Wild Bourbon (Brackenridge #2)

Prologue

Brielle

My feet slap against the concrete, dodging people and wayward garbage. I’ve never realized how crowded and dirty the city’s sidewalks are; now it’s all I can focus on. That I feel as dirty as the concrete I’m sprinting on.

I hold the shreds of my ripped pastel pink frilly dress to my chest, letting it drag behind me as I run.

Exhaustion pierces my sides, making it harder to breathe with each step, but I can’t stop because I have to make it home before they do if I want to have any chance of controlling the narrative.

Though, I know that chance is slim. My parents have rarely cared for my thoughts.

Someone rams into my shoulder, and I grunt, stumbling a few steps from the impact. My fingers clutch on to the fabric tighter. I’ll be damned if I lose any more of my dignity today.

“Woah, Blondie! Watch it.”

I hate that fucking name.

Gritting my teeth, I find my footing again and take off. I don’t spare the dickwad a glance or response. Just another man not worth my time.

It’s only a few more minutes before I jog up the steps of my family’s brownstone, find the key under the ceramic rock, and trudge inside.

The silence has my body instantly relaxing for a split second before I run to my room and shove the dress off me.

I swallow back the bile as I toss it as far as I can in the other direction, not wanting to see the evidence of what happened.

It’s a little dramatic, even for my taste, but I gotta allow myself some leeway before I explode.

I catch my breath, grabbing a pair of leggings and a crewneck before heading into my ensuite.

My eyes track over the mess I’d left this morning, an array of skincare products, makeup, and my curling iron.

My lips tremble, remembering how hopeful I’d been, how excited that things were going to be different.

That perhaps my parents had found a decent pack to court me, but I should have known better.

Hindsight is a bitch, and it hardens some of my fright.

I finally have the courage to look up, inhaling sharply at the dirt smeared on my arms and chest, the dried blood on my neck, and the ripped strap of my bra hanging limply at my elbow.

But it’s the way my blonde hair usually curls into perfect ringlets that has me swallowing down the hurt.

It hangs in tangled clumps, dulled with more dirt.

With a shaky hand, I tilt my head to the side and trace over the cuts on the crook between my neck and shoulder.

I shudder, feeling the scrape of his teeth all over again.

They almost succeeded. They almost forced a bite on me, a bond that would have been irreversible.

I brace my hands on the counter to steady myself.

I can still feel their hands on me, holding me down on the side of their house, away from watchful eyes who purposefully ignored my screams. They can claim they didn’t hear anything, that the music was too loud, but it’s hard to look away.

The urge to cry pricks the back of my eyes, and I grit my teeth to prevent them from falling.

They don’t deserve any more of my tears.

After all, I got away in the end. They failed.

That’s the thought I try to grasp. They failed, and I got away.

I should consider myself lucky, that after the scrapes and bruises there won’t be lasting damage.

But I still feel weak, like the helpless omega the world loves to portray us as.

I’ve always prided myself on being outspoken, never afraid to say what’s on my mind, but I’m lost for words.

Lost on how to feel or think. It’s like my whole life has shifted.

What hurts the most is I’m not sure where to go from here.

I have no hope in my heart that my parents would believe me, and even if they did, I’m not sure they would care.

The Westin Pack is so sought after in the city, and while my family is no slouch socially, there’s no reason for them to force bond an omega, let alone me.

It leaves me to believe that they simply wanted to do it because they thought they could, and goosebumps ripple over my skin, feeling their grime on me again.

I turn on the shower and startle when my house phone rings where I’d left it on my vanity. There’s only one person who calls me outside of my parents. My heart beats wildly as I stumble over, and a whimper escapes when I see it’s my best friend.

“Kinsey,” I get out hoarsely, clearing my throat.

Her laugh washes over me like a soothing balm. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping. It’s nearly noon, Brielle!”

My nose tingles with the urge to cry for an entirely different reason, and I know I could confide in her.

She’s an omega as well; she’d understand how it feels for an alpha to force himself upon you, but the happiness in her voice stops me.

She doesn’t need to know what I went through.

I mean, technically, I got away before anything really bad could happen. I guess I was lucky.

“It’s Saturday, you know how I am,” I lie. “Why? I’m just getting in the shower if you want to hang out.”

Please want to hang out. Get me the fuck out of this house.

It’s been a few weeks since her mother died, so I’ve been reluctant to force my company on her when she may want space to grieve.

Kinsey may not have come from the same type of wealth as me, but she’s rich in another way.

Her mother loved her, her mother loved her so much that she worked herself to death to provide for her.

I’m pretty sure my mother would sell me to the highest bidder if it meant she didn’t have to lift a finger.

“I found it,” she whispers excitedly.

I frown, unable to understand what she’s saying. “Found what?”

“The bar in the photo. It’s in Texas. I want to go.”

My mouth drops open, a strange hope swirling inside me. “Texas! You want to go to Texas. That’s—wow, Kins.” Texas would be a whole new world, a new start… I can’t let my thoughts run wild just yet.

She sighs. “I know, but the landlord wants to increase the rent without trying to sign over the lease to my name. I just—I really want to get out of here and away from the city. I want to find my dad.”

It tugs at my heart because I know how much Kinsey has wanted to find him, especially since her mother passed.

“Are you telling me or asking me to go with you?” I glance around my bathroom, already calculating what I’ll need to pack to be in and out of here within the hour.

I know this trip is important to her, but something else entirely is pounding with each heartbeat.

Freedom.

Freedom.

Freedom.

“Well, I know—”

“Because if you’re asking, then the answer is yes,” I interrupt.

I can’t remember what excuse I’d given her earlier, and why I needed to stay in the city.

Probably something to appease my parents, but something broke in me this morning.

Whatever that excuse was, it lies in shreds like my dress, along with all regard to their wants.

I shove everything that happened this morning into the impenetrable box I’ve built from a lifetime of pushing my emotions aside, and focus on what I want for once: to get the hell out of here.

Kinsey is silent for a few seconds. “You’d really go with me? What about all the courting that your mom is setting up?”

I wave a dismissive hand she can’t see. “Fuck ?em.”

“It’s going to be like days of driving, and I’m not even sure we can wash our clothes.”

I snort, knowing she’s trying to convince herself that I don’t want to actually go. “I was just about to shower, and then I’ll meet at your apartment?”

“I can pick you up.”

“No!” I say a little too quickly, so I clear my throat and try again. “No, I don’t want my parents trying to talk me out of it.” Locking me in my room and telling Kinsey I’ve changed my mind is more like it. “I’ll see you soon.”

She says goodbye, and I take the world’s quickest shower, nearly scrubbing my skin raw, trying to wash away the morning. I throw my hair up in a bun and get dressed before shoving various outfits into my old dance duffle bag and tossing my makeup inside with them.

The house is still silent when I’m done packing everything I care to bring with me.

I sneak into my father’s study and open the top drawer where I know he keeps a bundle of cash.

I blow out a deep breath, shove the cash into my bag, and practically run out of the house without looking back.

I can’t if I want anything to change for my future.