CHAPTER THIRTEEN - BIRDIE
I wait until Hog’s heavy tread has finished punishing the staircase, then slam the lock behind him.
I’m angry at the alpha for trying to manipulate me, but I’m even more pissed at myself, and I glare down at my gleaming toenails.
Charlie’s stupid magazines have clearly melted my brain.
Getting as far as possible from Reeves and his torture lab is the only thing that matters.
No more wrapping myself in cozy blankets and dreaming of balmy beach vacations.
This place isn’t a sanctuary, it’s a trap, and if I’m not careful, it’s going to steal my last chance at freedom.
The memory of the hurt look flashing across Hog’s face makes me pause, but I shove it viciously aside.
Hurt feelings don’t even begin to compare to the damage an alpha can do to a claimed omega.
I’ve seen it with my own eyes, watching as my mom was forced to give in to my stepfather’s every cruel command.
Fuck. I grip the edge of the dresser and try to drag some air into my lungs.
Hog is a goddamn fool. Why would I want anything to do with scent matching when every alpha makes me want to bathe in a bucket of bleach?
Every alpha except for the Lawson Pack.
I scowl at the little voice in the back of my head, my temple throbbing as I snatch up the smoothie.
I don’t know how long the wafer’s healing effects will last, and I need the energy, even if I would rather throw it against the wall.
I close my eyes and gulp it down, the sweet honey and berries flavor like ash on my tongue.
When I’m done, I grab a fresh pillowcase from the pile Colt gave me and fill it with Hog’s knife, the cash I stole from Colt’s room, and the bottle of water off the nightstand.
I add Hog’s boots, the thick socks, and a couple of pairs of Colt’s clean sweats.
In terms of supplies, it’s not going to get me far, but I shove that negative thinking out of my head.
Every mile I put between myself and this cabin is one step further from Reeves’ clutches.
But my anger wanes as I wait at the window, watching the day fade and twilight creep in.
The shadows here are dark and thick, with undertones of moss green trees and slate gray mountains.
Even under all the snow, I can sense new life waiting to emerge, which is something I could never say about the compound where I grew up.
It was a flat, dusty landscape, like the old ranch had blown in with the tumbleweeds and got stuck on a piece of sandpaper.
Everything about it was thin and scorched, both the land and its inhabitants beaten down and burned at the edges.
I can almost taste the constant, chalky grit in the back of my mouth. It’s probably just the speech inhibitor coming back online, but I still want to spit it out so badly my jaw aches.
Instead, I watch as Hog slips out towards the treeline, a blur of darkness in the sinking shadow.
His rifle is on his shoulder, and he’s wrapped in his heavy camp jacket.
I wait for him to look back, but his steps carve effortlessly through the snow, and it’s not long before he disappears from view.
As I turn away, I catch my reflection in the window pane, my face pale and my lips curled down.
I don’t know if he’s hunting or patrolling the perimeter, but I have to assume he’s a potential obstacle in my path.
To treat him as anything else is an unacceptable risk, and I’m done with those.
I’m getting out, and I don’t care who I have to go through in the process.
Sucking in a calming breath, I cross back to the dresser and grab the magazine and empty smoothie glass.
I pocket the key on my way out, careful to avoid the creaking floorboards as I head downstairs to the main living area.
The furniture has all been pushed around, creating an empty space in front of the fireplace.
A training space, I note, because a rubber floor mat has replaced the hand-knotted rug.
Another clue is the fact that Axel has stripped down to a pair of stretchy gray workout shorts and is in the process of lowering his body in a handstand press-up.
The fire in the grate has burned down to coals, but there’s enough light left to trace the rolling clench of his back and arm muscles.
The control he’s exhibiting is insane, and as he lifts himself back into a full arm extension, I have to shut my mouth with a snap.
Focus on the mission, Omega.
Circling the sofa, I carry the smoothie glass into the kitchen and rinse it in the sink.
When I’m done, I lean against the island and watch Axel repeat the handstand move another half dozen times.
Despite the sweat trickling down his spine, his control never wavers, and I gnaw my lip, wondering if I’ve left my escape too late.
The uptight, high-strung Gung Ho of a few days ago seems to have departed the building.
When he flips back to his feet, his gaze pierces mine with the intensity of a laser beam.
I’m still trying to remember how to blink when he swipes a towel off the back of a chair and approaches me slowly, walking lightly on the balls of his bare feet.
Annoyingly, he’s not even breathing hard despite the sweat coating his skin. “Everything okay, Birdie?”
I nod and he swipes the towel over his chest. This is when I’d usually flinch away, but as he reaches past me to grab a glass off the drying rack, his scent fills my senses.
I always thought the gym at the compound smelled like a meat locker on a hot day, but Axel’s scent is crisp and clean, like alpine air sprinkled with pine needles.
It summons a memory of the one and only camping trip I took with my mom, and waking up right before dawn, all that golden pink light spilling over me as I unzipped the canvas flaps…
I curl my fingers around the counter and turn my head away until he’s drained the glass and taken a step back. He opens the refrigerator door, studying the contents with a slight frown. “You want me to cook you something?”
I shake my head and edge around the island, putting more distance between us. Placing the magazine on the counter, I tap the end of the pen on the back cover until he glances over. His frown deepens, but he watches quietly as I scrawl a question: How long until the road clears?
He flicks a glance up at me from under damp lashes. “A couple of days, assuming another storm front doesn’t roll through.”
I nod. I want to go. I pause, then add in thicker letters: ASAP.
Something flits through his eyes, darkening the brown irises to espresso. “Just to be clear, are you asking for a ride into town or to the train station?”
I scrawl a circle around the second option, and he settles back on his heels, tugging on the ends of the towel. His scent is morphing, changing to something sharper, with a hint of a metallic edge. “Did something happen with one of the guys?”
I think of Hog’s honey brown eyes but shake my head. Just time to move on.
Axel studies me a moment longer, then plants a hand in the middle of the magazine and swivels it towards him.
He barely seems to read my last comment, flipping it over to examine the cover.
It depicts another beautiful omega, this one dressed in a cocktail gown surrounded by a bunch of handsome alphas in fancy tuxedos.
Axel flicks through a couple of pages, but the magazine seems to have a life of its own and falls open to the heatmoon quiz.
I feel my cheeks go red as he scans the answers, his finger tracing the column of careful X’s I put against my choices. “Is this you?”
I nod reluctantly, but he’s already scanning the other set of answers. “Then who…?” The words have barely left his lips before he picks up the magazine, folding back the cover. “Charlie.” The name seems to hover on his lips. “These are Charlie’s picks?”
I nod again and he swallows, the movement harsh enough to make his throat bob.
Pushing away from the counter, he carries the magazine over to the sofa, his gaze glued to the page as he sinks onto the edge.
I drift after him, watching his face twitch before his gaze lifts to mine.
He runs his fingers over the checkboxes like he’s trying to absorb the ink into his skin.
“Guess I should’ve taken him to more fancy hotels, huh? ”
I shuffle my feet, because it’s hard to miss the note of yearning in his voice. Loss can hurt you in a lot of ways, but grief is like guerrilla warfare. It strikes out of nowhere and cuts you so deep, you don’t even realize you’re wounded until you’re face down and bleeding in the dirt.
“And what about you?” I blink as he absently runs his thumb down the edge of the page I sliced out. “You like beaches?”
I shrug, since it’s hard to have an opinion about something you’ve never even seen. I want to tell him that I like the idea of them, although maybe that’s just because the only sand I’ve had between my toes was compound grit.
“There’s a place on the coast, near Bodega Bay,” he goes on, his gaze now wistful. “It belonged to my grandfather’s pack. Nothing fancy, but it’s the best fishing around and there’s a beach right on your doorstep.”
I don’t know about the fishing part, but opening the door to the ocean sounds like a fantasy beyond my wildest dreams. A dozen questions bubble up in the back of my brain.
At night, can you hear the waves crashing from your bedroom?
When you open the drapes in the morning, is the entire window filled with blue?
And when you step out onto that beach, can you walk barefoot all the way down to the waterline until the ocean kisses your toes?
I’m so distracted by the thought of this beachside paradise, it takes me a moment to realize that Axel has stopped reading the magazine.
In fact, it has slipped half off his lap and his gaze is now locked on my feet.
I look down, almost as surprised as he is to find my gleaming pink toes splayed across the edge of the training mat.
“You painted your nails.”
A denial springs to my lips, but I swallow it down.
I should’ve worn the damn socks, because this is the kind of attention-grabbing mistake that could get you hauled before my stepfather in the compound.
Anything that was too indulgent, too omega, was tightly controlled, and only handed out if you gave up something a lot more valuable that a little bottle of freebie nail polish.
“You paint your nails,” Axel says slowly, “you fill in magazine quizzes, but you want to leave ASAP? What’s wrong, Birdie?”
I shake my head again, because you don’t provide your jailer with a list of all the reasons why you plan to tunnel under their wall.
But maybe Axel sees some of that distrust in my face, because he sighs and leans back against the sofa.
“I fucked up. I shouldn’t have left you in the basement when you were detoxing.
And the zip ties… Shit.” He rubs his face, his eyes full of remorse when they lift back to mine.
“They were a really bad idea. I know it’s no excuse, but sometimes I forget there’s a line between getting shit done and doing what’s right.
I’m sorry I made that mistake with you, Birdie. ”
I stare down at him, weighing up his apology. The zip ties sucked, but it was the locked room that was unforgivable. I don’t care what state I was in, my terror was real, and he still left me in a cage.
One thing confuses me, though, and I snatch back the magazine and scrawl in the space beneath the quiz: Why didn’t you just command me?
Axel’s face tightens as he leans over to read the question. “Because it’s illegal, Birdie. I’m a category-one dominant. I use my bark on a civilian, I do jail time. Besides, I’m pretty sure Hog would kick my ass for even trying.”
The dominance thing was already pretty obvious, but I take a step back at the mention of Hog, and Axel’s eyes narrow.
“Is that what’s bothering you? Hog’s a big, strong guy, but he would never hurt you.
He’s as loyal as they come, and if there’s anything you want from him, he’ll hand it over. No questions asked.”
Except for my freedom, given he’s pulled words like scent match out of his ass.
I shake my head again and flip the magazine back over. I dig the pen in so deep, the circle I draw around ASAP looks like a wound.
“Okay, Birdie,” Axel concedes with a slump of his shoulders. He hesitates for a moment, then nods at the magazine clutched in my hand. “Is it okay if I borrow this for a while?”
I hand it over, because it’s not like I’m going to take it with me. And fantasies, as we both know only too well, don’t hold up for long when reality kicks you in the face.
I don’t expect him to move. He looks so defeated as he bends over the magazine, like once again his grief has come along and stomped him under its boot.
But before I can turn towards the stairs, he is suddenly in front of me, those long, muscled arms sliding around me to form a gentle embrace.
I freeze, too stunned to pull away, and maybe a little too scent-drunk to remember why hugging an alpha who once locked you up is a shitty idea.
When he pulls back, he looks as confused as I do, but he manages a ghost of a smile as he says, “Thanks for sharing this little piece of your brother with me.”