Pack Deception: Part Two, page 2
"Summer. They didn't drug you. I know that, and I know you do, too. They are good. You deserve something good. Look past your trauma and let yourself be loved."
Burning starts up again in my now dry eyes, and I shake my head in vehement denial.
Ava blows out a frustrated breath. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Come with me."
Two
Summer
Ava grabs my hand and pulls me out of her office and deeper into the hallway—the opposite direction from the bar. At the end of the hall, just before we hit the wall, there's a thick black curtain to the right that I've never noticed before. She brushes it aside and pulls me across the threshold with her. Just beyond it is a set of stairs leading up to a door. Does she live here? Above the bar?
We trudge up the stairs, barely a creak beneath our feet. When we reach the top of the stairs, she pulls out a set of keys, ones I've seen her open the bar door with, but she fits a different one into this door. Yeah, she definitely lives here.
Ava tosses her keys on the tall decorative table to the left of the door as I look around. The space is a decent-sized studio apartment with the kitchen just ahead, and the whole bedroom slash living room off to the left. It's significantly larger than mine; that much is clear from the jump. But my eyes can't see anything past the crowded corner across from her bed, near her closet.
"It's..." A murder wall, I want to say, but hold my words back. But it's what it looks like to me. In every crime movie, there's one of these. It's a bulletin board with pictures, post-it notes with words scrawled messily on them, and different colored strings connecting each pinned item.
"My past," she murmurs. "It's my past. And my present. And my future.” She takes a big breath and lets it out. “It's everything I am."
Her words are so sad, so angry, that I pause on my way over to it to look at her. I've never seen her look like this. I've seen her calm when she kicks patrons out, boisterous when she's interacting with the regulars, and even pissed when she's having trouble with the books or on nights when everything seems to go wrong in the bar. This, though... whatever this is, hits deep for her. A fury unlike anything I've seen, including Jade before she backhanded me, lines every inch of her stunning face. A pain so deep in her eyes, I'm not sure how she's still standing. I'm almost afraid to move, to break the spell and wrap her in my arms so I can offer her any kind of comfort.
Before I can, she shakes out of the daze she's in and walks over to it, nodding for me to follow. When I get close enough, I stare into her eyes, seeking permission, and she nods; I inspect the board with more scrutiny.
There's a couple–a man and a woman–smack dab in the middle, with the names Kyle and Nora Ellis pinned beneath it. I can't put my finger on it, but they look familiar. Maybe I've seen them at a charity event somewhere when I was with Pack Monroe. Right as I'm about to spiral into the where of how I know them, my eyes lock on three words. Big and bold and angry. I say angry because there are several black splotches like the pen was pushed too hard when someone wrote them.
Passion Pack Drug.
With wide, incredulous eyes, I jerk back around to Ava, who is staring intensely at me. "How? I don't understand..."
But then I notice something. Her slightly upturned nose and silvery blonde hair is almost identical to the woman in the picture. Looking between her and the board, I notice she's also got the same piercing green eyes as the man. "My name is Ava Ellis."
Is that the ground I feel brushing up against my jaw?
It has to be, with the way it just dropped at her news. "Your parents?" I'm suddenly incapable of full sentences.
"Created the passion pack drug." Though her face is grim, her tone now holds an immense amount of guilt. Guilt she has no point in feeling unless she helped them make it. Which there is no way she did. Not the Ava I know and love. Words elude me at her confession. It stunned me speechless.
She doesn't need me to respond, though, because she continues. "Which is why I know they didn't drug you, babe. I have devoted my entire adult life to stopping my parents. I know every symptom, every warning sign."
A knock sounds on the door behind us, and I'm so focused on Ava that I jump out of my skin. She sighs, "But since I figured you wouldn't believe me, I brought some backup." I would, though. Believe her. But now I'm worried she's invited Pack Whitlock here, and I'm not sure I'm ready to see them. I do believe Ava. I trust everything she's saying.
That her parents created it.
That she's working to stop them.
That she knows the side effects of it, probably better than anyone.
But that doesn't mean she'd notice them in me. Does it? I mean, she only sees me at work. We spent a few hours together before my heat hit, and then again for girl’s night, but that turned into me falling asleep at Pack Whitlock's house and her leaving early. Has she been around me enough recently to see the signs? I don't even feel different. Besides my absolute feeling of devotion for a pack I just met. Everything else about me feels the same. So, how would she be able to tell?
"Come in," Ava says, just loud enough for the person at the door to hear and walk in. Heels click against the hardwood floors, causing my brows to hit my hairline as Doctor Tanner strolls into Ava's studio apartment, medical bag in hand.
"Long time no see," Tanner says to me. No kidding, though. I was just in her office listening to her tell me I'm most likely not pregnant and even more likely to have suffered permanent infertility issues from the past two years. "I hear we have a medical issue to clear up." She sets her bag down on Ava's kitchen table and pulls out a chair, gesturing for me to take a seat.
"We do?" Why is my brain taking so long to catch up to why she's here?
"You do." Ava's voice is firm. "There's one way to know for sure if you've been drugged. You can listen to me reassure you all day long. But you can't argue with a blood test done right in front of you. Let us prove that they love you and have never abused your trust like that. Don't jump to conclusions so fast."
I skip over the word love before I start to panic...or blush. Of course, she's making too much sense for me to argue, so I nod dumbly.
"Pull up your sleeve," Doctor Tanner responds to my nod of acceptance. All business. She snaps on a pair of blue latex gloves and pulls a needle, four tubes, and a stretchy armband that'll cut off my circulation for the blood draw. She also roots around in her bag before pulling out a two-piece device, one part which looks a little like an old Nokia phone, only blue and gray. It's connected by a cord to a small black device with a power button.
"This is a portable test. I'll take the blood draws to the office and run them for a more detailed panel, but this one tests your saliva for any traces of amphetamine or methamphetamine, both of which are found in the passion pack cocktail," she explains before I have the chance to ask.
One stick of a needle and a mouth swab later, I'm rolling my sleeve back down after Doctor Tanner tapes me up.
Small hands rest on my shoulders, and I look up to see Ava standing behind me, offering comfort while Tanner takes the swab and sticks it into her portable device. As it is beeping, reading my sample, and we all wait for the results, I get the overwhelming feeling of certainty. I already know what the screen is going to say. It's going to say that I've completely overreacted and jumped to conclusions about a pack that has been nothing but incredible to me. My mind and nerves are shot from the doctor's appointment and pregnancy scare. From the confirmation that Pack Monroe is the reason I lost my baby and possibly my future at ever having them. So, I projected that fear and anger on Hudson, Maverick, Brooklyn, and Mason. Unfairly.
The beeping stops. Almost comically, all three of us lean forward to look at the screen at the same time. Sure enough, shining back at me like a big middle finger is the word NEGATIVE. Ava's fingers tighten on my shoulders as she gives a reassuring squeeze.
"Well, unless you have any questions, I'm going to go back to the office and run the bloodwork." Her voice is kind as she glances at me in understanding. It's more than I deserve. I am such a drama queen.
"You don't need to run it. I believe this one." My head jerks toward the negative results.
"Actually, I'd still like to run your labs. The swab confirmed you haven't been ingesting it recently. But, as we know, you have had it in your system in the past. I'd like to see if there are still traces in your system. If we're lucky, you've metabolized it quicker than expected, and you'll be able to take your suppressants again."
Hope lights up my face, and Doctor Tanner gives me a soft smile in return. Just as quick as the hope came, though, my face falls into a confused frown as something hits me.
"Is something wrong?" Ava walks around the table until they're both staring at me with puzzled looks.
"Uh... it's just. I realized I haven't been able to feel my bondmates since... Well, I don't really know how long it's been. I didn't even notice." In the beginning, I had trouble even concentrating for longer than a few minutes at a time; they were throwing so many emotions at me. Then, with time or distance–I'm not sure which–their emotions and voices faded to a dull whisper. One I could block out with a little effort and continue on with my day. This is different. I don't hear or feel anything, and bonds don't just disappear. Once you're bitten, that's it. You have a physical and mental link to someone else until one of you dies.
"I can see you still haven't finished reading the literature I gave you," Tanner chuckles, a twinkle in her eyes that confuses me, given the situation.
Just as she's about to continue, Ava interjects. "It's because they're your mates."
"Ava!" Tanner scolds. "You should have let them tell her."
Ava rolls her eyes at Doctor Tanner, and it strikes me that they know each other on some level. They've got a level of familiarity that two strangers don't have. "Please. If they had just sat her down and told her sooner, she wouldn't be in this mess."
Can't argue with that logic. Though a part of me wonders if I'm still swimming in so much trauma from Pack Monroe drugging me, I wouldn't have believed them even if they did just come out and tell me.
Tell me I'm their fated mate. For real this time.
Euphoria washes over me. I can feel my cheeks stretching into a Cheshire grin as their faces pop up like a picture show, and I imagine my mates.
All of us sitting around the dinner table the last time I was at the pack house, and Maverick had cooked his mom's apparently infamous chicken piccata. I remember looking around the table and seeing Brooklyn lean over and punch Hudson in the shoulder for stealing food from her plate. Mason was talking about his time in Iceland on the Laugavegur Trek, a conversation in which Maverick was completely engrossed, smiling softly at his best friend and boyfriend. Glancing around at all the love on display in that dining room, I had thought I wouldn't mind growing old with this pack.
Now, I might just get to. Unless they hate me for thinking the worst about them. That thought is sobering, and suddenly, the only thing I want to do is go see them.
I must have missed some conversation while I was stuck in my own thoughts and daydreams because by the time I look back around the room, Doctor Tanner is shutting the door behind her, and Ava is lost in her own head, eyes unseeing but pointed in the direction of her murder wall, for lack of a better word.
"Ava," I say, nudging her gently on the forearm. "I'm going to head out." She jerks at the contact, startled, before looking back down at me.
"Huh? Oh... okay. Yeah. You sure? You're okay now?" Her concern warms my heart. I love this girl.
"Are you?" I counter, eyebrow quirked and nodding pointedly at the corner. Her returning smile is sardonic.
"Good as I'll ever be." Boy, I hope that's not true. She deserves so much better than the pain swimming in her piercing green eyes. But I hold my tongue, wrap her in a bone-crushing hug, and say goodbye.
"Thank you. For everything." I throw as much emotion into the words as I can, my throat closing slightly with it.
"Anytime, babe. Anytime."
Then I'm out her door, ready to find my mates.
Three
Brooklyn
"Would you guys calm the fuck down," I hiss at the three brutes crowding the door to Summer's apartment complex. Her very run-down apartment complex. The day when I beg her to move into the pack house with us is looming closer and closer. Especially when I realize someone wedged a rock between the doorframe, so there are virtually no safety measures in place for my mate. Save for the lock on each person's door, I suppose.
"What stupid fuck did that?" Maverick grumbles, opening the door and then aggressively kicking the rock out of the way so the lock will engage behind us.
"Probably just someone who realizes they forgot their building key. It's not that grave of an offense, Mav." Mason rolls his eyes, equally snarky as Maverick. That's how they've been recently. Since Summer's heat, when Mav decided not to tell Mason his own mate was in heat. I knew immediately, thanks to Hudson. So that made Mason the only pack member not to know.
I would have told him... I just assumed Mav already had.
He's been pissed at Maverick ever since. Locking his door at night so Mav can't sneak in to sleep with him, talking to him only when he has to, and getting frustrated over the smallest of offenses. I get it; I really do. Maverick messed up, but they need to work through their shit and fast.
"Just be quiet, both of you." My voice has a little bit of a growl to it, not quite a bark, but enough to tell them I'm not messing around. Mason shuts up immediately, but Maverick bristles a little. It's in an alpha's nature not to back down from a challenge. But we established hierarchy before we even created the pack, so he rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and nods at me submissively.
Hudson is already at the elevator, tapping his foot and holding the doors open for us to get in. The fact that he hasn't said a word since we left Nonna's and just been stoic and determined worries me a little. It's not his personality. Even under stressful conditions, he always finds humor in it.
When we're in the elevator, he crosses his arms and looks straight ahead. I nudge him with my shoulder. "You good, big guy?" His eyes trail down to mine, straight face still fixed firmly in place.
"We shouldn't have gotten rid of her security."
A blow to the face would have hurt less.
He blames me.
It had been my decision to stop the twenty-four-hour security, though. Hudson was against it, and so was Mav. But Mason agreed it felt like too much of a violation. After all, she's been starting to spend so much time with us; we are her security. But he's right. If I hadn't gotten rid of them, at least we would know where Summer was right now. One call to the detail watching her and we'd have answers.
It's likely not as sinister as it seems. Maybe she got caught up at work or just forgot we were meeting for dinner. Still, the what-ifs can be crippling. What if a group of alphas cornered her on her way to the restaurant? What if she got hit by a car? What if her past caught up to her?
A side eye tells me Hudson has gone back to staring at the elevator doors. Just as the ding sounds, he's moving. They haven't even opened all the way, but he turns his body to squeeze out of them. In six long strides, he's at her door. At complete odds with the tension roiling through him, he taps gently on her door and in a soft voice calls out. "You in there, pretty girl?"
In a tight semi-circle near her apartment, we all lean in and listen.
Nothing.
Three more soft knocks. "Summer?" Hudson calls out again, a little louder this time.
Crickets.
It doesn't sound like there is any rustling of clothes, no TV static in the background. I shove my ear directly against the door, the boys leaning in, too, when a phone chimes. The sound comes from our side of the door, out in the hallway, so we startle back. In my haste, I shove into Mason, who bumps into Maverick.
"Shit!"
"Oof."
"Quiet, dipshits," Hudson growls at them. If Summer is home, she would have probably answered the door by now, but still; he's not wrong. We don't want anyone coming out to investigate a bunch of people crowded around her door like literal stalkers.
"It's yours, Brooke."
"Oh, right. Yeah." I feel so off-kilter right now, and I definitely don't want to look at Hudson for fear of feeling like an even worse pack leader. Snagging my phone from my back pocket, I whip it around and tap the screen to see a text from none other than Ava Ellis. There has to be a reason she's texting me. I don't believe in coincidences, so I'd bet all the money in my bank this is related to Summer.
Ava
Meet me at Hog's Head.
"Why does she want us to meet her there?" Maverick huffs, and I elbow him in the ribs for looking over my shoulder to read my text. I don't know the answer for sure, though, so I shrug and start walking back to the elevator. The rest of the pack follows quietly.
The Hog's Head is dead. Well, deader than a weekend. Hudson doesn't wait for instruction, charging through the back hallway to where we know Ava's office is. The rest of us saunter up to the bar top and sit in front of Joe, another bartender. He's not nearly as pretty as Summer, though.
"Hey, Joe, have you seen Ava?" I ask him.
"Huh?" He looks up from where he's mixing a cocktail, but the question registers in a second because then he answers. "Oh. Nope. Last, she said she was going back to work on the books." His head jerks toward her office, where Hudson is making a reappearance, even more ill-tempered than before.
At my raised eyebrow, he just shakes his head and then walks to a back booth, plopping in the cushioned seat. Sighing, we follow. I've already sent a few texts back to Ava asking where she is and what she needs us to meet her for. Even asking if Summer is with her. No reply. It's an awkward twenty minutes or so. We're just sitting here silently, watching the front door and the back hallway for any sign of Summer or Ava. All the while sending periodic texts to both women.
