Chapter 23 Nelly #2
Five pairs of eyes widened simultaneously, their reactions shifting like tides.
Surprise. Appreciation. Worry. Wanting. Guilt.
Hope. Frustration. Even anger. I felt their gazes like physical touches, assessing every feature, every freckle, every strand of ginger hair the wind whipped across my face.
"Jesus," the one with navy eyes and a golden braid pulled over one shoulder said, "They didn't do you justice in the photos."
“Cannavui,” breathed out the other Alpha with braided hair, only his was so much longer and black as raven wings.
Another of the Alphas took a step forward, his almost lilac eyes trained on my face unblinking. “God… you’re finally here… You’re… finally ours.” His voice cracked, his words stopping and starting. He moved closer, and I held up a hand to stop him.
"Back off," I snapped, wrapping my arms around myself despite the warmth of the day. "I'm not here. I’m not your property."
"Actually—" Spider Tattoo began to correct me but was silenced by a collective glare from all five Alphas.
Silence fell over everything. No one moved, like we’d run out of script and were all shit at improv.
Finally, Forehead Vein broke the spell. “Trent, re-fueling’s gonna be done soon.”
At his words, we all seemed to thaw and shift simultaneously. A compact tanker truck was parked beside the plane, fuel hose already connected and pumping. I hadn’t even heard it arrive, let alone the works moving around the tarmac to prep for the return flight.
“Yes, um,” Spider Tattoo looked uncomfortable.
Typical male chauvinist. Lord himself over a woman, but wilt as soon as a bigger man comes onto the playing field.
“Originally, we would have delivered the product to your residence and gone through the transfer protocol. Since you all are here and,” his eyes flicked towards me and quickly away again, “have already seen the merchandise, I suppose we can do the transfer paperwork and wrap this up.”
“She isn’t merchandise,” the Alpha with the crow dark hair said slowly, standing a little taller and rolling his shoulders.
“Right, yes. Whatever you say, sir.” Spider Tattoo spilled the words out quickly.
He pulled the tablet from where he’d, at some point, tucked it beneath his arm.
He flipped open the case’s cover to bring the screen to life.
Moments later, he was turning it around and walking quickly towards the Alphas.
One by one, they initialed and signed to prove they’d received me.
The exchange, so much like accepting a package from the post, disgusted me.
I looked away, unable to stomach the sight of five men signing for me like I was a piece of mail. Their voices murmured in the background, legal jargon mixing with the steady hum of the refueling truck.
"I'll need to document the condition upon arrival," Spider Tattoo said, holding up the tablet. "Just a few photos. Standard procedure. Though, normally the hood is in place."
"No," Wyatt's voice was firm, brooking no argument. "We're done here."
Spider Tattoo started to protest, but Wyatt took a step forward, his presence expanding until it seemed to blot out the sun. Even I felt the pressure of his Alpha nature pushing outward, and it wasn't directed at me.
"I said we're done," he repeated, each word falling like a hammer. "Eros has been paid. The paperwork is signed. Now leave, or we’ll be happy to call our client relations liaison and explain how our Omega was treated before arrival."
Forehead Vein appeared at his partner's side, muttering something I couldn't hear. Spider Tattoo's expression shifted from indignation to resignation.
"Fine," he said, tucking the tablet back under his arm. As he did so, a bit of his old asshole swagger returned. "She's your problem now." His gaze slid to me, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Good luck. She's got a mouth on her."
"Get on the plane," Wade said quietly, but with an undercurrent of steel I wouldn't have expected from the gentler twin, “before we make you.”
Spider Tattoo and Forehead Vein stalked away, but not before the former gave me a sickening wink which made my stomach turn. Winks are meant for flirting or for good luck.
I didn’t want option one. And option two wasn’t a possibility for me anymore.
My good luck was nonexistent, while my shit luck was plentiful.
Nervously, I rubbed at my bruised right wrist.
“Circulation coming back’s the worst part. They’ll feel better soon.” Wade’s gentle voice pushed into my depressing thoughts.
“I’ve had worse,” I intoned flatly, dropping my hands to my sides. I tried not to fidget, but my fingers started kneading at the thin dress fabric.
My claim made his gaze tighten. Behind him, I saw the other four Alphas look down or to the side, all of them processing the fact that being roughed up by the Betas wasn’t a big deal to me.
Their discomfort was almost satisfying, a tiny victory in this whole mess.
I squared my shoulders and looked directly at Wyatt, the apparent leader of this little pack.
Time to establish boundaries, even if they were destined to be trampled.
"So, what happens now?" I asked, injecting as much steel into my voice as possible. “All the paperwork’s done and you’ve got your product. Should I keep my mouth shut, do whatever you say, and start spreading my legs?"
The one with lilac eyes—was he Cooper, Boone, or Levi?—flinched as if I'd slapped him. "It's not like that," he said, his voice soft and hurt.
"Really?" I challenged. "I was flown to Wyoming and delivered to you like domestic goods. No one cares about my personhood. I’m a thing you bought from Eros. Please, explain how it's 'not like that.'"
The one with the braided blond hair stepped forward, holding up his hands as if surrounding. Him… surrendering. Like I had the upper hand somehow. "Nelly, we understand you're upset—"
"Upset?" I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "Upset is when your coffee order is wrong. Upset is when it rains on your day off. This?" I turned in a circle, arms held up, indicating the entirety of Wyoming and their stupid pack. “This is fucking insane.”
The men stayed quiet as they shifted positions, ending up in a half circle in front of me. I looked at them one by one.
“If you don’t want to be here, then—” I cut off whoever it was. I didn’t care to play whatever game they were going to start by acting like I had freedom.
“Let’s get one thing straight, okay?” I bit my lower lip.
I wasn’t sure if playing tough here would do me more harm than good.
“I heard you guys like to break things. I am not a horse. I am a fucking human being. I have fought repeatedly,” tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked them away quickly, “to not be broken. I’ll be damned if a pack of pigheaded cowboys takes me down. ”
“We hear you,” this from the deeply tanned Alpha with the midnight hair. “No one wants to break your spirit.”
I had to look away from him. My biological response was electric. All my inner Omega wanted to do was rush forward and press my wrists against his neck. Kiss his mouth. Mingle our scents. Another voice made me look back at the quintet.
“You belong with us,” the lavender-eyed Alpha added, his voice rough with emotion. He really meant that, didn’t he? I could smell the truth of his words. Earthen. Vital. Fertile land that would grow anything.
“It’s true Nelly,” the Alpha with the large crow braid said, so much conviction in his tone that I almost, almost, believed him. He tilted his head a heartbeat later, a bemused look washing over his face. “We’ve not even introduced ourselves properly.”
I was about to snap at him that I’d seen the whole ‘come live in a farm Utopia as a prized cow’ promo video but stopped myself.
His eyes were just so warm and sincere. And, honestly, I’d been so out of it on the plane that I only remembered the twins Wyatt and Wade by name, though I couldn’t recall which of them had the mullet.
“I’m Boone,” he said, lifting the length of plaited hair and tossing it over his shoulder to trail down his back.
“This is Cooper,” he strode over and slung an arm around the other Alpha with a braid, “And Levi,” he leaned a little, reaching out for the taller, leaner Alpha with the lavender eyes.
“Then there’s Wade,” the twin with the tooth gap raised his hand, “and Wyatt.” The ‘leader’ lifted a hand and tipped his hat like he was some damn Southern gentleman.
“Great. Now when I’m cursing you in my head, I can do so properly,” I crossed my arms, cringing a little when the bruised skin of my wrists chafed.
Wyatt noticed, his eyes flicking down to the damage. Something akin to anger flashed across his face, then quickly faded away as he began to speak. “Let us take you home. Let us show you we aren’t your enemy. I mean, you got on board the plane. You worked with Eros. Just give this thing a chance.”
Home. Let us take you home.
I boarded the damn plane.
I worked with Eros.
What kind of delusional fucking Kool-Aid were these guys drinking?
Their home, not mine. Their territory, their rules, their expectations.
"Wyoming isn’t my home," I replied, my voice steady despite the chaos of emotions and biological responses coursing through me. “It’s true that I signed a piece of shit contract without reading the fine print, but I’m not staying here.
I’m going to fight this, just so you fucking know. This isn’t what I want.”
My Alphas exchanged glances again, silently communicating.
In that moment, standing on the sunbaked tarmac with mountains rising in the distance like they cordoned Wyoming off from the rest of the world, I realized the true extent of what I was facing.
Not just the legal system against me, but also a unified pack with established bonds, shared history, and a collective purpose.
I wouldn’t find an ally here who’d help liberate me.
I was the outsider. The prize they'd purchased. The Omega they expected to complete them. It was all bullshit. This wasn’t some love story like my grandparents.
There were days in the past when I’d thought about finding a partner, of settling down and having children.
At one point, I’d even seen a future with Geoff.
Never would I have pictured myself here, at the mercy of five Alphas who made my body coil with desire and dread.
I straightened my spine, ignoring the pain still radiating from my wrists, the exhaustion pulling at my limbs after hours of fear and anger and drugged unconsciousness.
I might be delivered, but I wasn't defeated. Not yet. Not ever.
“We can talk more once were back home,” this from Wade. I shot him an icy look, and he corrected himself, “the ranch. We’ll talk more when we get to the ranch.”
“You can talk. I don’t promise to fucking listen,” I snarled, stomping away like I knew where the hell I was going. Just keep faking fierce, I told myself. Keep faking and maybe the fear won’t overtake you.