Pack Deception: Part One, page 5
So here I am, leaning over the bar top, calling her name, and trying not to stare at her ass as she stretches on her toes to hand another patron a receipt. I clear my throat and look up at the ceiling to calm myself down before she gets over here. But her nutmeg and honey scent is just as distracting as she is.
Finally, she finishes with that other guy and comes over to me. She's giving me a strange look though by the time she's in front of me. Almost apprehensive.
"Yes..?" she says slowly. "Sorry, have we met?"
Ouch.
"I was here last weekend," I say, internally nursing my wounded ego.
"I remember," she says, and my spirits lift exponentially. "But I didn't tell you my name."
Ahh. That.
She looks genuinely concerned, so I hurry to put my mate at ease. I look behind me to the table where the rest of the Goon Squad are sitting, just in time to see all three of their heads turn suddenly in new directions. I snort at them; each one wishing they were me right now. We rock, paper, scissored to see who would come talk to her and grab our first round. So, I point to where Brooklyn sits, looking at a spot on the wall with interest. The very blank wall.
"I believe you met my packmate, Brooklyn. She told us your name. Said she met you yesterday actually." Her shoulders relax when her hypnotizing brown eyes land on Brooklyn. The weight that was on my chest vanishes with her fear of me.
"Oh. You guys are packmates?" I nod, "And the two other guys you were here with last week?" she asks, looking at Hudson and Mason.
"They're pack, too. It's the four of us. We've known each other since we were kids; well except Mason." Mason is pack, but he was brought in because of me. It was just Hudson, Brooke, and I out here, looking for our fated mates and choosing to live as a pack until we found them. Then I met Mason coming up on two years ago, and I couldn't let him go. He was everything I didn't know I needed; Vibrant and enigmatic and beautiful.
"That's your boyfriend. Or mate?" she asks in a curious voice, looking between the two of us. She probably did see me kiss the shit out of him last week when I was trying to release some of the pent up energy accumulating from being around her. From finally finding my mate.
"Is that a problem?" I ask, voice tight. I don't want to give too much away, but it would devastate me if she didn't want us to be together. She doesn't know it yet, but she holds all the power right now.
Her eyebrows shoot up at my question. "Why would it? Besides, it's not really my place is it?"
Isn't it, though?
It's still abundantly clear how ignorant of our bond she is. Where mine is screaming at me to take her and mark her as mine, she's holding a casual conversation with me like I'm just anyone else at the bar. I have to make a mental note to call the doctors back.
I put out a few calls to some doctors our pack has worked with personally and trust implicitly. None have called back yet. I know they're all busy, and I did stress that it wasn't super urgent, but it's starting to feel like it just might be. I need someone to give me a little bit of a clue.
"Did you want something to drink?" she asks sweetly, pulling me out of my own head.
Right. Drinks.
"Yeah, sorry. We'll take four tequila shots with lemon, two Tom Collins, and two Whiskey Sours," I tell her, handing over my card and asking to keep it open. Something tells me we'll be here a while. Not that we'll be getting drunk or anything. Well, I won't. What if Summer needs me for something? What if some drunk asshole gets a little too flirty or handsy with her?
A grunt pulls me back to the present to see my mate hunched over the register, hand fisted against her abdomen. My back straightens, and I glance back at the rest of my pack to see worry lining all their faces as well.
"Summer...you okay?" I ask slowly, worry marring my voice. Her back heaves a few times before she straightens and rolls her shoulders back. By the time she turns around to face me, there's a smile on her face. There is no missing the light sheen of sweat on her forehead though.
"Fine. Here's your card, give me a second on those drinks." Before I can say another word, she's turned around again and has started making our cocktails. I feel helpless staring at her, with no idea how to help or what the problem even is. All I know is she can't tell who her mates are, and she has frequent pains in her stomach. It's not her heat, I'd be able to smell if she were perfuming.
Summer comes back over to me, four drinks and four shots on a circular tray table, gives me a sweet smile, and then turns to help another patron. All the while, I'm standing here with my thumb in my mouth, wondering how that conversation ended so abruptly. A little shell-shocked, I grab the tray and take the drinks back to my waiting pack.
Sliding in next to Mason, I set them on the table. As I glance up, all eyes are on me, waiting impatiently for my synopsis. I run them through the very little that happened, to which Brooklyn huffs her disappointment.
"You didn't get any new information!" she hisses, leaning forward and whisper yelling at me.
I bristle. "You try! She isn't exactly going to tell her whole life story to a bunch of strangers."
Brooke's eyes light up in challenge.
So that's how the next few hours go. Each of us takes a turn going to get a round or order something to eat. Each one trying to glean one little iota of information about her. The only one even remotely successful was Mason, and all he got was her favorite beer on draft. Which he only got because when it was his turn to grab drinks, he just asked her for four of her favorite. Basically, he cheated. Any other personal question we asked her—where she's from, how far her commute is, if she's single—she expertly guided the conversation in a different direction. I'm both extremely proud of our mate and thoroughly frustrated.
No matter.
We'll just have to gain her trust. It'll take time, but it's going to be worth it, getting to know her. She's about to have a lot of random run-ins with Pack Whitlock in the near future. I just hope we don't scare her off.
After about five hours of sitting in the same booth, drinking and eating bar food while quasi-stalking the beautiful omega bartender, we can't stay any longer. It's starting to get real weird, and the owner—our friend Ava—already came over to our table once to see how we were doing. It was right after a quick, hushed conversation with Summer, and I think she told Ava about all the personal questions. Not that Ava would ever believe us to be malicious towards an omega, or anyone for that matter, but she seems to be taking Summer’s comfort seriously. So, here we are, dragging our feet as we leave the now very crowded dive bar.
"I don't like this," I mutter, and a growl of agreement slips through Brooke's lips. "Someone should hang out nearby and make sure she gets home safe."
Everyone nods in agreement, and Hudson volunteers. The rest of us start heading toward the car to drive home. Our pack house is a little outside of the city since we sit on a couple acres of land. Hudson will either call one of us to get him or take a cab home whenever Summer gets home safe.
In the meantime, I've been itching to call one of the doctors again and get some answers. I put a call in to three of them and stress the urgency, asking for a call back as soon as humanly possible. Just as we make it back to my forest green Jeep Wrangler, my phone rings.
I answer immediately. "Hi, Doctor Tanner. Thank you so much for calling me back."
"It sounded urgent," she says back, all business. Urgent, in her line of work, means expensive. I don't mind paying her fees in this instance though. Doctor Tanner is extremely sought after. In addition to being one of the most respected and accomplished pack doctors in Chicago, she just opened several low income offices throughout the city where she helps provide affordable care to people in need; omegas specifically. That’s something Ava and she have in common. Doctor Tanner works between those offices when she has time during the week and takes house calls for the most affluent packs to supplement her income. It's incredible, really. One of the reasons I hoped it was her who called me back.
"It is, can you meet us at the Whitlock pack house in thirty?" It'll take us no more than twenty minutes to get there from here, but that seems too optimistic a time-frame for a last minute appointment.
"Sure. Are one of you injured?" she inquires professionally, not sounding put off by the prospect.
Not physically.
"No. Not injured. Thank you, we'll see you in thirty." Then I hang up before she has the option to ask more questions or turn down the house call since nobody is suffering from an actual, physical injury.
"Let's go get some answers," I say to Mason and Brooklyn, who hop in the car at my words, anticipation palpable in the air.
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to the wrought iron gate and put in our four-digit code. The keypad lights up green and the gates open slowly. Doctor Tanner has a guest code that we activate anytime we know to expect someone. When the gates are opened fully, I begin the descent up the one-hundred yard driveway that has a slight incline. Our house sits up on a small hill that makes it look a little too pretentious for my taste, but there is no denying its beauty.
Headlights hit the back of my jeep just as we're pulling into the four car garage. "That was fast," I mumble, surprised to see the good doctor's black town car parking in our circular driveway, right in front of the entryway.
As our pack leader, Brooklyn hops out of the jeep and walks from the garage to meet Doctor Tanner. Brooke extends her hand and shakes the doctor's, then sweeps an arm out, gesturing for the front door. Doctor Tanner follows her inside so that leaves Mason and I to close the garage door and come in through the side to meet them in the living room.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" Mason asks hospitably. As the beta of the group, he tends to be more aware of everyone's needs. An alpha's instincts are good for soothing, nurturing, and caring for omegas. A beta cares for everyone, and it's why, despite what some may think, they are essential for a pack's survival. Which is lucky they make up sixty percent of the population.
"No, thank you, Mason. How about we get right to the issue?" she asks, looking directly at me as I'm the one who has called her twice in a week.
We all take a seat around the various pieces of furniture in our living room. It's a large, open concept space with twenty-foot ceilings and a huge brick fireplace as the centerpiece that the three, cream colored couches surround with a large oak coffee table in the middle. I take a seat on one couch with Mason, Brooke sits on one by herself, and Doctor Tanner takes the last one.
Once everyone is settled, Brooke looks to me to start, too. I jump right in. "We've all found our mate."
"All of you?" Doctor Tanner asks, eyebrows raising in surprise. "That's wonderful news."
Mason, Brooke, and I share a look that has Doctor Tanner backtracking. "Isn't it?"
I nod. "It is," I start slowly, "but she doesn't appear to know we're her mates."
"You all share the same mate?" she inquires with furrowed brows. I nod. "And she can't tell that any of you are her mate?" A shake of my head in answer. "Hmmm," she says, eyes going vacant for a second.
"Is there a logical reason she wouldn't be able to tell, or do you think she's rejecting us as her mates?" Mason manages to choke out, looking wounded. He's the most soft-hearted in the pack, but we're all feeling the strain right now. I settle my hand on his knee and give him a gentle squeeze in comfort. I can’t help but notice the minute tensing of this thigh before it relaxes under my touch.
"I can't say for sure without speaking to her or running any tests..." She looks each of us in the eye, debating something and then sighs. "Have any of you heard of a drug called Passion Pack?"
Passion Pack?
I look at Mason and Brooklyn, who both look equally confused. We all shake our heads at Doctor Tanner. "No," I answer.
Tanner picks at an imaginary piece of lint on her impeccable tailored and clean navy colored suit. The color contrasts nicely against the cream couch. "It's a drug being abused right now. It's a hallucinogen cocktail made up of LSD, ketamine, and a few other things. People—mainly packs—have been using it to trick omega's into mating with them."
Feral, twin growls rip from mine and Brooklyn's mouths, and Mason's spine is rigid, anger radiating from him. Tricking an omega into mating with you sounds an awful lot like rape to me. Judging by my pack's response, they agree. To do that to anyone, especially someone you care enough about to mate and mark is despicable.
"Why haven't we heard of this yet? Why hasn't a drug like this made national news?" I growl, clenching my fists together to stop from tearing the couches apart or swinging at someone. The people in this room aren't the target of my rage though, so I lock it down.
"Because you guys are some of the good ones," Doctor Tanner sighs, "and I can't say for sure why it isn't being publicized. I can only imagine the people in charge don't want to create a mass panic. Nobody would feel safe anymore. True, bonded mates would be questioned. Packs would fall apart."
I get what she's saying, but I can't agree completely. "It sounds like that's exactly what should be happening. People need to be told about this. Omegas need to be warned."
"It's not just omegas that can be victimized by this drug, but we do our part as we see it. I recently had an omega come see me about stomach pains she's been having. Her previous pack drugged her for two years."
My heart seizes, and my stomach feels like it's bottomed out. Horror sluices through me. Two years. I can't even imagine the emotional or physical pain of detoxing from two years of hallucinogens.
Doctor Tanner continues, ignoring my pack's collective dread. "But again, she saw the signs, got tested, and now she's aware of the drug and its dangers. We handle it on a case by case basis until we can come up with a permanent solution that doesn't cause mass panic and hysteria."
"Who..." I choke out, "Who was drugged for two years?" All of a sudden I'm wondering if this is what's happened to our mate. She has been clutching her stomach. Could she be the omega Doctor Tanner saw?
The woman in question looks sternly at me, disapproval clear in her gaze. Like I give a fuck. "You know I can't release patient information." I nod, rolling my eyes. I know it's petulant, but I can't seem to care. "What I can say is that two years, while not the longest case I've seen, is still an abnormally long time. Usually friends or family are able to raise suspicions much earlier than that."
"How can we know for sure if this is what's wrong with our mate?" Brooklyn asks.
"Well, I can come by and run some tests to find out. Or you could have her stop by one of my offices, and I'll do it there."
I huff. "What are we supposed to do? Walk up to her and say, 'Hey, I think you're my mate, come with me, and we'll get you tested.'"
Doctor Tanner rolls her eyes at me this time. "Why don't you try actually dating the poor girl first? If there’s a possibility she’s been drugged—for who knows how long—don't you think she deserves some good ole fashion wooing before you bomb her with the big, important shit?"
My jaw hits the floor at the profanity coming from the clean-suited, buttoned-up doctor. All I can do is nod dumbly back at her.
Woo her.
Yeah, I think we can manage that.
Seven
Summer
My feet are aching, my back hurts, and at some point in the day, I stopped looking at the clock, waiting for midnight. I've been doing the double-duty job thing for a few months now, and, although I do love the freedom, some nights it feels like too much. I'm exhausted.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Mentally.
Cramps have been assaulting me all day, and I can only hope this is the part of it gets worse before it gets better. I really can't wait for it to get better. They have happened so much, causing seconds of debilitating pain, that Ava came over a couple times to ask what was wrong. I brushed her off mostly, but the last time she came over, she told me to head home. I really need the money though so I assured her I was fine to make it through the last few hours. Which, glancing at the clock is about up.
It's fifteen minutes until midnight, the end of my twelve hour shift. Some weekends, I'll work after I get off at Pen2Paper until close, and then I work a shorter day on Saturday. Some weekends, I don't work Friday, but my shift on Saturday is longer to make up for it. I don't ever work Sunday's though, allocating just one day a week to being a complete couch potato.
"Go ahead and head out, babe. We're slow anyways," Ava says from behind me, making me flinch. I did not hear her come up. She was also lying out of her teeth. We weren't slow, but there were only a few hours until last call. The second bartender came in halfway through my shift and will stay to close. Plus, my feet really do hurt. I give Ava a grateful smile and nod, heading to the back to hang up my apron and grab some mozzarella sticks from the guys working the line for my walk home.
Food in hand and apron hung up, I wave goodbye to Ava and push the heavy door open, chilly Spring air whipping across my face, causing goosebumps to pop up along my arms. I set off down the sidewalk, pull a warm, double-fried cheese stick out of its container, and take a big bite. The heat from the mozzarella warms me from the inside out, and I groan as flavor explodes across my tongue.
I waste no time scarfing down the rest and then stop at the next trash can on the sidewalk to throw my garbage away. Just as I'm wiping down my fingers with a napkin and throwing that away too, awareness raises the hairs on the back of my neck. My head jerks up, and I look around the dark sidewalks, lit only by sporadic street lamps. Although it's late, it's still midnight on a Saturday so the area is far from empty. There's a group of pretty betas across the street, dressed to impress and hanging outside one of the more popular bars, waiting to get in. There are a few alphas, an omega, and a beta—probably a pack—crowded around one of a few outside tables at a really underrated restaurant. The place has weird hours, seemingly open for drunk bar-goers that want a snack, and has the best bagel sandwiches around.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but then I see a familiar face sitting alone at another outside table, across from the pack at the bagel place. He paints a strange picture, because he doesn't have food or drink in front of him, and he's just sitting there by himself. His head lifts up, and brilliant blue eyes collide with mine. Hudson, I think his name is. He came up to the bar once or twice while his pack was at The Hog's Head and introduced himself, but I can't remember if that's his name, for sure. Could be Harry or something similar.
