Chapter 27 Ryder #2
“What kind?” I didn’t look at him, gaze locked on an image of the Fortune mansion. Its gate was chained, a large no trespassing sign mounted above a giant, intimidating lock. She’d lost her damn home. She’d lost everything.
“Smoked salmon, cream cheese, capers.” He pointed to the right of the platter. “Roquefort cheese and grapes.”
“Sounds gross. Give me the salmon.” I held out a hand, still focused on the laptop.
Mac placed one in my open palm. “I believe I irreparably scratched the glass stove. I may have also ruined the nonstick coating on several pans. Apparently, those soapy, metal pads the cleaning service leaves are not meant for appliances or cookware.”
I quirked an eyebrow, finally glancing over. “You know that, Mac.”
“Do I?” He picked up a dainty square stuffed with grapes and cheese. “Why do we have Roquefort? It’s abysmal.” Mac lifted the top of his sandwich, frowning down at the blue-veined, moldy cheese.
“You know Dixon likes that shit,” I shrugged. “Caught him biting into a chunk of Limburger once, and that seriously smells like an armpit.”
“What are you doing?” Mac leaned over, peering down at the screen as he took a large bite of his sandwich. Strange thing to do—make tea sandwiches when our world was being turned upside down—but it was just another odd way my pack brother was coping. A grape escaped, plopping down on the tray.
“Reading up on the Fortune Pack. The articles about Tessa are bullshit. Some try to blame her for the crash, others are morbidly curious how she’s survived after her family assets were seized, and then there are these fuckers who just wanted to get their two minutes of fame off her.
” I scrolled lower, skimming all the stuff about possible tax evasion and seized assets.
“No wonder she disappeared,” Mac murmured, picking up another square; this time he lifted the top piece of bread and flicked out the grapes before eating.
“Yeah, no wonder.” I handed Mac one of the earbuds; he popped it into his left ear. “It’s probably good her photo was kept out of the press. They wiped out everything, though. If she ever had socials, they’re gone. It’s like they tried to make her not exist.”
“That either kept her safe, or kept her very isolated.” Mac grabbed one of his discarded grapes and ate it, frowning as he chewed.
Tray walked in as I clicked on a new article.
He was wet from a shower, sporting an unzipped hoodie with no shirt beneath and low-slung blue sweatpants.
After giving us a sleepy smile, he settled down on the sectional with his head a few inches from Dixon’s.
For the next two hours, Mac and I read every article we could find and watched every old television report.
Despite our hopes that we’d finally find something about where she’d been staying and what she’d been doing ever since the tragedy, we came up empty.
It was just more of the same, over and over.
Any mention of Tessa was always a scripted statement about how the sole Fortune pack survivor had gone off the grid and no one could find her.
Everyone wanted a fucking exclusive interview.
That was all they cared about. Not her wellbeing.
I logged into my email so Mac could go over the Eros communications Catalina forwarded per my request. I hoped he’d see something I hadn’t, but the information The Institute gave was vague too.
There was nothing hidden in the subtext.
I fucking hated how Tessa was always referred to as the ‘Omega product’.
The reporters had seen her that way too.
A product to be exploited. Mac’s face had grown stern, and his Alpha scent smelled faintly of cognac.
His hand no longer reached repeatedly towards the sandwich tray.
His body vibrated gently as he fought down rising emotions.
I knew he felt the same. Our Omega was no one’s product. She was no one’s career opportunity.
She was our mate.
She must have been so fucking lonely. She’d had no one authentic to turn to for help.
Closing the laptop abruptly, I placed it on the floor and shoved it beneath the coffee table so no one would trip on it. I got up from the sofa too fast, making my head swim for a moment. Like Mac, the need to protect Tessa was racing through my veins. My body felt shaky.
“I need some air,” I blurted out before bolting around the sectional to wrench the slider open. I both felt and heard Mac following. Either he didn’t want to be left alone with his feelings, or he worried I shouldn’t be. Hell, both were probably true.
I found my way to one of the lounge chaises and I sat down, but only for a heartbeat. Instead, I paced next to the pool.
I needed to move.
I needed to expend some energy.
Should have done what Dixon had—disappeared for a while and given myself the five-finger friendly.
Tessa’s smell wasn’t out here in the courtyard. That fact almost made me bolt back inside. Though, it also made me more clear-headed.
“Swim?” The suggestion came out of the blue. I turned slightly, eyes finding Mac hovering a few feet away from me, as if he were unsure how to help me or himself.
“Fuck it, why not,” I breathed out.
Moments later, I dove naked into the deep end.
Mac stripped slowly, methodically, folding his clothes onto a patio chair.
Then he entered sensibly via the shallow end stairs.
I did a few laps before sinking to the bottom and holding my breath long enough that the world above the water started to blur.
Even after that, I stayed rooted to the floor of the pool, pushing dangerously past my limit.
When I rocketed back up to breach the water’s surface, I gasped hungrily, as if taking my first gulps of life-affirming oxygen after rebirth.
Mac was doing lazy laps, sleek body cutting through the water with ease.
He had always been good at almost everything.
It was just his nature. Calm. Sensible. Structured.
Yet, fractures had formed in his ‘got it all together’ facade over the last year.
The cracks deepened and widened, until he was a guy gutting the kitchen, ruining pots, and making dainty sandwiches at one in the morning, as if those random actions could fix whatever was broken inside him.
I wondered how painful those clinic visits had been.
.. I wondered if he’d ever have to go back.
No. Never. Not after Tessa arrived.
After Mac and I put our clothes back on, we retreated into the house.
We were once-again soaked, only this time with chlorinated water instead of rain.
For some reason, Tray was now asleep on the carpet instead of the sectional.
One of his legs was angled up, foot caught between two sofa cushions.
Dixon’s right arm was slung over his head, precisely where Tray’s own head had once been.
That was likely the culprit—a hit from Dixon, even at half-strength, would be enough to knock a guy off a sofa.
“I’m going to shower, maybe grab a little shut eye,” Mac murmured softly, so as not to wake our sleeping brothers.
I watched his eyes lock onto Tessa’s gown.
I noticed the stiff hesitation, but then his shoulders relaxed; he gave a slight nod, as if assuring himself that ‘yes, her scent will still be here once I come back’.
I wasn’t sure what to do with myself after he left.
The room felt thick with soft snores, mumbled sleep talk, and Omega perfume.
Not suffocating, per se, but almost too stimulating.
The fireplace cast a cool glow over everything.
Its artificial flames—flares of blue rising from fabricated logs—made everything feel a bit surreal.
If I kept standing here, I’d start to believe we really were in a dream.
It was just our desperate need and imagination crafting a cure for our primal maladies.
I didn’t care for the fake fire. We’d retrofitted the real fireplace last year, after we’d nearly burned the mansion down making s'mores while high as kites. That thought made me smile. Those s’mores had been fucking delicious.
Hungry. I was wildly hungry I realized as my insides clenched. My mouth also tasted of smoked salmon, mint protein bar, and the slightest seasoning of pool water.
Going into the kitchen, leaving damp footprints in my wake, I beelined for the fridge.
My phone vibrated in my back pocket just as I gripped the fridge handle.
Switching gears, I pushed my hand into my pants and pulled out my cell.
It was damp, even though I’d swum naked.
Guess my body had been wet enough that moisture permeated the pocket.
Damn. Padding over to the paper towels, I ripped one off the roll and wiped the phone quickly. Not soaked. The phone was fine.
Someone had texted. It wasn’t even five AM yet. Cat. Cat wouldn’t text this early for no good reason. Punching in my numeric code, I pulled up the message.
Catalina: Snag in the works. On the phone with a Cupid Company rep. I’ll ask to be transferred to an Eros official if it gets too complicated.
Me: What’s up?
Even though I was exhausted, brain clouded, I registered her words. Did a snag in the works mean something was wrong with our match? With… her?
Catalina’s response came quickly. She’d handle it, no matter what it took. I shouldn’t worry, and don’t tell the others.
Wrenching open the fridge, I grabbed a carbonated water and found several filled-to-the-top storage containers. I grabbed the top one, not caring what was inside. Going to the island, I placed down the water and flipped open the container's blue tabs.
“Damn, Mac. Couldn’t you make anything normal?
” I grumbled at the sight of the skewered melon balls with mint leaves artfully placed at different intervals.
Sighing, I grabbed one and used my teeth to scrape the topmost green, fruity orb into my mouth off the sharp wood.
I chewed diligently, letting the melon flavor drive away the other lingering tastes.
It took three skewers’ worth of fruit before the protein bar’s ghost was completely erased.
Sadly, it wasn’t so easy to drive away feelings.
I twisted the metal cap off the glass bottle with more force than necessary and slammed the opening against my lips.
The cold liquid soothed my parched throat but did nothing for the burning in my chest. My Alpha instincts, already revved, were going into overdrive after the text message.
Protect. Provide. Possess. And now, there might be some fucking problem.
I’d tear down the goddamn world if something or someone kept her away from me.
The devil on my shoulder began whispering that I had to do something.
I had to get to her. Had to make her mine. I’d waited so long for Tessa.
The angel on the other shoulder was... quiet.
My hand shook as an amalgam of fear and anger and worry bloomed in my chest. The water bottle tipped back and forth, spilling its contents.
I set it down on the kitchen island, gripped the marble edge, and leaned forward to close my eyes and take deep breaths the way our pack’s therapist told us to.
The stupid cake with birthday candles. I’d tried the box.
I hated the box. Who wanted to imagine a fucking cardboard cure?
I took a deep inhalation, then slowly expelled it, blowing out each imaginary flame.
“You're thinking too loud,” Dixon's sleep-roughened voice came from behind me, pulling me from my reverie.
I turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, bleached hair wild, kohl eyeliner he’d laid on thick yesterday smudged, and shirt collar stretched so widely that it hung limply to reveal more collarbone than it should.
He’d done that last night, saying he couldn’t breathe.
The shirt hadn’t been the issue though. He was just like the rest of us—anxious.
He hadn’t lost his cool though. He hadn’t punched walls and broken furniture.
Dix had finally calmed down when a bat hit the courtyard door, slamming the glass.
He loved bats, one of Dixon’s weird quirks he kept hidden from the public.
He even had a Mexican free-tailed bat specimen framed in his room, expertly preserved by a taxidermist in Texas.
More than once in our history together, I’d gained forgiveness thanks to a random piece of bat paraphernalia.
He’d worn this one shirt I gave him that said ‘I’m bat shit crazy’ until it literally fell apart.
And, thankfully, he’d given me a pass on stealing the groupie he’d been eyeballing for a post-concert quickie.
“Catalina texted,” I admitted, knowing I couldn't keep it from Dixon anyway. He wasn’t generally intuitive like Mac, but his intuition when it came to me was uncanny. The second something was wrong with me, he knew it. “Something's up with the match.”
Immediately, Dixon’s eyes cleared, and his body went on alert. The air in the kitchen was blasted with his Alpha pheromones. They echoed my internal war.