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“No, you shouldn’t have,” Davis is quick to agree. “But you shouldn’t be apologizing to us. You should apologize to Vee. She deserves it.”
He nods. “I know. I will. But I wanted to speak with you all first. Will you please take a seat and have a drink with me?”
“It’s not about how bad of a fit Vee is, is it?” Ford asks, arms still crossed over his chest.
“It’s about… concerns I have. But I only want to voice them to you, to have you hear me out, and if you still want to be with her after we’ve had a rational discussion, I will keep my mouth shut for the rest of my life about Sylvie Benson. I will be nothing but kind and courteous to her.”
We all glance at each other, not sure what his angle is. But the offer is too tempting to pass up. All we have to do is sit here and listen to whatever he has to say, even though we know it won’t change our opinions of our girl. She’s ours, like Jackson said. There is nothing that Maxim can say that will change that.
Having him not be a complete dick to her for the rest of our lives would be nice, though.
Jackson sighs and reaches forward to swipe a glass of whiskey off the tray, and the rest of us take our own, before taking seats around the room. Maxim downs the rest of his drink before standing, clasping his hands behind his back as he considers what he wants to say.
He better fucking hurry, because we’ll only entertain him for so long. Vee’s appointment shouldn’t take all that long, maybe fifteen minutes at most, and I want to be sure to meet her at the bungalow to help her pack.
The older man clears his throat. “I know I appear harsh and demanding.” Davis scoffs before taking a healthy sip of his drink. I do the same to hide the frown pulling at my mouth. “It’s my alpha nature, and most of you should understand what that feels like.”
My frown deepens as I glance at Topher, who seems completely unconcerned with the subtle slight in Maxim’s voice. But then he might be used to it. Maxim has never understood Jackson’s relationship with the beta… or Davis’s relationship with me, for that matter.
It’s a good thing we don’t give a fuck what he thinks.
“My instinct has and always will be to protect my family, to protect my pack.”
Jackson nods. “Just as my instinct is to protect mine. And Vee is mine. She’s our heart, dad.”
Maxim’s lips tighten in disapproval, but he doesn’t say anything against our girl. Progress. I take another sip of my drink and realize the glass is empty already. A wrinkle forms in my brow as I frown. I don’t remember drinking all of it, but I must have.
Topher’s phone rings and he tugs it out, the movement slow and clumsy. But he frowns down at the screen and then glances up. “I need to take this.” My nerves clench at his words, and I have the uncomfortable feeling that something is really fucking wrong. But if it is, Topher will let us know.
We watch as he slips from the room, the door closing behind him with a loud click that cracks through the air. What? Sound doesn’t really work like that. The closing of a door shouldn’t be that loud. But it is, and it makes my head throb.
I try to focus on the conversation around me, but my brain is slow and stupid. Something is wrong. This isn’t normal. I open my mouth to say as much, but my tongue is too dry and cottony, I can’t get it to form what I need to say.
I look down at the glass in my hand again. Still empty. I need water.
Something to help eradicate this cottony feeling.
I push to my feet and nearly fall over. Fuck.
Fuck. Wrong. All fucking wrong.
I trip over my feet, trying to make it to the bar and the carafe of water there, crashing into the wood structure and just barely keeping my feet.
“Asher,” Davis calls, but his voice sounds off. I raise heavy eyes to look at him. He’s frowning, his expression going slack. “What’s wrong?” He asks slowly, like he has to really focus to say the words. I shake my head and it makes my brain feel like there’s water sloshing around in it. Or something thicker… an icee or a milkshake. Something thick and viscous that steals my ability to think.
I fumble for the water, pouring it into my glass, but spilling most of it, before lifting it to my lips and swallowing it down. My parched mouth and throat are momentarily relieved, but as soon as the water is gone, the cottony feeling is back. The glass falls from my hand, smashes against the floor.
“Something’s wrong,” I force my mouth to say, and my voice comes out slurred.
I turn my attention back to the rest of the occupants in the room. Davis is slumped in his chair, chin dipped to his chest, eyes closed. Out cold. Jackson is on his feet, hands fisted, but he’s swaying listlessly. “What did you do?” he demands of Maxim, the only one of us that doesn’t appear to be affected.
Drugged. He must have drugged us.
And nothing good can come of that. “Jacks,” I croak out. “Vee.”
He turns wide terrified eyes toward me, realizing what I mean by that. There’s only one reason Maxim would do this: bring us here, separate us from our girl, knock us out. He’s going to do something horrible to her.
And we won’t be there to stop it. We’ll fail her again.
