12. Juliette
CHAPTER TWELVE
juliette
You know what’s worse than getting a shocking wake-up call from your crying toddler who just puked all over herself in your bed? Waking up, not knowing where the hell you are or why your hand is sticky.
I’m a little scared to open my eyes, not gonna lie. I’ve woken up in some god awful places after a night of binge drinking with friends, but something tells me that whatever I’ve gotten myself into now will take the cake.
“What the hell crawled up your ass?” a deep masculine voice grumbles—the timbre of which sends a quiver through my sleepy, touch-starved body.
“Rose called Hudson a few minutes ago. Juliette is missing.”
I suck in a ragged breath. This can’t be good.
“What do you mean, missing ?”
“ Missing as in she never returned home after her dinner with Pack Latham last night.”
My eyes fly open—the rafters of the stables on the Ford estate coming into view as the memory of last night replays behind my retinas.
Well shit.
Gelato hangovers apparently trump liquor-induced ones by at least a hundred—not to mention they also typically require an immediate run to the bathroom. Liquor agrees with me way better than dairy ever has.
Fuck a duck. I fell asleep in a gelato-inspired misery coma, in the Ford stables, and the men that played starring roles in my lactose-intolerance-induced kinky sex dreams—are those a thing?—are somewhere below me. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
“Do you think she let them bond her?”
Wyatt.
The despair imparted in that single sentence is enough to have my belly flipping wildly.
“If she did, there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Kash.
Maybe the sleep haze hasn’t fully dispersed because he almost sounds a little…disappointed?
“Wouldn’t she have sent a text or called to tell Rose she’d be back in the morning? I don’t know. I think something’s wrong, guys.”
Beck .
Ah, hell. He sounds worried. Which means I have to get off this uncomfortable bean bag that is five sizes too small for me now and tell them I’m right here, I’m fine, and, luckily, still very much unbonded.
Not embarrassing at all.
Sitting up is a struggle in this damn gown, but I manage.
I quietly get to my feet, adjusting the dress so my tits aren’t hanging out—thank fuck they didn’t come up here and find me like that .
This is mortifying enough. I’m sure my hair is a rat’s nest, my mascara smeared down to my cheeks, and that stickiness I felt earlier is gelato covering my right hand.
Suppose that last one could’ve been worse.
I reckon the walk of shame ain’t got nothin’ on this.
With a sigh, I softly tread toward the ladder.
“You hear that?” Beck asks.
The voices go silent as they no doubt listen for… Well… Me .
“Wait. Is that a pair of heels on the floor over there?” Wyatt asks. “You bring some Beta back here after we gave you shit last night?”
“Fuck no,” Kash grumbles.
The sound of heavy boots hits my ears, and as I lean over the edge and look down, three heads tip back. Their surprised eyes widen when they see me.
“Mornin’.” I’m proud when my voice comes out way more confident than I feel.
Kash’s brows furrow, creating deep lines right above that perfect nose of his. “What the hell are you doin’ up there?”
My eyes roll. “Oh, having a tea party, obviously.”
“Your grandmother is worried sick…” Wyatt begins, eyes dipping to my chest.
No doubt my nips are about to slide right out of the low neckline.
I clear my throat and straighten. “If you all wouldn’t mind taking a few steps back, I’ll come down.”
They do as I ask without qualm, which I’m grateful for. Gives me plenty of time to contemplate all of the ways life likes to use me for its own entertainment, including awkwardly climbing down a ladder in my gown, which is much more difficult than climbing up.
“You’re gonna be ass-end-over-tea-kettle if you're not careful.”
I can hear the derision in Kash’s tone, but I don’t mention it because he’s probably not wrong. As luck would have it, on the next short descent, the heavy satin catches on a rough piece of wood, and if I were facing the other way, the guys would get a glimpse of my lace-covered cooter.
“Son of a bitch!” I snarl, yanking the material down before the dress pulls up even higher and my thonged ass ends up on display too.
The action has one of my bare feet slipping on the smooth wooden rung, and before I know it, I’m toppling backward.
Scrunching my eyes real tight, I prepare for impact with the hard ground, but it never comes.
Instead, I’m cushioned by a pair of muscular arms and the tart scent of blueberries with a drop of aged whiskey and vanilla.
My eyes fly up to Beck’s and find him grinning down at me.
“Told you so,” Kash mutters.
His packmate gently sets me down on my feet, and I purposely take the time to once again straighten my dress and run a hand through my tangled hair, but there’s no fixin’ this.
Welp. It’s as good as it’s gonna get.
When I finally raise my chin, I’m met with Kash’s shirtless chest. My mouth opens in shock, then snaps shut.
There’s a shovel in one hand, like he’s been working hard since dawn, and I’m not sure why I find that so damn odd.
He’s wearing tight jeans that hug thick thighs, a pair of worn cowboy boots covered in mud—and who in the hell knows what else—and a tan Stetson.
None of that is for show. It’s straight-up country boy workin’ gear, and hot damn , it’s workin’ on me.
Sweat is beading on the spattering of hair across his perfectly sculpted pecs, along the valley between his abs, and in the grooves created by the muscles that basically serve as an arrow pointing straight to the promised land.
Wait. No. Absolutely not . More like wasteland because God only knows how many women have warmed his sheets . Not that I care. Because I most definitely do not .
Quickly diverting my attention elsewhere, my eyes collide with Wyatt’s.
“Hey, hotshot. Rough night?”
I didn’t know a full-body grimace was possible, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.
“What gave it away? The red eyes and puffy cheeks, my lack of shoes, or the fact that I’m in the Ford’s loft at…whatever god awful time it is on a Saturday morning?”
“Or maybe it’s the fact you’re wearing a wrinkled evening gown covered in Lord knows what with mascara streaked down your face,” Kash callously offers up.
Beck elbows him in the ribs, hard , and the satisfying oomph! that results almost makes me grin.
“You wanna talk about it?” Beck asks softly.
Dammit. Why did he have to go and be all nice and shit?
My teeth attack my bottom lip as my eyes begin to get glassy.
I can practically feel my nose turning red as another ugly cry picks up steam.
I’m exhausted, emotionally spent, and now being inundated with the power of their sheer male magnitude. Not to mention their Alpha pheromones.
“Hey, don’t cry,” Beck murmurs, nudging my chin up with his thumb and forefinger. The tears finally spill over as I stare up into eyes that have haunted my dreams for years. A growl rumbles between us as a stuttering breath escapes. “What the hell did they do to you?”
Wyatt is beside us in the next instant, eyes rushing over my throat and shoulders. “Did they bite you without consent?”
I shake my head as a hiccuping sob slips free.
“But you ran and ended up here. Tell us what happened so we can handle it.”
Shock rushes through me because those words didn’t come from the Beta.
No, they came from the man who can barely stand to be in the same room as me.
Except right now, he looks like he’s seconds away from rushing out to beat some Alpha ass.
That does weird shit to my belly, but at least the tears slow enough to have a normal conversation.
Turning to Wyatt, I make the corner of my lips curve up slightly, feeling proud when it only wobbles a little. “You were right.”
“I’ve been known to be on occasion.” He glances at Beck, then back at me. “But what, specifically, was I right about this time?”
My chuckle is self-deprecating. “They never wanted me. They wanted the percentage of Callahan International they were promised.”
You could hear a pin drop…at least until three sets of growls fill the quiet between us.
“Your father offered a percentage of the company to their pack if they bonded you?” Kash asks, his voice deceptively soft.
There’s an underlying fury lacing his words, and all of that aggression is pretty hot when it’s not aimed at me.
Of course, I’d chew nails before admitting there may now be slick dripping down my thick thighs.
Thankfully, they’re too wound up to notice my perfume flitting on the light breeze created by the air conditioning.
“Yes.”
“Please tell me you told them where they could shove their lousy goddamn percentage?” Beck demands, his hand inexplicably sliding along my jaw.
“Oh, you bet your ass I did.” I briefly recount the conversation, secretly pleased when they all grumble and bristle damn near on cue.
“Well, I’m sorry they hurt you…” Wyatt leans in, his lips just inches from my ear. “But I’m not sorry you showed them the door, because guess what that means?”
A shiver wracks my body as his warm breath brushes against my skin. He smells like jasmine with a tinge of salted sea. Cozy and comforting. “What?”
“There’s nothing stopping us from picking up the treasure they so callously discarded.”
Where in the hell did this Beta come from? The slick has damn near reached my knees, and if it trickles any lower, they’ll see it running down my damn calves thanks to this short dress. But maybe they won’t notice…
My hopes are dashed when both Alphas’ nostrils flare.
It’s been dry down there for so long the trees have been bribin’ the dogs, but apparently my body doesn’t give a damn that this is the one pack it shouldn’t be getting wet for. Instead, it’s proudly waving the dripping wet white flag of surrender.
“But we can’t?—”
“Says who?” Beck murmurs, his lips dangerously close to mine.
He smells so damn good I almost let my whine slip free.
Anxiously, I turn to the one man who will without a doubt help me put a stop to this before people get hurt. His eyes clash with mine, and for the span of a few heartbeats, it’s like I’m ensnared by him. I can’t look away. I also can’t read the expression plastered on his stony face.
“Kash, tell them. Explain to them why this will never?—”
“I can’t.”
My breath stalls in my lungs.
“But… What do… What do you mean you…” I can’t seem to get the words in any sort of order in my brain that makes sense.
But maybe he can’t either. “Are you suffering from heat stroke? You’re awfully sweaty and maybe not thinking clearly, otherwise you’d give them a thousand and one reasons why we can’t happen. ”
“ We can’t. But there’s nothing stopping them from courting you now.”
Them . Wyatt and Beck. His packmates. But not him .
My belly takes a nosedive, nerves and dairy catching up to me.
My eyes dart to the two men within reach.
They’re watching me expectantly, waiting for…
What? An answer? They want to court me while Kash sits on the sidelines?
Beck would bond me, and Kash and I would be…
friends? Frenemies? That seems like a shit storm waiting to happen.
Despite what he just said, I don’t think my father would even approve of them being pack-adjacent to Kash.
Jack definitely wouldn’t. And what if he finds another Omega in the future?
Could I sit back and watch him love someone else when all he feels for me is hate?
I step back, moving away from the charming Beta and the alluring Alpha, and bump into the ladder behind me. I need a little room to breathe. And some sleep. And a bathroom. Then maybe I can think about this logically and rationally.
“I need to go.”
I duck under Beck’s arm and make a beeline for the back door and my SUV. Probably why they didn’t see it, because it was around the back side of the building. It’s not locked. I left my keys, purse, everything inside it last night in my race to get to my private pity-party.
What can I say? This is Darling.
I pull the handle, but the door is barely open an inch before it’s forcefully shut by a large hand connected to a hairy, muscular forearm. The heavy scent of blueberries in whiskey hangs in the air between us, taunting me.
Startled, I glance over my shoulder and meet Beck’s intense stare.
His baseball hat is turned backward, the familiar curl of dark hair along the bottom reminding me of the night we met.
There’s a day’s worth of scruff covering his face, and the strong desire to run my hands along his jaw hits me like a freight train.
“What do you want?” I rasp, suddenly starving for oxygen…and something decidedly less PG-13.
His nostrils flare as he steps forward, effectively caging me in against my vehicle. One hand lifts to cradle my neck, his thumb brushing along the length of my jaw. His eyes trace over my mess of a face, and I wonder what it is he’s seeing. Can’t be anything good.
“A lot of things,” he says softly, and I can’t help the hint of a whine that escapes. “But let’s start with one simple question.”
It’s hard to think when he’s this close and my vagina’s been on sabbatical for four years, but somehow I manage to put words together into a complete sentence. “Okay. I probably have an answer.”
“Is Charlotte my daughter?”