CHAPTER TWO - AXEL #2
“Birdie?” She lifts her head as I stride back over to her. She’s still mostly hidden by her tangled hair, but I can see a small pink nose, a pair of chapped lips, and just enough of her eyes to know that they’re windows to a hellish landscape. “You’re Charlie’s little sister?”
She hesitates for a long moment, then gives a slight shrug. Estranged, my ass.
“Are you here for money? I don’t have a lot of cash on me, but I could wire it to you…
” She looks away, staring across the tracks at an icy hedge, and I grip the back of my neck.
My fingers are cold, even in my gloves, and I have to wonder how her toes haven’t snapped right off.
“I’m just saying, things are complicated for us right now. You might be better off on your own.”
She doesn’t reply; barely even blinks as she stares at the hedge.
I can’t tell if she’s resigned to being left behind, or if she just assumes I’m going to give in eventually.
Charlie once said I have a hero complex, and omegas can smell it a mile away.
But what fucking good did it do him when it counted?
“You can’t stay here,” I snap, shoving my hands into my pockets.
“It’s freezing, and the sun will be down in an hour or so. ”
She finally looks my way, her throat working for a moment before she says in a hint of a whisper, “No shoes.”
Fuck me. Those fucking little toes are out again; blue now and wiggling sluggishly like frostbitten worms.
“Alright,” I almost hiss through my clenched teeth. “You can come back with us tonight. In the morning, we’ll get something else sorted, okay?”
I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Was that as begrudging as it felt? Or did I give in too easily? Leaving her here would be bad but letting her think I’m offering some kind of refuge would be worse.
I expect the questions to start, since I doubt Charlie told her much about us, but she just nods and hops to her feet. I can’t resist looking down, those icy little toes almost hidden by the cuffs of her baggy jeans. “You don’t have any gear at all?”
It’s a stupid question – the platform is as deserted as an ice planet - but I can’t see how she got here from fuck knows where with just the clothes on her back. “What about ID? Do you have anything like that?”
I don’t know why I’m pushing for proof when the general already cleared her, but this whole situation has put me on the back foot. When in doubt, dig deeper. That was Charlie’s motto, and I don’t see why it has to die with him.
While I’ve been arguing with myself, she’s pulled up her sleeve, the veins glowing under white skin like a river system on a topo map.
And printed right across the middle of them is a serial number inked in black.
“That’s… Charlie’s DoD number.” I’ve seen it on enough paperwork to have it burned into my brain. “Why? I mean, why do you have that?”
She gives a hunched little shrug, and I rub my hand over the back of my mouth.
Did Charlie tell her to do it? He must have, but then, why didn’t he tell me?
I wasn’t just his pack alpha and team leader; I was his goddamn scent mate.
Nature’s choice and my perfect match. So, why didn’t he tell me he was in contact with his sister, and in the event of his death, she’d end up here, staring up at me with haunted eyes that make me want to put my fist through a wall?
Fuck. I clench my fist and stare down at the ridge of scarred knuckles. My pain shouldn’t be worse than hers – she’s his only blood kin, after all – but I suddenly envy her numb state. She’s like an ice statue, while I’m bleeding out all over this fucking platform…
“Okay, come with me.”
She follows in silence, not even complaining when we reach the snow-covered parking lot. The first crunch of her bare feet on the frozen ground makes me wince. I’m tempted to pick her up, but my skin is already crawling under my clothes. How bad would it get if I was wearing her like a second coat?
I speed up, my heart thumping by the time I reach the car.
Colt is stretched out on the back seat, his arm across his face and his sour breath leaking through the cracked window.
I thump the door, and he sits up with a snort, dirty hair hanging in his slack face.
“What the fuck?” His eyes narrow as he tries to focus on Birdie. “They’re not Twizzlers.”
“No boxes either,” I huff, rounding the car and opening the passenger door for the omega. She hops in without a word, and I circle back to Colt, jerking him out by the arm. He almost falls, and I give him a brutal shake. “I need you to perk the fuck up, Sergeant.”
He sways in my grip, then ducks to look in at Birdie. “She SOFU?”
I scowl, wondering how I missed it. Those pupils in those green-gold eyes are so wide because she’s Strung Out and Fucked Up.
Fuck my fucked-up, broken bitch of a life.
Colt runs a ragged nail over the scruff on his cheek and clicks his tongue. “We running a detox clinic now, boss?”
I scowl at him, but I have to admit, it’s an insightful question from someone who farts his way through debriefings with senior officers. “If we were, you’d be our gold-tier member.”
He curls his lip, but I can feel his grief pulse through our pack bond, and I bury my groan in my hand.
My cheek rasps against my palm and my irritation deepens.
Colt looks like he sleeps in a bush, but when was the last time I shaved?
Last week? Closer to a fortnight ago? I need to get my shit together, because there’s not enough room in our pack for two assholes who ignore the personal grooming regs.
“We’re taking her with us. She’s Charlie’s little sister. ”
Colt makes another of those oof sounds, and I feel his hurt all the way into my marrow. “Fuck. Seriously?”
“According to the general.” I think about what his adjutant told me, and sigh. “She doesn’t talk much, but I get the impression she’s had a shitty time of it.”
Colt barks out a laugh. “Another trauma mute? What fun.”
He’s talking about Hog, the third in our pack.
Stands for Hunter of Gunmen, a title bestowed on only the best snipers in our unit.
They’re silent, shadowy killing machines, and Hog takes it to a whole other level.
I sigh and shove Colt’s shoulder before I clamber into the front seat. “Her name’s Birdie.”
“Not to me.” Colt smirks, drawing a love heart on his frost-coated window and crossing it with a slash. “Sounds like Baggage suits her a whole lot better.”