Chapter 6
River
My alarm goes off like an annoying gnat in my ear. I let out a groan and roll over, burying my face in my pillow. But that doesn’t stop the annoying shrill of the alarm.
“Turn that fucking thing off!” My father screams from his room, beating on the wall.
That’s all it takes for me to jump out of bed and turn the alarm off. No way in hell do I want to anger him to the point he’d come in here. I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand, then raise my arms above my head and stretch.
My stomach tightens into a knot knowing that I have to go to school today. The options of being there or here weigh equal levels of pain and anxiety. But school will always win out over the drunk that I live with. Over the man I call my father.
I go through the process of getting dressed before heading out to the kitchen to make a sandwich to take for lunch. If Storm were here, he’d give me some cash, but he’s not, so it's better to take something with me or be hungry until I get home tonight.
I make sure to make as little noise as possible. There’s no way I want to wake my dad again and have him come barging in here, beating me before I have to head out. He’d make sure to leave the marks where no one could see them, but the pain would be there, bearing down on me like a heavy weight.
Once I have wrapped my sandwich tightly with saran wrap, I drop it in my bag, stopping long enough to pick a banana out of the fruit bowl and grab a bottle of water.
Not a balanced meal, but it’ll have to do.
There were enough leftovers from last night that as long as Dad doesn’t eat everything, then I don't have to cook tonight. A welcome blessing for me.
I pull the worn strap of my bookbag over my shoulder and head out the front door, ensuring it’s locked behind me. A simple thing really and not something my father would ever do for me if I were the one asleep inside.
One step at a time, I make my way off the porch and then down the sidewalk, thankful for the walk prolonging my arrival to school, and helping me to escape my home.
My sneakers scrape the sidewalk, the sole catching where it’s coming apart.
I glued it a couple days ago, but the stickiness is failing yet again.
I need a new pair, but instead of asking my father for the money for a new pair, I’ve been making due.
With each step I take, my backpack bumps against my body, and I count the cracks in the pavement the way I used to do when I was a kid, making sure to step over them.
The old saying always made me scared, wondering if that’s why my mother died.
Did someone step on a crack and break her back?
I shake my head as I chuckle under my breath at the insanity of it.
A cool bite lingers in the morning air, making me shiver. A dog barking causes me to jump. The gruff sound is so close it feels as if it’s right behind me. My steps quicken, even though when I look back I don’t see it.
Then it hits me. It’s light at first, the intensity increasing with each step. A prickling weight between my shoulder blades. Like eyes pressing into me. Watching.
I tell myself not to look, not to make it obvious, but my body reacts before my brain catches up.
My shoulders tighten, my stride quickens, and every sound around me sharpens—the leaves whispering overhead, the squeak of a swing set in somebody’s yard, even the faint hum of a car engine blocks away. It’s all amping my paranoia.
I swallow hard and grip the strap of my bag until my knuckles ache. My heart feels too loud, thudding in my chest, echoing in my ears. I keep walking, faster now, trying to look normal, but with each step my feet feel like lead, as if I’m sinking into quicksand.
I can’t stand it anymore. The need to know if someone is behind me is too overwhelming. My head snaps over my shoulder so fast my neck twinges. For a split second I’m braced to see… something. Someone standing there.
But there’s no one. Just an empty sidewalk, houses with their blinds pulled tight and a crow picking at the grass near the curb.
Still, the feeling clings to me, crawling under my skin.
Even as I turn back around and keep walking, I swear the feeling stays latched firmly to me, like a baby suckling.
It’s a silent, unseen threat that I carry with me all the way to the school gates.
Only when I’m inside the building do I let go.
“Look who it is,” a nasally voice from someone in the midst of the group of girls at their lockers pulls my attention. I go to a school that’s only for omegas. Kind of outdate-ish if you ask me, but it’s where all good omegas go until they graduate and find their mates.
I lower my head, pull my shoulder strap up higher and keep moving.
“I heard the Hartman Pack was at her house last night,” someone whispers, just loud enough for me to hear but not to make out who is saying it.
“Probably just there to collect a debt. Her father owes half the town money, including my family,” Jenna says flippantly, turning her nose up when I look over glaring at her.
“It’s sad. I bet he even tried to give River up as payment.
” They all laugh at her words, thinking it’s a joke.
But would they still laugh knowing it’s the truth?
I want to say something. Even if it was a lie. Tell them how the pack sought me out because one of them was enamored by me. Which is kind of the truth. But I don’t. I bite down on the pink flesh on the inside of my jaw and fight back the words. They would be wasted and wouldn’t do me any good.
The bell rings, and as movement increases in the hallway, my body gets tossed around as people bump into me.
None of them care that it may be hurting me or if they may cause me to fall.
My feet keep moving, my head still down as I make my way to my classroom—omega etiquette.
A fucking waste. I trudge to my seat, all the way in the back, in a corner.
I picked it so no one can be behind me, and I see everyone as they come in.
Two years ago I learned my lesson. My hair was cut while sitting at my desk by one of Jenna’s minions.
The teacher and the school did absolutely nothing.
Jenna purses her lips as she gazes at me with annoyance, claiming her seat right in the front row.
Of course the ass kisser sits there. “Good morning, Mrs. Hornasher,” she practically purrs as our instructor walks in the classroom.
A middle-aged beta, with brown hair that’s starting to gray and a muscular build.
She’s part of the Holston Pack, one of the most beloved packs in town.
Well, to most people. She’s always turned a blind eye to the abusive words slung my way.
“Morning, everyone. Graduation’s just around the corner, and soon you’ll be meeting your packs, going through your first heats, maybe even starting families. Big changes are coming, and it’s such an exciting part of being a young omega.”
My eyes drift out the window as she rambles on. Her words are merely an echo in my ear as I draw circles aimlessly on paper.
I hear it before I see it. The Lamborghini Huracán EVO.
I wasn’t big on cars, but I knew this one.
My dream car. One I imagined having but knew was out of my price range.
The paint shimmered with a glossy midnight black with molten orange flames down the side.
The engine doesn’t purr politely like a luxury sedan.
It roars with a guttural growl that makes glass rattle and conversations stop mid-sentence.
A sound you feel more in your chest than in your ears.
Subtle isn’t the point with a car like this.
No, attention is what the driver’s going for.
This car exists to thrill, to flaunt, to be seen. And boy, do I see it.
This isn’t a gentleman’s weekend roadster. This is a car for someone who wants the world to stare, to envy them, to know them. A car that doesn’t just move its driver from place to place, but declares, with every rev of its engine: I’ve arrived — and I don’t plan on blending in.
And when the door opens, and the driver steps out, the point is made clear.
My assumption is right. The man looks like sin on legs.
From what I can make out, he’s in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, with a hardened look to him.
Leather pants cling to his frame, while the black shirt is molded to his wide shoulders and lean muscles.
The sharp cut of his jaw is dusted with stubble, and his mouth holds that almost-smile, as he pulls off his shades and looks up at the building.
I shift in my seat, feeling as if he’s looking right at me.
That feeling from earlier hitting me right in the gut.
The class erupts in noise.
“Settle down right this instant.” Mrs Hornasher's loud voice echoes through the room. “We will act like the omega women and men we are. Whatever is happening outside this room, is not of our concern.”
The words are barely out of her mouth before the bell rings again.
“Remember to have your meal plans tomorrow.” Mrs Hornasher bellows at us as I rush for the door, along with a few others, while Jenna and her minions rush to the window, catching what glimpse they can of the mystery man that arrived.
I don’t care who he is. My only goal is making it until Storm gets back and we can leave this shithole together.
Step by step, I move down the hallway, keeping my body flush against the lockers. The less eye contact I make with people, hopefully the less they’ll notice me.
When I make it to my next class without anyone verbally or physically attacking me, I let out a sigh of relief. It’s the same as before, straight to my desk, in the back of the room. The less time I spend in the hallways cuts down on any chance of being harassed.
One by one, the others trickle in, whispering amongst themselves. If I were someone who wanted to belong, I’d strain to listen in. But I don’t. Instead, I open my notebook and continue doodling before I begin making a list of what I need to take care of before Storm gets home.
I’m so caught up in myself I miss the throat clearing.
Laughter rings out around me before Ms. Lilly speaks loudly.
“Quiet.” The room falls in a hush as my head pops up and locks my eyes on her.
“River, you are needed in the office.” I close my notebook and stand, noticing the snickering going on around me.
“Take your things with you.” Raising my eyebrow in confusion, I do as she says, but I can’t help but notice the way her smile doesn’t quite seem right.
There's no happiness, and the corners don’t quite reach the edge of her face.
I step out into the hallway to see the Dean’s secretary waiting for me.
“This is such a big day for you,” her voice giddy with excitement that makes me want to puke. “We need to hurry. Dean Wiltmont is waiting for us.”
She doesn’t say anything else, just moves at a brisk pace down the hallway.
“Why is the Dean wanting to see me?” I ask, rushing to keep up with her.
“Such a lucky omega.” She says again, almost as if she’s chanting it. That knot in my stomach gets tighter, and I can feel the anxiety trying to claw its way out of me.
“So why am I being called to see the Dean?” I ask again, still trying to keep up with her pace as she rounds the corner, the office looming just ahead of us. She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she starts humming.
That’s definitely not crazy.
When we get to the door, she stops then turns to face me. “Such a big day. You’re a very lucky omega.” That’s all she says again, like a broken record, before knocking on the door, and opening it, standing back to let me inside.
The Dean gestures toward a seat in front of him. “River, please take a seat.”
I drop my bookbag to the floor, slowly lowering myself into the seat.
It’s then I notice the man standing off in the corner.
The same one from the car. He’s gazing back at me with eyes that are cold and intense.
He lifts his hand, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and steps toward me, sitting down in the chair right beside me.
Now that I can see him up close, his scent over powering me I can see him clearer.
While outward he’s good looking, his aura gives off nothing but pure darkness.
“River, this is Elliott Hartman.” I quickly turn my head to the man, gulping as he gazes at me, his tongue gliding across his teeth as he takes me in.
“He told me of the amazing news of your upcoming mating with his pack. Since you have met all the requirements to graduate and have found your pack, there is no need for you to continue your schooling.”
“Whh…what do you mean?” My pulse is racing, and all I want to do is run, but fear and the waves of alpha dominance swarming in the room has me settled firmly in place.
“What he means, little guinea pig, is that you’re leaving with me.” His hand reaches out, gripping my thigh just above my knee, squeezing firmly. “And coming home to be with your future pack.”