Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NOA
Havoc could have at least sat back here next to me while observing as “bodyguard”. My customers wouldn’t mind. They’ve even smiled, some winked, when I introduced him.
Today had a lot of repeat customers, people I knew and was more comfortable with, and after last night, I needed this.
I was closing up shop early today. I needed to work on the Scented Scorpion merchandise I had licensed and get them on display as soon as possible, but since I’m going with Havoc to the Pack House, I wasn’t sure how I could work on it without my equipment.
I wonder if I could bring my sewing machine to Havoc’s shed. I’m sure it has electricity, right?
I bite my lip as I ponder asking him the question. I feel my cheeks getting hot, and there really is no reason. No isn’t a bad word.
Though I can’t help the embarrassment that washes over me at the word.
Gosh, Noa, he hasn’t even said no yet.
I turn on my heel. Heading back to my office to pack my things, unsure where I’ll be working. Maybe I could go into the house. I’m sure they won’t mind.
I see the mess of threads, bobbins, and fabrics everywhere in my workshop as I walk in to grab my sewing supplies, and I’m instantly filled with worry. But what if they do?
What if they mind?
I sigh as I zip up my bag and grab my purse, making my way to the front, where Havoc is.
He stands, arms crossed, by the front door, and gosh, he looks so good.
He looks so good, that it makes me even more nervous to ask, and I almost back down.
Maybe I can pull an all-nighter at some point.
Perhaps I could just stay here while I figure out my living situation? That way, I can still work comfortably?
“I love when you stare, but what’s wrong, sweetheart?” His gruff voice snaps me out of my daze as I meet his eyes again. I flush, giving him an embarrassed smile as he reaches for my bag.
“Wait, um,” I say, trying to get the words out before I chicken out. He waits, my bag still in his hand. I take a deep breath before asking my question. “Could I bring my sewing machine?”
I’m down to one now. I had two at home—one from Grandma and an industrial one —but both smashed to pieces. Now, if I want to get any kind of work done, I need to travel with this sewing machine from work until I can purchase a new one.
Nothing could replace Grandma’s. It was a vintage piece even in her time. I could try to have it repaired, but… I don’t know. With all the pieces I collected, I’m not sure it can be put back together.
“Where is it?”
“In the back.”
“Let’s go get it.” He says, stepping toward the back, and I grab his arm, nervous again.
“Is it okay? It’s messy–”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” His question makes me freeze. I scrunch my eyebrows as memories try to break free into my mind, but I hold them back. I look at him, I’m sure my eyes are windows to how I’m feeling.
Tears strain against my eyes as I stare at my gentle giant.
“Don’t waste your time with these silly crafts."
“Ask me about that sewing machine one more time.”
“You don’t need to busy yourself with this shit; you are an omega.”
Their voices swarm in my head through the crack in my shield, and I nearly break down in front of Havoc again. My parents, Jackson, Derrick, and Mayfield, all thought quilting was a waste of time. How many blankets do you need? Omegas can’t run businesses.
They said it so often that it plays like a record in my mind, and sometimes I forget to block out the noise. Sometimes I’m not strong enough.
“It takes up too much space.” My voice is shaky as the words come out. I stare at him like he is my lifeline, and in this moment, he kind of is. I need him; I need him to prove the voices wrong.
“I have an empty bench in the shed if you’re worried about the house, though the guys won’t mind, I know that for sure.”
“What if you need that space?”
“I won’t; I never do.”
“But what if?”
“Then I’ll buy a new bench.”
“You’ll buy a whole new bench?” I scoff. He just… he just says all the right things, and it feels so impossible.
“I’ll buy a whole new bench.” He shrugs, but I can tell he sees me. See what I need from him, my alpha. Oh my, Havoc is perfect. I sniffle as I crash myself into his arms. He gently sets down my bag as I cry into his nice shirt.
“Oh, I’m so—“
“No,” he stops me, rubbing my back as I grasp him, like he might slip from my fingers. “No need to be sorry. Not to me, sweetheart.”
I can’t hold back anymore. I lean up and meet his lips with mine.
His soft lips devour mine as I push all the pent-up emotions into him through our kiss.
Connection means everything to me right now.
He wraps his arms around me, lifting me so that I can reach him better.
Our tongues fight a suave battle that I could play forever.
I can’t break from this moment of peace that gives me, and I’m so grateful I don’t have to do this alone.
I’m not alone anymore.
“Okay,” I sigh, breathless as I break our kiss. “We should go.” I nuzzle my face into his shirt, inhaling the faint whiffs of his white chocolate scent. With my humidifiers on, I can only get a taste because I’m pressed up against his chest.
“We can stay right here,” he says, his arms firmly wrapped around me. My omega purrs in bliss as I cuddle him, and I swear, if I had known this is what my life would be, I would have left Ohio way before I did.
What if I’d never met the Fallon Pack? What if I had left my parents’ clutches sooner? Could I have had this? Them? The Gray Pack?
“Is this a love motel or a shop?” The bell rings above the door, and chills cover my skin as I try to peek around Havoc to see the face I know is attached to that voice.
Havoc doesn’t let go; in fact, I feel his body tense a smidge under mine. He stares at the man in my doorway. My eyes land on green dark eyes and blond hair, and instantly want to throw up or kneel, both, if I’m honest.
Mayfield Fallon stands in my shop three states over and is smiling like he’s hit the lotto.
With labored breathing, I search for safety. Daylight is good. People are walking the streets getting amped up for the game, and he wouldn’t do anything in public. Not without Jackson and Derrick behind him.
Havoc. My eyes clash with his, and his warm brown eyes ground me.
I have my alpha. As much as I hate to put Havoc in danger, this 6’4 alpha is pure muscle.
Not that I want him to fight Mayfield… okay, maybe I do a little.
No, Noa, stop! I bonk my head on Havoc’s chest, completely forgetting the man in front of us for that moment of distracting alpha muscle, and my head shoots back to the horror at my door.
“What are you doing here?” My voice wobbles, and I hate it. I hate how fear controls me even after two years of being away.
“I can’t shop for a blanket?”
“We’re not open.” Havoc cuts into our conversation. His arms slide off me, and I nearly whine from the loss as he steps in front of me.
“Who's this?”
“Who are you?” Havoc asks, and he takes a deep, noticeable inhale, and I’m confused why.
Mayfield must know because his eyes leave mine and shoot straight to Havoc. Following every move as if watching a predator.
“Just a customer,” Mayfield mumbles as he turns and stalks out of the store. I sigh in disbelief as Havoc locks the door and turns off my open sign.
“Where’s your machine?”
“You’re not gonna ask who that was?” I ask, looking up at him, but he just shakes his head.
“Not right now, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter; what matters is you and you feeling safe,” he says gently, grabbing my arm as he walks me to my workshop in the back to grab my sewing machine.
It’s been hours, but it feels like only minutes. Working in Havoc’s shed with him, in here, was not a great idea. Well, not great for my productivity, good for my pussy, as Ollie would say.
Havoc changed his clothes and set up my very heavy quilting machine on the “spare” bench he had.
When we got to the shed, the bench had sculptures on it, but, he was insistent that he planned to clean it off anyway because he can only work in a clean space, which I believe, but I don’t believe that he didn’t need this table anymore.
Not based on the overflowing shelves he has around the shed.
This shed is actually huge, and the front “door”—more like a wall—opens so that daylight can come in.
Otis trots between lying in here and out in the grass, and the ice-cold wind blows nicely in here so that we don’t get too hot in this metal box under the sun.
There are two rows of wooden benches that work as tables, with stools randomly placed throughout. There is a kiln towards the back, shelves, and a place to pack orders.
It’s amazing. Similar to my setup, but on a bigger scale. It’s beautiful, with its light wood tones and forest-green walls and exteriors.
After our run-in with my past, Havoc drove us here, and we’ve been crafting since. At least trying to. He seems focused, but I can’t help but stare at my alpha.
My alpha that I wish I knew better.
He’d talk here and there; he told me about his childhood, revealing his time with the New York mafia and eventually his time in prison.
He waited for me to judge him, but I had nothing to judge. Not that what I went through was like… prison… but I was in a cage all the same.
Well, not the same; mine was only two years, he was there for ten. This is when I notice how much older Havoc is than I am.
Giving up on my blanket, I drag my stool to sit across from Havoc at his bench. He’d taken off his shirt, and really, what a sight he was. He had muscle on muscle and those shoulders. Oh, those shoulders have me holding back a whine—filling me with a need I hadn’t experienced before.
I think even if I didn’t have an upcoming heat, I’d want to jump him.
Attraction wasn’t something I’d experience this deeply. There would be guys who were cute but never enough to sleep with.
I’d slept with one guy. I wanted to experience that, but the act, well, was boring. After everything was said and done, I felt more empty than satisfied, and I never did it again.
My toys got me through as best they could during heats, and outside of that, the urge wasn’t there.
Not until I met them. At least I think so. This level of constant horniness is unmatched, and it seems I’m at least a little wet for them lately.
As I settle into the seat in front of him, he chuckles but remains focused on his work. I’m not sure what it is yet, but if I had to guess, a bowl? A bowl plate, maybe? Maybe he’s building onto it.
His shoulder-length hair is pulled back. Gosh, I love the few strands that have slipped out. I let my gaze fall on his strong shoulders to his thick arms. I can clearly see the bits of tattoos, but now that I’m watching him up close, I notice something.
“What’s that?” I ask, laying my hand open so he’d give me his arm. His gaze slides to his arm, the one I’m staring at, and he chuckles before giving it to me.
Right below the crook of his elbow, black ink fills in little contorted squares in an almost circular pattern, maybe more oval than circular.
My eyes trail up to his, which are light and humorous, as it clicks what this is.
“Is this my bite mark?”
He doesn’t answer me, but he doesn’t have to. My omega goes insane inside at the mark, but the rational part of my brain is trying to dampen her excitement. This was from our first date.
He committed to me on the first date.
I stare at the tattoo. Flattered and aching. My mouth itches to give him a proper bite, a bond, but I shake my head. It has to be too soon, right?
“I—” I am speechless as my eyes move from the tattoo to his eyes, back to the tattoo. Slick drips from me as I stare, and I can’t believe this is real. “I love it.”
“I’m glad you do, sweetheart.”
My rational mind completely shuts down as I lift my arm to him. “Bite me, too.”
“You can’t copy, sweetheart.”
“Come on,” I say, lifting my arm, knowing he won’t do it.
“When I bite you, it’ll be my bond bite, right here.” He points to the same spot on my arm as his tattooed bite is.
“Then this is a placeholder,” I say, touching the tattoo. “For my bond.”
He grumbles in agreement as he turns back to his clay.
“Good,” I say and walk back to my little spot, trying to work again. More than giddy in my seat this time around as my eyes keep snapping to Havoc’s arm.