~Chapter 17~
W e’re all huddled around the table, the subtle hint of lemon butter wafting through the air. The image of Franco Guillero is pulled up on my laptop. Smug lookin’ bastard would make a good Abercrombie model. He’s annoyingly good-looking; no facial hair, a chiseled jaw, a slightly crooked nose, and that whole “beach blonde” combover that was popular in the early 2000s.
Based on the information Stu gathered, he was in and out of foster care after his Mom overdosed on heroin when he was 5. He dropped out of high school his freshman year, then started working for local gangbangers.
Apparently, Franco here has been noticed by all the right people and quickly moved through the ranks of the Crimson Knights. He was last photographed at the Baker’s Rack- a local Hookah lounge and bakery. They also, allegedly, dabble in some not-so-legal sales in the back room. Seems like a good place to go undercover.
Just then, the smell of lavender and eucalyptus envelop me. This woman here…
I suck in a deep breath and count backward from ten so I can recenter myself. I swear I’m trying to keep my distance but she calls out to the possessive, protector in me. The Omega to my Alpha.
“Oh! Franco! How do you know him?” The entire atmosphere stills and immediately fills with tension.
Turning around, I see that the little vixen taking up residence in my home, and in my head, is crouched behind me. Her hair is artfully messy, still a little wet, and she has on a baggy black shirt with books outlined in the middle of it. However, I can’t see more than that because the gentle curve of her breasts pressed against the shirt catches my complete attention. ‘Cause, you know, I’m apparently a teenager around her.
Thankfully, Even’s brain is still functioning, so he asks the important question. “How do you know Franco?”
Her face tinges bright pink as she stands to her full height. But then, we all watch in awe as she straightens, rolls her shoulders back, and tips her chin in the air like the mini-badass she is. “A friend.”
“Friend?” Stu blurts; anger mixed with disbelief. He swore she really didn’t have friends. So, what are the odds she’s actually been “casually hanging out” with a member of the Crimson Knights? “Why does it matter? Who I spend my time with is none of your business. Unless, of course, you’re trying to trick me into another gang bang.”
I shoot a look to Stu, who is sitting to my left, directly in my line of sight. The hurt and guilt filling his eyes makes me lose it.
With a growl, I slam my hands on the table, shove the chair back, and whirl on Beatrice. I vaguely see that the others are also moving to intervene, but I would never, ever, hurt a woman.
I eat up the distance she put between us when I flung my chair backward. Raising a finger, I tower over her and point right at her nose. “Listen here, little girl,” I spit. I shake my head at the audacity of this woman making Stu, and probably Even, feel like shit; again.
“You can be pissed all you want but they did nothing wrong. You meet Even on a fucking app-”
“That’s bullcrap.” She starts but I just keep going.
“You told Even your little fantasy and guess what? He just so happened to know a group of guys more than willing to make your fantasy come true. Whether we knew you before or not is completely irrelevant because at the end of the da-”
“They lied! I didn’t know! It’s still a lie by ommissio-”
“No! At the end of the day, you said “yes”. Repeatedly. You didn’t have to let us touch you. You didn’t have to share about your intimacy issues with aftercare. You didn’t have to admit you fell in love with Stu .”
I see her eyes widen and flick over to Stu; as if she had already forgotten that she not only admitted it out loud, but she also wrote it in a fucking suicide note. Which reminds me…
“And what the hell are you so mad about anyway? You were going to run off and kill yourself after our night together. You were leaving forever, yet you didn’t even bother to tell your best friend ? The man you supposedly loved? I mean, what kind of bitter, selfish person does that?!”
“Enough!” Danny yells, snapping me out of my rage. I blink a few times, slowly returning to the here and now, forcing me out of the rant I’ve secretly told Cammy’s ghost a million times in the dead of night.
Beatrice is a blur in front of me, but thankfully after a few more blinks, her normal form appears. Her face is twisted in agonizing pain, heartache, guilt, fucking everything awful.
And I did that.
I roughly rub a hand up and down my face and step away from her. After a few passes around the kitchen island, I come to a stop in front of the three men who are like family, and the one woman who I can’t help but wish was.
“I-I’m sorry.” My hands shake as I clench them into fists. The guys are wearing various expressions of understanding, anger, and shock. I’ve never yelled at a woman like that before. Hell, I rarely unload on the guys like that.
Glancing up at Beatrice, I see that her mask of indifference and anger is firmly back in place.
Then something happens. Something I sure as shit didn’t have on my Bingo card for this woman.
“No.” She asserts calmly. Her shoulders just barely curve inward and tears openly stream down her beautiful, fucking face. Looking me dead in the eye, she nods her head subtly.
“No. Do not say “sorry”. Because,” she sighs heavily and I see the walls built up around her slowly start to crack.
She slowly starts to crack.
“Because you’re right. You don’t know, they don’t know,” she waves her hand toward Danny and Even, standing off to the right of the kitchen table.
“My life…” Shaking her head vigorously, she stares down at the table, like she’s trying to find the words.
Clearing her throat, again, she looks back at me, tilting her head just so, and says, “My life has been a series of terrifying events. Attack, after attack, after attack. My body has been taken against my will more times than I care to remember. It’s also been beaten more times than I want to remember. I’ve been manipulated, broken, and torn down so many times, that I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t take it.
I, um, I like Even. A lot. And, you, Alpha…Charlie… I was falling for you, too. Then, when I met Danny, I had a strange connection with him. Like, like…”
She trails off. Danny, bouncing on the balls of his feet, blurts out excitedly. “Magic! It was pure magic. I felt it, too, Flower.” His smile takes over his entire face, making him look absolutely insane. And, honestly, kind of adorable.
She chuffs a laugh, and shakes her head as she rolls her eyes. She tries to hide her smile, but it’s definitely there. I can tell by the way her eyes brighten and the lines above her mouth move, making the heart shape of her face more pronounced.
“Anyway,” she continues, again. “I was overwhelmed. I don’t do feelings, I don’t do relationships, and I certainly don’t do intimacy. Hence, the rules, the apps… I just. I can’t survive being hurt again. I just, I can’t.”
“But you did,” Stu says, breaking his silence for the first time. Tears are flooding his face, and his eyes and nose are red-rimmed, but there’s a steely determination in his eyes.
“Wh-what?” She stammers.
“You did survive being hurt again. You slid your bike into a guardrail and fell 30 feet down an embankment. Hell, Bea, some of the witnesses say you didn’t fall, you fucking flew! And guess what, you’re here. Hurt? Yes. In some pain? Also yes. But, like the badass that you fucking are, you survived!”
He shuffles forward, coming to a stand right in front of her, before gradually sliding his hands onto her cheeks. His thumbs rub away her tears and I can’t help but wish that was me. I want to comfort her. I want to calm her. Fuck, I want to hold her.
Stu’s voice lowers, but the silence in the house allows his voice to travel just enough that we can hear every word. “I hate what’s happened to you, Bea. All the things you told me, all the things you didn’t. But those things, Beatrice, those things make you the woman you are. You may be scared to feel, worried to fall, but guess what? We’re here to catch you. I’m here to catch you.” He leans in until he’s just a breath away.
“Besides, no other woman takes on the scumbags who get away with trafficking, with rape, with hurting innocent children… You do that, Beatrice. You! And, dammit, I fucking love you.”
His mouth immediately slams into hers, almost knocking her over. Her back goes ramrod straight for all of two seconds before she lets go. Before she allows herself to let go.
And, by God, it’s glorious.