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“Is Ethan finding her?”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, he’s on it. Fuck man, anything could happen to her.”
He blows out a breath. “I know. With that article about her and Logan…” He trails off and I have to swallow down a growl. We have fucking recognizable faces. I hate it, especially since we’re famous for all the wrong reasons. Infamous.
Any of our enemies would have latched onto the article with the picture of Sadie and Logan. They would have seen the bite on her neck and the way he was fucking looking at her like she hung the moon and the stars and the planets and the galaxies. And they would have made her a target immediately.
It’s pretty fucking clear we’d do anything for her.
Any pack would for their scent match.
“When we find her, I am going to spank her ass so fucking hard,” Maddox grunts out, and despite the severity of his tone and the situation, my dick thickens, pressing against my zipper at the image that paints.
Yeah, I think I like that a little too much. Probably. Maybe.
I shove the thought away and look at our beta. “Anything?”
He looks up from his phone. Sometimes it still shocks me the amount of devious things he can do with such a small device. “Working on it.”
I’m opening my mouth to urge him to hurry the fuck up when Maddox cuts me off.
“She’s here,” he grunts out, and a wave of relief hits me so fucking hard I stagger, bracing a hand on the dining room table. “I’m looking right fucking at her on our goddamn dance floor. Meet me in the back alley in fifteen.”
I open my mouth to confirm with him, already moving toward the door, swiping keys up to our SUV, but he’s gone. Hung up.
Ethan follows me to the elevator, blond brows arched. “She’s at The Market,” I answer his silent question.
Half his mouth curls up and I wonder if he’s remembering seeing her there for the first time, if he’s recalling our time in the private room off the back. “Sneaky little omega,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Let’s go get our girl.”
Chapter 14: In which I am told I am nothing
I don’t really want to be here. I’m not feeling the crush of the bodies and the thumping beat. Not like I normally would. I’m not feeling the need to pick someone up and fuck their brains out, either.
But I do feel the need to stick my middle finger up at my new so-called pack, and so I’m here. And I’m going to stay here until the club closes, and then I’ll make my way back to their penthouse.
If they’re going to leave me alone for fucking hours on end with no messages or idea of when they’ll be home, then I’m going to do the same fucking thing to them.
I honestly wasn’t sure if the bouncer would let me in, but when I made it to the front of the line, it was the same security guard from last night and he ushered me through the door without batting an eye. Even gave me a VIP bracelet again, not that I’m going to use it.
No, I plan to stay in the crush of bodies, doing shots of tequila and sipping club soda. I’m going to fucking try to reclaim the old Sadie. The one that used to thrive on this, that didn’t care if a guy—or guys—didn’t want her.
There’s always more fish in the sea, and I can find someone that wants me, even if it’s just temporary. It’s got to feel better than being left alone for hours on end by my ‘pack’, right?
The thought of them doubles my resolve to enjoy myself, so I throw my hands in the air and toss my hair around, swaying to the music. I’m not dressed for a night out, not like I normally would be, since I hadn’t actually planned on coming here. I was just going to grab my car and head back. But the more I walked, the more angry I became and the more I wanted to teach them a lesson.
I want them to worry. I want them to go home to an empty fucking penthouse and think that I left, to sit and wonder where I am, who I’m with, if I actually left them.
So I’m in my white Nikes, jeans and a tank top. My leather jacket is with the coat check and my hair is a freaking mess, but I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Despite my hurt feelings, I know I won’t pick up anyone tonight. No, when I’m ready, I’ll go back to the penthouse like a good girl and curl up in my cell of a bedroom alone.
Always alone.
Forever alone.
Even after finding the pack that is supposed to change that.
The thought makes me dance harder, trying like hell to get lost in the music, to just stop fucking thinking for a moment. It doesn’t help, not until a set of broad hands slide onto my hips, under the hem of my tank top, touching my sweaty skin, like they have a right to it. A momentary thrill goes through me, as I think this must be a member of my pack. No one else would touch me with that possessive edge. But then I’m pulled back against a hard chest that smells like salted butterscotch pudding… but not the good kind of butterscotch tempered with bourbon like Logan… Its too sweet. Too salty, overwhelmingly so.
There’s a niggling that I might have thought he smelled really fucking good before I found my scent matches, but not now. Still, I don’t move away from him, letting him fit our bodies together as he grinds on my ass. I reach back and hook a hand around his neck, tipping my head against his shoulder to look at him.
