Chapter 1 Keep Moving Forward #2
After everything I did to escape the life my father put me in, I’m right back to being ten years old, him teaching me how to hot-wire cars. At least he gave me one useful skill, something that might save my ass now and help me move faster than I ever could on foot.
Placing my palms against the glass of the driver’s window, I glance around. No one’s outside. I’m lucky there aren’t any drug deals happening here right now. I doubt anyone in this area would report a stolen car, but if the cops do show up, maybe they’ll help me instead. Maybe they’ll keep me safe.
The glass slides down just enough for me to slip my arm through and unlock the door. The fact that it’s locked gives me hope. Maybe there’s a reason they wanted to protect it. Maybe it still runs.
Sliding into the car, I reach under the dashboard and tug at the wires. This would be so much easier if I had tools, but I can’t be picky. I use my teeth to strip the wires. They spark when they touch, and the engine clunks as it tries to turn over.
I close my eyes.
Please start. Please. Universe, I know this isn’t right, but I don’t know any other way to get out. I’ll leave the car somewhere it can be found. Hopefully, the owner can get it back.
The car revs to life. I quietly shut the door, slide fully into the seat, and adjust it forward so I can reach the pedals. It’s a stick. I haven’t driven one of these in a while, but at least my father gave me a few practical life skills.
I waste no time pulling away from the curb and speeding off like a bat out of hell. I have no idea where I am, but hopefully I’m close to an Omega Safe Haven. They’ll keep me safe, and they have programs to help relocate Omegas in trouble.
Once I leave the sketchy area behind, miles of farmland stretch ahead.
Signs say I’m headed for La Junta and Willowside.
I’ve heard of them in passing. I know Pueblo is about an hour from La Junta.
The gas light has been on for far too long.
I just need to make it to Willowside. I don’t know what resources they have, but someone there should be able to help me.
I can at least call work and let them know what’s going on. Maybe one of my coworkers can come pick me up. The signs say Willowside is four miles away now. Hopefully, this clunker can survive on fumes, or at least get close enough that I can walk the rest of the way.
Adrenaline still pumps through me, but not like before. Now, the aches and pains settle into my bones. My neck burns like I’ve been branded. In a way, I have. Alphas I didn’t want have claimed me, and my body wants so badly to reject them.
Some couples settle for each other because finding scent-matched Alphas and Omegas is nearly impossible.
Often, they don’t claim each other. Sometimes Omegas take medication to help heal the marks.
I don’t want these healed. If they close, they’ll just serve as a permanent reminder of what I’ve endured.
I grip the wheel tighter. If I don’t take the meds, the wounds will remain open, constantly risking infection. My only other option is to find scent-matched Alphas, and I’d have better luck diving into a haystack to find a needle.
There’s a reason so many Omegas end up at the Safe Haven. There are too many Alphas in this world, and finding the right ones is an impossible task for most. That includes me.
The sunset is nearly gone. I keep glancing in the rearview mirror, expecting to see Sergio’s men closing in. Not that they’d know what car I stole, or even that I took one at all.
In the distance, houses begin to appear. It has to be Willowside. It doesn’t look like a barn or silo like everything else I passed. As if sensing that I only need it for a few more minutes, the car begins to slow, even though my foot is still on the pedal.
A loud ding blares. The gas indicator flashes on the dashboard, and then the engine sputters to a stop.
I close my eyes and sigh. My heart pounds.
I don’t want to get out of the car. I feel safer here, but if it can’t take me any farther, then it’s useless.
I have no choice but to keep going. I just hope Sergio’s men are far enough behind me that they won’t catch up before I reach town.
I get out and wince as my bare feet hit the asphalt. As a kid, I used to run barefoot everywhere without a care. But I’m almost thirty now, and my feet have gone soft since I got out on my own at eighteen. I’ve pampered myself, and it shows.
I just have to toughen up. Even as I think that, I flinch at every little sound.
I’ve never felt so raw or vulnerable in my life.
I fought so hard to avoid hardship in my teens.
With the life my father forced on me, I should have seen worse already.
But somehow, by the grace of the gods, I managed to stay out of trouble. Until now.
My father yanked me back in and handed me over to Sergio and his men, all because he couldn’t manage his own mess.
I pick up the pace. It’ll take over an hour to reach town if I don’t move faster. My feet be damned. I’ll heal later.
As I reach the end of the neighborhood, I head up the walkways to the doors and start knocking. It doesn’t look like a bad area. The lawns are manicured, and there aren’t any cars on bricks, so I figure I have a better chance of finding someone willing to let me use their phone.
No one answers.
I guess I wouldn’t either, hearing hurried knocking this late in the evening. I make my way down the street, trying both sides. Still, no one comes to the door. Tears gather in my eyes, but I try to hold it together. I thought it would be easy to get help.
Did I find a ghost town? Is that why I’ve never heard of Willowside, even though it can’t be far from Pueblo?
I try the next street over, but if anyone’s home, no one is answering. Then I spot lights in the distance, the glow of what looks like a business parking lot. Maybe I’ll have better luck there. Businesses have phones, and they can’t pretend not to be home.
My legs burn, and my feet feel like they’re about to fall off as the icy concrete numbs my soles. Still, I push forward. At the end of the block, I find what looks like a restaurant or bar. The lights are on. They’re still open. It’s not too late.
Barely checking for traffic, I dart across the street and head for the door. I wrench it open and step inside. A small group of people stand near the entrance, and behind the bar is a man with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a tie. The scent of smoky marshmallow hits me.
There are multiple Alphas in the room, but they all feel bonded. I can’t pick up any of their scents, except the marshmallow. It must be leftover from a celebration. There are pink and blue balloons still hovering near the ceiling.
“My car broke down. About a mile back. Can I use your phone?” The words tumble out before I can think. I don’t want them to turn me away. Mentioning a car might help make it seem like I’m not just some random girl showing up out of nowhere.
A woman with bonding marks on her neck steps forward, a gentle smile on her lips.
My legs hesitate. I don’t know her. I don’t know any of them. What if this is another trap? Another group who’ll smile while planning how to use me?
But then she squeezes my shoulder, just once. It’s not possessive or demanding.
My feet move before I can stop them.
She wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders and steers me toward a booth near the center of the room. “Come sit down. Can I get you something? Some water maybe?”
My feet throb and my legs shake. My body finally realizes it can stop moving. I nod, and the tears fall freely now. I don’t think I could stop them if I tried. “Yes, please.”
A woman with big, curly blonde hair hurries behind the bar. A moment later, she returns with a glass of water.
My fingers tremble as I pick it up and take a sip. I know I should gulp it down, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I lower the glass and stare down at the table.
The pads of my feet throb beneath the booth. My knees still shake, and the ache in my neck pulses with every breath.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do.” Now that someone’s given me permission to pause, my brain doesn’t seem to know how to function.
The bonded Omega places her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. We’ll figure something out.”
She hums for a second, then studies my face. “Did some Alphas take advantage of you?”
I look up at her and nod. “My father sold me to them. We weren’t compatible.” The words spill out. I shouldn’t be sharing details, but something about her and her pack makes me feel safe.
The man behind the bar approaches. The smoky marshmallow scent intensifies. His build marks him clearly as an alpha, but I don’t feel afraid. He seems bonded, yet something in his scent calls to me.
He crouches in front of me, making himself appear smaller.
His voice is calm and certain. “Don’t you worry about a thing, miss.
I’ll make sure you’re safe here. No one’s going to lay a hand on you in my bar.
” He glances at the others, his tone turning firm.
“You guys should head home, just in case things get messy.”
The bonded Omega crosses her arms. “We can’t leave her here alone.”
One of her Alphas steps in and places a hand on her back. “She has Jethro and Tracy here. I know neither will hurt her or let her get hurt again.” He gently tugs her toward the door. “But we need to keep you and the baby safe.”
Another Alpha places his hand on her back, too. “We’ll call to check on her.”
A third nods. “We promise.”
She looks at me, then back at her pack, clearly torn. With a heavy sigh, she nods and leans in closer. “We’ll be checking in. If you need anything, Jethro can give you my number. We have an extra room if you need a place to stay.”
I shake my head softly. I’m not going to put a pregnant Omega at risk. Not if Sergio or his men track me here or anywhere else.
I manage a weak smile. “Thank you. I’ll figure something out.”
I’m sure the Safe Haven will have options for me.
They leave, and I’m left with the Alpha and the blonde woman. She has no scent beyond her perfume, so she must be a beta.
The Alpha continues to crouch beside me, still trying to make himself smaller. But with him this close, I’m certain the smoky marshmallow scent is coming off him.
My fingers curl around the edge of the table. My body wants to lean toward the scent, but the wounds on my neck flare as if to warn me.
There’s a pull with it. A part of me wants to crawl into his lap and let him hold me.
But there are love bites on his scent glands.
That means he has an Omega. We don’t leave marks on our Alphas the way they do on us, but we always know when they’re taken.
Either they won’t have a scent at all, or they’ll have signs of bonding.
So why does he smell good to me?
I know enough about bonding to know I shouldn’t feel a pull toward him.
Unless he’s in a bonding of convenience.
He looks older. Maybe he gave up on finding a compatible Omega and settled for someone who also needed the security of a good alpha.
It happens. But if we’re actually compatible, that would complicate things.
I don’t want to intrude on someone else’s relationship.
At least I feel safe here. After all those doors I knocked on, maybe the universe meant for me to end up in this place. That doesn’t mean I’m out of danger, though, not as long as Sergio and my father are still alive.