Chapter 32
LIV
THE PACKAGE - A PERFECT CIRCLE
Oh my god, my head fucking hurts.
I wince as I try to open my eyes, the low light burning them as if I was staring directly into the sun, and it makes my head pound harder than it already was.
My mouth is kind of dry, my neck is sore and I’m guessing that’s from the way my head is currently hanging with my chin tucked into my chest. I’m achy, too, but not like I have the flu or something.
To be honest, it feels a little like I’m hungover, but I can’t remember the last time I drank enough for that to happen.
That’s exactly why I force my head up and blink away the pain.
I haven’t been hammered in a long time, and if I’m feeling like this when I know it isn’t from booze, it means I have a big fucking problem.
“Good morning, Olive jan.” My eyes snap to my right as they go saucer wide, and my pulse skyrockets as I search for the source of the voice. “Or should I say, good evening, Sparrow.”
I blink rapidly, clearing the fog as best I can, my blurry stare sharpening as the sadistic grin on Hayk’s face comes into view.
What in the backwards-ass blast from the past bullshit is happening right now?
He chuckles as my breathing becomes panicked and ragged, flashing his pocket knife under the single lightbulb, the glare flickering before he slices into an apple and pops the piece into his mouth. “Aren’t you happy to see your papa?”
My stomach rolls as bile creeps up my throat.
I hate that he made me call him that.
My father made me call him that, too, and the term has taken on a rather negative connotation thanks to both men. One that almost always makes me want to vomit.
“No?” Hayk asks, tilting his head as he leans forward, aggressively cutting into the fruit as those beady, soulless eyes move over me from head to toe. “Then again, I’m sure you didn’t plan on ever seeing me again after you ran away from home.”
I look around the room we’re in, something about it vaguely familiar, as I search for a way out then realize I’m gagged, and tied to a fucking chair.
There are thick ropes binding my hands behind my back, woven tightly through the slats in the metal before they dip under and connect to where my ankles are tied with the same material to the front legs of the chair.
That’s real fucking cute.
“You look like you have something to say, Olive jan. If I free your mouth, will you promise to be a good girl and not scream?”
I hate when he calls me that.
I eye him skeptically as he gets to his feet, Hayk is slowly moving toward me until I can smell his beefy onion scent. He points his knife at me with one hand as he grabs my gag with the other, hooking the tip of the blade under the fabric, then he stops.
“On second thought,” Hayk says as he nicks my jaw before pressing the point of the pocket knife to my cheek and slowly dragging it back up to my hairline. “I’ll keep you silent a little longer.”
Dickhead.
It’s nice to know some things never change.
I made him a lot of money, me and my pack did, so he didn’t generally leave marks on any of us.
That doesn’t mean he never did, though. There would be times he’d get angry over something, a botched transaction or something along those lines, and he’d beat me in front of my mates until I passed out.
It was the only time off I had, when he hurt me to a point where I needed to heal afterward.
Otherwise, I worked every day, and Hayk actually treated me okay because of it.
I had good food more often than not, outdoor access and recreational items. My clothes and makeup were high end, my nest was decorated with expensive trinkets and luxurious bedding.
For a sex slave, I had the best of everything, and that’s exactly how he won me over in the beginning.
Love bombing at its best before my life took a hard turn for the worst.
After that? It wasn’t just Hayk buying me nice things to keep me docile. A lot of his clients did, and while I hated the way I was used, I saw how he treated the other omegas he had working for him and I was grateful I wasn’t in that situation on a regular basis.
But it happened, and I can see that same evil he kept reserved for those specific occasions, written all over Hayk’s face right now.
“Do you know what I do to omegas who run away?”
Yes. I can’t say that, or anything else, but I nod because I’ll never forget watching what he did to anyone brave enough to try to escape, and that’s exactly why I was with him until I was pushing fucking thirty.
His smile widens as he pats the cut on my face then straightens up and retrieves his chair, pulling it in front of me before he sits so we’re almost knee to knee. “I’m touched. Remembering something like that means I left an impression on you.”
No, he terrified the hell out of me after growing up in a goddamn cult. Even after I accepted my life with him as normal and unchangeable, I was still afraid.
If that’s his definition of leaving an impression, well, then I guess he fucking did.
“What do you think I should do to an omega who not only ran, but managed to stay hidden and survive multiple murder attempts for a little over two and a half years?” Hayk starts cleaning his nails with the pocket knife, sliding it over the tips of his sausage fingers before wiping the blade on his jeans.
“Especially one who not only fucked with my business, but tore my family apart.”
I frown and my head jerks back as if he slapped me.
What in the actual fuck is he talking about?
He adopted me so he had papers and a legal reason for me to be at his house, but I didn’t think Hayk was delusional enough to believe that made us a fucking family.
He laughs as he sits back in his chair, black eyes dancing while his potbelly shakes in time with that terrible sound. “I can see your wheels turning, Olive. I don’t think you’re going to work it out, though. We did too good a job hiding it for almost fifteen years.”
My pulse starts pounding in my ears again, my heart rate spiking thanks to the overall delivery of that fucking nugget of fear-inducing vague as fuck information.
Hiding.
What the fuck was this sociopath hiding the entire time I was working for him?
“Let me spare you the headache.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, flips it open, then waits as he says, “Jay was my son, Olive. Jalal.”
Yeah fucking right.
I don’t believe that for one goddamn second.
Jay hated Hayk the most, more than even me, and that isn’t something you can fake.
Hatred like that isn’t as natural when it comes to parent-child relationships.
I know that first hand. It took way too long for me to hate my father as much as Jay hated Hayk, and I still have brief moments where it makes me sad to think about.
It’s like grieving but instead of mourning someone who died, you mourn someone alive and breathing, and letting that consume you is dangerous.
I got close, and I know Jay was there. If they shared DNA, he would have had moments of sadness and I refuse to believe otherwise.
“So naive,” Hayk says with a sigh as he pulls something from the folds of his wallet. “So fucking stupid.”
I watch him unfold the paper before holding it between us, close enough for me to read every bullshit word.
It’s a birth certificate.
Jalal Petrosyan.
And Hayk is listed as the father.
“That doesn’t mean shit,” I spit as he reaches out and removes my gag. “You can easily fake that. You aren’t proving anything by showing me that stupid piece of paper.”
He just smirks and goes back into his wallet, then starts showing me photos.
A little boy who is very clearly Jay. Playing baseball, dressed for Halloween, birthday parties and Christmas mornings.
There are pictures of him with Hayk at different school functions, including what I’m guessing is a high school graduation and when he shows me the next one, I can physically feel my heart sink then crack down the middle.
Same day, same event. Hayk and Jay, and Emery and Dante. All three of them in cap and gown while this son of a bitch smiles like a proud father.
Without warning, I lurch forward and vomit, spit and bile exploding out of my body, all over the floor and Hayk’s boots.
No.
No, this can’t be true.
“You’re lying,” I mumble, then spit again.
“It isn’t true.” It can’t be. I remember when they turned eighteen.
We were together on Jay’s birthday and celebrated all three of theirs because they were so close together and we weren’t sure we’d be able to see each other for theirs.
The photo Hayk just dropped at my feet, if it’s true, means they were living a double life, living as normal teenage boys when they were away from me, doing all the things I never had a chance to do then coming to my nest when…
“The entire time?” I whisper as I stare down at the picture. “The entire time I knew them, they weren’t… prisoners?”
Hayk snorts and leans forward again, patting my knee with a fake look of sympathy.
“Olive jan, don’t you get it? They weren’t prisoners, they weren’t even volunteers or anything like it.
Jay, Dante, and Emery were working for me.
I paid each of them every single time they fucked you, and I did that right up until—”
“We left!” I shout, lifting my head and looking him in the eye as I grasp at straws, desperately trying to find a hole in his story.
“They helped me escape. The four of us got out. We ran. Why would they do that if they weren’t slaves like me?
Why would they risk everything if they didn’t actually care about me? ”
“The almighty dollar is a powerful thing.”
I start shaking my head. “No. No, I refuse to believe what you’re saying.”