Chapter 9 – Finnegan Sunderland
Finnegan Sunderland
D espite how the lads at school loved to constantly torment me for being a bit extra or flamboyant, I am not in fact gay.
I was, however, raised in a house full of flamingly gay men.
I have six dads in total, but their gay never quite rubbed off on me the way the dicks at boarding school swore it would.
Despite the constant tormenting and how they swore otherwise, my sexual orientation wasn't influenced by my upbringing. Kids can be righteous assholes.
My father couldn't stand the thought of touching a vagina so he hired a breeder for my creation. Oh, excuse me, I mean a very well compensated surrogate who also donated her egg. In my biological father’s line the omega only breeds with other omegas.
At least if they want to maintain inheritance rights.
Statistically speaking, I should have been an omega. The poor woman who birthed me likely had some alpha hiding in her family tree. Suffice it to say, they did not ask that particular omega back when breeding my younger siblings.
As a result my fathers got two precious omegas. Notice, I’m not bitter a bit.
Not that my family mistreated me or abused me in any way. No, they were far more apathetic to my existence for any of that.
I'm a stain on my father's perfect omega line, something I was never allowed to forget even though it's really only the top one percent of the insanely rich who care about the purity of an omega's bloodline. It’s also not something I could control, but that’s neither here nor there.
The stigma of my birth followed me well into young adulthood.
The other alphas felt I wasn't alpha enough to allow me into their ranks.
The betas and omegas had their own clicks and circles.
I survived. Many people have it worse than I did.
I'm well aware I'm not to everyone's tastes. Cannon loves to point out the quirks and oddities of my personality, but never in that condescending, hateful way so many others have.
I blame the constant loneliness, it shaped my personality more than even the bullying. Spend enough time alone and you'll find yourself not only talking to yourself, but also answering your own questions.
Lord, that does make me sound like a nutter.
Although, to be fair all truly talented storytellers seem to have multiple personalities from time to time, don't they? In order to accurately portray a character you must be able to fully immerse yourself in the character's mind.
Writing horror and mystery novels since the ripe age of nineteen, there is little in the world I enjoy more than unraveling a good mystery.
Riley Thomas is an enigma wrapped up in a voluptuous package. She's a puzzle I intend to solve. She's young and on her own with two little ladies.
I'd love to know what type of man impregnates an omega not once, but twice and leaves her to fend for herself in the world.
Wouldn't mind inflicting upon him an equal if not greater level of mental anguish to that which he put sweet Riley through.
I know I can be spiteful and occasionally vindictive.
It's not one of my better attributes, but it has been perfected through a lifetime of being teased and tormented by those who assumed I was an easy target.
Those on their own can easily be singled out and isolated.
Riley is very much on her own. Very much unclaimed. There's no doubt about it. Her scent is very clear. There are no bite marks hiding somewhere on her person.
Cannon has a habit of collecting strays. Killian and I are proof enough of that. We're well into the upswing of winter. The storms and snow only get worse from here.
If Riley had someone to return to in Florida, that would be one thing. Based on her reaction any time the subject is broached, I'd say it's highly unlikely she has anyone waiting to welcome her home.
The idea of her venturing out into the world alone with two wee ones does not sit well with me at all. The very thought of it gives me indigestion.
Killian is unlikely to intercede or get involved. Cannon is pushy and can be too forceful. Certain matters require a delicate finesse rather than his brutish approach. I believe this is one such situation.
Riley is clearly fairly independent for an omega. Her reactions to having even basic assistance with the girls makes that clear. Either she's quite used to doing everything alone or she's had to learn how to manage on her own thus causing her to lose faith in my entire designation.
It's a universal truth that alphas do best when offering care and support to those around them.
Comforting and coddling omegas is an ingrained biological response.
The bloke must really be afraid his sins will be laid bare.
There's no other explanation for his treatment of an absolutely delightful omega.
"The dead man walking," Killian hisses, barreling into my room. "His first name is Jeremy."
Killian spits a slew of vile curses as he paces the floor.
"Right," I say, studying the anger vibrating off him in waves. "Care to share what has you bloody half mental?"
"Jeremy I don't know his fucking last name." Killian stomps across the room. "But I'm going to find out and I'm going to-"
"What piece of information have you learned which set you down this path of murder and destruction?" I ask, quite well and truly confused.
"Cove had an accident," Killian growls at the ceiling. "She was looking for Riley. I squatted down to pick her up and she said," Killian's voice actually breaks. "It was an accident. Don't beat my ass. Then she covered her bottom like she was afraid I was going to spank her."
"Fucking Christ," I hiss, swiping a hand over my face.
"She said don't tell Jeremy," Killian shakes his head violently. "He said he's going to beat my ass."
My hands clench at my sides. My teeth grind together as I try to steady my breathing. A low, feral growl escapes my chest.
"Aww shit." Killian sighs. "Don't pop a blood vessel. I'm going to destroy that motherfucker."
"I'll help," I growl.
My true crime podcasts took a backseat to my horror writing. However, I still have connections. Hackers and questionable folks who love diving into a mystery just as much as I do.
"I'm going to fuck up our gym equipment. Why don't you join me?" Killian grumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck.
"No." I sigh. "I think I'll check in on the ladies."
Being an alpha is only a sliver of who I am as a whole. Yet my instincts are exceptionally strong at the moment. I need to check on Riley and Cove. See with my own eyes that they're alright.
* * *
"I'll take that," I say, snatching the cups from Cannon with a feral grin.
The smell of hot cocoa is thick in the air.
"Fuck off," Cannon grumbles, trying to snatch them back.
The snarl I send over my shoulder has him backing away with his palms raised.
"The one in your left hand is for Cove," Cannon calls after me. "It's barely tepid."
Knocking gently on the door, I don't yield for permission. Cove is lying with her head on her mummy's tummy. Lily lies on her back next to Riley. The tiny miss is attempting to catch her foot and pull it to her mouth.
"I've a treat for you," I say. "Might I join you for a mid-afternoon snuggle?"
"Yes," Cove says, popping her head up and studying the cups. "What's that?"
"Cannon made you hot chocolate," I say, sliding in at Cove's side.
I make sure she has a good handle on her cup before offering Riley hers. I stretch out, running my fingers over Lily's tiny tummy. She grins. Or maybe that's gas, but it's precious either way.
"Careful," Cove says, nodding to the bed. "That side is wet."
"No worries," I say, chuckling. "I've no problem sleeping in the wet spot."
Riley sputters out a cough. Wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, she sends me a vicious glare.
Shrugging, I smirk over at her. She fails to hold her anger. Her face breaks into a wide grin, and my heart does a bizarre gallop in my chest.
Biting my lip, I study her. Riley is luscious with thick curves in all the places a man appreciates. She's stunning. We are biologically compatible, that's a fact. Riley's natural scent is highly appealing to my senses.
Licking my lips, I refocus my attention to avoid doing something exceptionally stupid, such as licking her face and calling out "mine."
"Mmm, I like it," Cove says, smacking her lips together. "Lils can't have none cuz she's a baby."
I snicker, she's great. Kids are precious.
My eyebrows furrow as I swallow thickly. What the hell is happening?
Kids are fine. It's not like I loathe tiny humans. Generally, though, I'm indifferent. Take them or leave them. It never much crossed my mind to care either way.
"It's tasty?" I ask, booping Cove's nose.
"Yes! Want some? I can share." She shoves her cup at me.
Riley grins behind her cup, shaking her head no. I believe she mouths the words "she backwashes."
Gingerly taking the cup, I pretend to take a sip.
"Why thank you. I was quite parched," I say, winking at Cove.
The TV is large and takes up most of the wall opposite the bed in the small nook area of the guest bedroom. My eyes dance to it as a cartoon Christmas movie plays.
"Is it that time of year already?" I muse with a hint of disbelief.
"It's the beginning of November," Riley says, nodding.
"Christ, I guess you're right," I say, stretching an arm across the pillow. My fingers dance in Riley's long hair.
Cove goes from bouncing on her knees to curled up on my arm.
"I'm done," she says, shoving her cup at me. "Thanks Mr. Finn."
Setting the cup on the end table I turn back to the girls. Three sets of giant blue eyes blink back at me.
Good Lord, I think I'm in trouble.