Prodigy’s expression softened, until he was practically a different person to the stern, clever bastard everyone else knew as their president. I blinked when he knelt and unfastened my boots, pulling them off. It wasn’t like him to serve; I raised an eyebrow.
“We’ll keep an eye on her. Even if she goes home, we’ll make sure she’s okay.”
A weight lifted from my chest.
“Now get these damn jeans off. I’m gonna fuck all that trauma out of you.”
Thankfuck.I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough.
6
Miraya
Iwas so determined to leave the clubhouse and go home that it came as a shock to wake up on the living room sofa the next morning with an arm flung over my eyes and a heavy pile of blankets covering me.
“Fuck,” I grunted, wishing the cushions would swallow me whole.
I was supposed to be home now, with my mum humming to herself as she put together a breakfast of puttu and kadala curry, filling the whole house with its comforting scent. Instead, what I smelled was old books and something earthy like sandalwood or myrrh. And it was hard to feel comforted when my entire body howled with pain, my ankle stabbed vicious torment up my calf, and the bruises on my ribs bit deeper, worse today.
I hauled myself off the surprisingly soft cushions and groaned as I got to my feet, slowly, carefully stretching out my arms, my legs, my back. I wondered how hard it would be to findGiant in this sprawling compound. The least these bikers could do after semi-abducting me was give me more painkillers before I left.
I winced as I remembered my list of injuries.
Three bruised ribs, extensive bruising to my back, a fractured rib in addition to the bruised ones (that was fun), an ankle lucky to be just sprained and not fractured, plus bleeding and lacerations on my chest and stomach (my buyer liked to keep his rings on when he vented his rage on me.) But no internal bleeding, so I counted myself lucky. Ish. Taking my first step this morning made me rethink the lucky thing. Maybe I was angry. Furious. Murderous. Maybe I wanted to scream and rip my hair out.
Oh yeah, I was missing a chunk of hair in the back, too.
“But I’ve still got all my teeth,” I whispered, trying so damn hard to find a silver lining. The dreamer in me refused to die. She was shrinking and damaged and sobbing, but alive unlike yesterday when I thought she’d gone forever. Maybe that was why I managed to convince myself I’d get out of the clubhouse today and find my way home despite Manchester being literally full of predators, having no money or car, and the walls around the compound being covered in barbed wire. Oh, and a massive, hulking alpha guarded the wall in a gatehouse, so no one came or left without the Alpha Knights knowing.
But sure, I’d get home today. That soundedsolegit.
“Step by step,” I coached myself, folding up the blankets that had been draped over me, mostly for something to do with my hands. Bending over to place them on the sofa arm made fire race across my ribs and a grunt force its way past my ribs. I decided there and then that my body was an asshole for waking me up with its litany of pains, and my brain was a dick for allowing it to. I needed to sleep longer, needed to pass out and wake up when I was whole again.
A commotion came from deeper in the clubhouse and I lifted my head, frowning at the crash of emotion that went through my fragile chest. Through my bleeding soul. So my body hadn’t woken me after all. Something was happening, loud enough that growls poured through the wall, along with the sound of something falling to the ground.
“Great,” I muttered, pulling up the waistband of the grey sweats Prodigy brought me last night, after my assessment by his mammoth medic. “The boy band is fighting.” Maybe one of them wanted a solo career.
But if they were distracted, maybe I could slip out.
And do what?the voice of reason demanded.Walk all the way home alone, injured and vulnerable to another attack? What if the weaselly dick who grabbed you last time finds you? What if you’re thrown on another auction block?
The voice of reason was annoying as fuck. I stomped towards the door—and immediately softened my walk when pain erupted viciously enough to make me cry. I leaned my head against the cool wood grain and just breathed, as carefully as I could when my breaths were jagged and painful.
“A day will come,” I whispered. A day would come where I wasn’t in pain, where I didn’t have to be afraid of getting grabbed off the street. Maybe a virus would sweep the world in a tragic epidemic that killed every last alpha. Or—so devastatingly sad—every last man in the world.
It could start with my bastard mate.
I pulled the door open slowly, even if I wanted to rip it from its hinges, making sure to pay attention to my body’s limits as I padded down the carpet in the direction of the commotion. Right, shit, I needed shoes for my great escape, too. Shoes and a bike, I decided. And keys for that bike. And a helmet because knowing my luck, I’d break my damn neck riding it. (Because I didn’t actually knowhowto ride a bike.)
My dreamer was being beaten into submission by reality, but I wouldn’t give up. I would get out of this place today. I would—
My feet stuck on the carpet and I ground to a halt when the source of the commotion came into view around a corner, and I froze, eyes wide when I saw Tybalt—looking so stupidly good this morning with his long, dark hair in a messy ponytail, his golden skin lit with a youthful glow (rage), and a black T-shirt lovingly plastered to his rangy strength, outlining muscles I hadn’t realised he possessed. His allure was enhanced by the fact he drew his arm back, his scar-flecked hand curled into a fist that he drove into Sweetie’s nose.
I let out a dreamy sigh, unable to stop it. I was only human, and this man not only stayed by my side when I flung insults at him, and beat up my abuser, here he was punching the mate who rejected me and broke something essential inside my chest. Something I hadn’t realised was so vital until it began to decay, bleeding into everything around it, sullying my organs until they struggled to function, eating at my energy until I was listless, burning acid up my throat until I choked on it.
Sweetie stumbled back and splayed against the wall, breathing hard, his mouth set in a flat line behind his beard, blood pouring from his nose. I ignored how attracted I was to him. I ignored the vicious pull in my chest encouraging me to run across the hallway and fling myself into his arms like a princess with her prince. My soul, even shattered and bleeding, clearly thought he’d pick me up and spin me, a metaphorical dress twirling around us. Fairy tale shit didn’t exist. True love was a lie.
My eyes burned as every story Mum told me replayed in my head, every reverent murmur of fated mates, every promise of forever. My forever was rotting, putrescent and stomach-churning. My forever was so dead that flies circled it and vultures had gathered to pick over the bones.
