Pack Deception: Part Two, page 5
Though he seems to try to hide it behind the casual jeans and flannel attire and a bland smile he probably thinks puts people at ease. Wells is the last and the tallest of the three. He’s very clearly the most charming and energetic, too. Effortlessly dropping the professional facade once introductions are made and getting along swimmingly with my mates. He’s got dark hair styled in a way that is purposefully mussed and shaggy with a clean-shaven face. He’s also huge. The tallest and most muscular of the three, in direct contrast with his bubbly personality.
My pack has finished introducing themselves, so I take my turn shaking their hands and giving them my name. All three of the members of Pack Protection Services are handsome. Not in the same league as my pack in looks–maybe I’m a little biased–but I’m sure none of them have trouble in the dating department.
“They’ve already been briefed about the situation and agreed to take us on as clients,” Brooklyn tells us. “You guys can sit and make yourselves comfortable.” Everyone, including our pack, takes a seat on one of the three couches surrounding the coffee table. Everyone except Damien, that is. He goes back to standing behind the couch with his arms folded.
“Brooklyn tells us you’ve gotten threatening texts from them?” Wells says, taking the lead. I honestly can’t tell which of them is in charge. I’d guess Damien since he’s in the suit, but then he’s just standing silently, letting Wells take the lead.
I nod in response to his question. “Can we see them?” he asks politely.
“Why?” I don’t know why I’m hesitant. They’re only here to protect me, but it feels too intimate somehow.
“We’d like to assess the threat and determine if there is genuine cause for action behind them. Or if they were sent to scare more than anything. We need to know everything in order to better protect you,” Houston interjects.
“We’d also like to sit down with you and go through your life with them. Their personalities, likes, dislikes, triggers… everything. We can do that together or in a more private setting.” Wells looks at my pack as he says this. It’s clear he’s anticipating a negative reaction to his words, and he gets it.
“I don’t fucking think so. She’s our mate. If you need to talk to her, we’re in the room.”
Wells completely ignores Maverick’s angry retort and continues speaking directly to me. “We’ve found that it’s easier for omegas to talk about their past and any trauma they’ve suffered when they don’t have to put on a brave face for their pack. Or worry about upsetting them.” As he speaks, I can see exactly how they may have run into issues in the past. I picture myself telling them about what I now know was emotional abuse I’d taken without a fight from Pack Monroe. Or explaining any kind of intimate moments we might have had. If I had to hear my fated mates talk about past relationships, I’d not take it well either. They’ve got a point…
“We can talk by ourselves.” Maverick goes to object, but I just squeeze his knee and shake my head at him. Hudson sits on my right, and I can feel how tense he is at my declaration, but he doesn’t say anything. It may feel like I’m keeping secrets from them, but I’d rather them think that and save them from any kind of anger they’ll feel hearing about my old pack and any kind of retaliation they’d want to give in response.
Wells nods at my response, and I fish out my phone, unlock it, and hand it to him to read the messages. He takes it, and Hudson leans in to read over his shoulder. When they’re done, Wells hands it to Damien to read.
“The good news is, it could be worse. The only really worrying text is your address. It is a very clear threat. They know where you live. But besides that, they’ve not indicated in any way that they’re going to act upon that information. The other texts, while disgusting and clearly abusive, don’t point to action either. At least not immediate action. The first thing we would have advised was moving you out of your apartment. So it’s good you’re here. We will be working in eight hour shifts: seven am to three pm, three to ten, and ten to seven. That way one of us will be with you at all times, and we’ll take steps to make this place more secure, too. Additional locks on windows and doors, more cameras, and we always recommend getting a dog to clients.”
At his words, I sit up so fast I knock off the arm Hudson rested gently around my shoulders when we sat down. A puppy. I’ve always wanted one. I asked Jade a few times in the beginning, after we’d mated if we could get one. The first time, she was gentle in her refusal. Our furniture is so nice and expensive. A dog will ruin it, she’d say. But after the second and third time I’d brought it up, she shut it down so firmly, and in her angry tone she adopted when she was on her way to steaming mad that I never brought it up again.
A few chuckles sound out around me from my mates. “A puppy, huh?” Mason asks from where he’s sitting on the other couch with Brooklyn. I shrug, not wanting to let on how much I want one, only to be shut down again.
“Hudson has been pestering us to go with him to the pound to adopt a dog, but we’re always so busy,” Brooklyn laughs.
“Maybe my mate will go with me then,” Hudson says in a hopeful voice, looking at me with big, blue puppy dog eyes. The grin that takes over my face is so big it starts to hurt my cheeks. I nod and start to bounce in my seat in excitement. I might actually get a puppy.
He grabs me tight by my hips and yanks me into his lap. I yelp at my sudden change in seating, and Hudson must not know his own strength because he pulls so hard I fly into him, hitting his head with mine.
“Ouch,” I chuckle, rubbing the tender spot on my forehead.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, pretty girl.” Laughter comes from all directions at his show of clumsiness, and I shoot everyone a glare before planting a chaste kiss on Hudson’s lips. His answering growl is completely indecent for company, and I love it. Love how a simple gesture can draw such a reaction from him. I pull away to continue the conversation and laugh as his lips chase after mine.
His arms wrap tight around my middle when I lean back against him.
“Obviously, we’re here to keep you safe. But even we’re infallible. Having multiple protections is ideal.”
Hudson and I share a giddy smile.
“They’ll be staying in the basement until further notice, or we no longer have use of their service,” Brooklyn tells us.
“That’s where we’ll be if you need one of us that isn’t on shift watching Summer,” Damien tells us, but mostly, it’s directed at me. His next words are for me alone. “If you want to come downstairs with us now, we can get that conversation out of the way and let everyone get some sleep.”
Suddenly nervous, I nod without looking at my mates and follow my three new bodyguards as they walk ahead of me to the door that leads to the basement, already so at ease in this house.
Jerks.
Six
Summer
They grill me for what feels like an hour about the littlest details that couldn't possibly be important. I tell them about Pack Monroe's family, friends, jobs, likes, dislikes, hobbies. They ask about the pack house and the pack’s charitable work. Using the computer in the corner of the basement, I look up a picture of the three of them at an event so they know what each of them looks like.
Part of me shudders when I look at their eyes. How did I never notice the dead look in them? Especially in Jade’s. Just soulless pits of nothingness.
When they’ve run out of questions, and I’ve spilled my guts about how they used to treat me, I head back up to the living room to see my pack waiting on me.
The four of them are in the same spots they were before I went downstairs. Just looking off into space. Crickets chirp in the deafening silence.
Fine, maybe there aren’t actually crickets, but the silence feels loud for some reason. I try to move as confidently as Wells, Damien, and Houston did. Like they own the house. But even knowing they’re my mates, it feels weird walking freely in someone else’s home.
“You okay?” Hudson asks when he sees me walk back over to them. I sit back in his lap.
“Yeah, it’s just…” I try to think of the words. Why does it feel so weird all of a sudden? “I don’t know. This isn’t strange for you guys? Moving me in so fast?”
Mason snorts, and when I whip my head around to frown at him, he manages to turn his laugh into a cough, beating his chest like he choked on something. “Something funny?” I try–I do–but I can’t keep the hurt out of my voice. It doesn’t deter him. If anything, he looks like he’s trying even harder not to laugh.
“Oh, babe. It may feel fast to you, but we’ve known from the first time we saw you that you were meant for us. Took everything I had to stop Maverick from throwing you over his shoulder like a damn caveman and handcuffing you to his bed.”
My eyes shoot to Maverick, who stares blankly back at me and shrugs. Completely unrepentant. I look between the four of them, searching for some indication they’re joking.
“Don’t believe him?” Maverick sits back, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow.
“It’s not that I don’t believe him. But knowing I’m your mate and moving me into your pack house are still two different things. It’s moving very fast.” I scoot off Hudson’s lap so I can have a better view of all of them for this conversation.
“Okay, let’s say you’re right,” Hudson jumps in, keeping an arm around my shoulder so I can’t get too far from him. “Let’s say it is fast. What’s wrong with that? It just means we’re all on the same page. We want you here, with us. Pack.”
“Right now,” I shoot back.
“What?” Hudson frowns.
“Right now, you want me here. But what happens when I eat the last of your favorite cereal or clog the drain with all my hair? What if I want to decorate your incredibly white walls with something bright and colorful–” A hand clamps over my mouth, stopping my ranting. I stick my tongue out and lick the offensive appendage, but Mason just laughs and wipes my slobber off on my own face. I grimace, laughing a little, and push his hand away.
He addresses all of my worries after wiping the rest of his hand on his jeans. “I don’t have a favorite cereal, so eat whatever you’d like. We’ll just order more. We already live with a woman–Brooklyn, in case you’ve forgotten–and she clogs the drain all the time,” an indignant noise comes from Brooklyn at that, “but you don’t see us kicking her out. And paint the damn walls. Plaster wallpaper up, buy eclectic art, and put your mark on this place. I’ve wanted to do it since the minute I stepped foot in here. It’s too white and boring. Brooklyn never let me, but one puppy dog pout from you, and she’ll break her back to get you whatever you want.”
I open my mouth to argue, contradict him, or maybe even commiserate in general–despite Brooklyn’s nod and shrug like everything Mason said is absolutely correct–but I’m stopped in my tracks. Maverick stands up, walks over to me, and lifts me from the couch with ease. An oof is forced from me as I’m thrown over his shoulder. Drool may or may not pool in my mouth as I get a good look at his ass in the jeans stretched taut over it. It’s got me so distracted I don’t even realize we’re headed toward the stairs until he hits the first step.
“Don’t! I’m too heavy!” I cry, squirming to be put down. He chuckles, deep and sexy, before slapping my ass. Hard.
“Please, you’re about as heavy as a wet towel. Hudson and I renovate houses, sweets. The wood I was carrying around today weighed more than you.”
Part of me wants to continue to complain and demand he put me down. The other part of me revels in the way he’s moving with ease. Almost jogging up the stairs with me slung over one shoulder. Talking without panting and only holding me tighter as I squirm. Resigned to not going anywhere, I pinch his butt—well, I try to; the thing is rock solid—and then wrap my arms around his waist to enjoy the ride. I look up to see Mason and Hudson following us with giddy smiles. Brooklyn just looks nervous.
Oh, my Goddess. Seeing her nervous face has butterflies assaulting my stomach. What could she possibly have to be nervous about in her own home?
Maverick stops outside a closed door and sets me down. “Ready?”
“Ready for what?” I ask, looking around at them.
“Ready for us to show you that we want you here. Forever. Even if it seems too soon to you, it’s not to us.” Maverick says, and then he turns the handle and pushes open the door.
It’s dark inside, but I can tell immediately that the room is on the smaller side. Maverick reaches an arm in and flicks a switch. A light comes on, but he must have a dimmer switch inside as well because it’s muted. It is bright enough, though, that I can see the whole room now.
I take an involuntary step forward. Just inside the room, there is a small step that leads to a bed stretching from one wall to the other. It looks like at least three king-size beds across. Every inch of it is covered in blankets and pillows. Some of which are the same ones I have at home. Or, I guess, in a bag downstairs since I packed up my apartment.
“We bought those after we saw them in your apartment during your heat,” Hudson calls from behind me.
I take the step up, ducking slightly because the ceiling is lower here than the other rooms in the house, and sit on the bed. It’s the perfect blend of soft and firm. Exactly the one I’d pick out if I were doing it myself. In somewhat of a trance, I pick up a blanket. It’s a warm, fuzzy one—though they do have some silk blankets and other materials strewn about—and I bring it to my nose. Summer rain and notes of freshly cut grass stick to it. Mason.
“We each take turns sleeping in here, so our scents are on everything,” Mason says, looking a little scared and kicking at the ground like he’s nervous about how I’ll feel about that. Sure enough, now that he’s said it, sandalwood, bourbon, lavender, and citrus all hit me. All of my mates. In my nest.
Tears prick at my eyes. I look up to dry them before they have the chance to fall. Stupid, stupid tears. Stupid, wonderful mates.
“When did you—” I whisper, trying to keep my voice from breaking. My hands brush something that isn’t a blanket. When I look down, I see I’ve picked up a T-shirt that smells like Hudson. Not only did they sleep in here, but they’ve stashed clothes to keep their scents in here, too.
“The day of the St. Patty’s Day bar crawl. First day we saw you,” Maverick answers my half-question. “Brooklyn had the supplies ordered the next day, and Hudson and I were in here working on the platform as soon as they were delivered.”
“But—” I look at Brooklyn. “I didn’t meet you until that day in the office.”
She walks forward and sits next to me on the bed. Gently, she pries the clothes and blankets from me so she can take my hands in hers. “I didn’t meet you until then, but that didn’t matter. Not really. They had their mate. So even if you weren’t mine—destined by the Goddess, I mean—it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d have fallen for you the second I saw you, no matter what.”
The look I give her is surely as dubious as I feel because she forges on. “You don’t believe me because you don’t see yourself clearly, cherub. There’s a reason that—pack—” she chokes on the word like it tastes no better than ash in her mouth and continues, “latched onto you. They weren’t stupid. They saw what a prize you are. How beautiful, kind, intelligent… how perfect you are. And they took advantage of it. Anyone who knows you is sure to love you. That is one thing I’m absolutely certain of. Even if you weren’t my fated mate, the minute those goofballs brought you home, I’d have been hooked.”
There they go, those stupid tears falling down my cheeks. Brooklyn reaches up and wipes one away. Then, looking more chagrined and embarrassed than I’ve ever seen her, she continues. She clears her throat. “And I owe you an apology. For earlier. I should have never acted like that. Demanding you move in and forcing them to pack your apartment with you. I was scared. Probably more scared than I’ve ever been, and I wanted to protect you. It’s no excuse. I’m so sorry.”
The weight I was holding onto in my chest—the anger and indignation—lessens with each word. I don’t think I’ll let go of all of it right away; it’s too close to the PTSD Pack Monroe saddled me with. But I can at least stop it from festering away, eating me from the inside.
“Thank you. And it’s okay.” I smile at her, eyes still leaking those offensive waterworks.
“It’s not, but thank you for accepting my apology.” She leans in and gives me a sweet, chaste kiss. “And in the spirit of that, we’ve got something we want to ask you.”
“Uh, oh. Okay,” I stutter, looking between the four of them.
Hudson steps forward, sitting on the single stair to the platform. He’s so tall; his head is almost level with mine. Mason and Maverick both step into the room, too. “Summer, will you please—pretty please, with a cherry on top—do us the honor of moving in with us?” He bats his long lashes at me, making me laugh.
“That’s what you wanted to ask me? After you’ve already moved me in?” I giggle, unable to help it. This is so ironic.
“Well, we wanted to actually give you the option,” Brooklyn answers, throwing a nervous smile my way. “After the way I acted, I realized I took your choice from you. So I’m giving it back. If you truly don’t want to live here with us, we’ll take all your stuff back to your apartment, and I’ll find a way to make it safe for you there.” She looks like she’s just eaten a sour grape, but the look she gives me is open and genuine. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that they’d take me back tonight.
“So if I said I wanted to go home, you’d let me?” I test the waters.
She rubs a hand on the back of her neck. “I would. But I hope you’d be okay with at least one of us staying with you every night. To compromise.” The rest of that weight lifts off my chest, so I put them out of their misery.
“I don’t want to go back. I’d like to stay—” Just before I finish talking, Hudson throws himself at me.
I yelp, ready to take his weight, but it turns out, I don’t need to. As we’re falling back, he turns his body so I land on top of him. From this position, I’m straddling him, and I’m almost one hundred percent certain the bulge I feel pressing against me isn’t his phone.
