am I supposed to do something with those?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “We got you a new phone and a new number. No one has it but us and your mom and Ginny. When we get back to the house, give your phone to Jude he’ll keep an eye on it and sort out the important bits with the unimportant bits so you don’t have to.”
I snort. So does he. We both know that my phone has been inundated with unimportant bullshit for the last few weeks. Mostly requests for interviews, for a comment, for some sort of statement about being on the show with the Royal pack.
The other omegas have been everywhere, splashed across sensationalist news sites, social media and entertainment news.
They’re eating the attention up, but I still have no inclination of rehashing my heartbreak, even less now that I’m dealing with the effects of their rejection.
I don’t want anyone to know, least of all the pack that hurt me.
I pick up the phone and the screen lights up with the familiar background picture. Me, Ginny, my mom and Haven. I push aside the urge to cry, which seems to be on a hair trigger these days, and somewhat more hesitantly pick up the taser with my thumb and pointer finger.
“And what am I supposed to do with this?”
“Keep it on you when you're out of the house at all times. Use it to shock any fucker that gets too close to you and run like hell when they go down.” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “It's strong enough to bring down an alpha.”
Well, that just makes me want to carry it even less. “What if I accidentally shock myself?”
He chuckles. “I trust you’re smart enough not to do that.”
“Well, you have more faith in me than I do. That would be the cherry on top of the shit sandwich that has been my life.”
“I don’t think cherries go on sandwiches.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. So I got the saying wrong. Sue me.”
He chuckles again, but the laughter quickly fades. “Carry the taser, Ren. Please. Haven’s been worried sick about you returning to work, and the rest of us aren’t too happy about it either. We’ll all breathe a little easier knowing you’re armed.”
“Fine,” I relent and he gives a satisfied smile. “That’s a low blow, bringing my very pregnant best friend into argument.”
He gives me a long look. “That wasn’t an argument, Florence. You were always going to carry that taser.”
I sigh and slip the weapon into my purse, not bothering to dignify that with an answer. We both know he’s right. Especially after what just happened. If Creed hadn’t been here, ready to drive me home, that situation with the angry alpha could have ended very badly for me.
Having a way to defend myself will help me breathe easier too.