Page 32 of The Rogues

Another tear slips down her cheek, and she goes to brush it away. Seeing my best friend be this open and honest with me has been my biggest wish the last few months. Maybe even the past year. All I’ve ever wanted was to be there for her, help fix her world until it’s the exact shade of gold that Cleo deserves.

With this glimpse of her before me, my chest fills with hope once more. Maybe she isn’t too far gone. Maybe my best friend is still in there, waiting for me to help her climb back out.

My uncle’s face flashes in my mind, his happy smiles that I remember, jolly and bright as ever. At the end of his life, I didn’t see a lot of those smiles. I can’t remember his laugh or the last time he played with me without my father being an angry shadow.

I choose to remember the jolly giant, rather than the beast he became. Through the fights and disagreements I witnessed, his smile never left me. Even when the substances stole that light and made it impossible for him to be around, I still held onto those memories of him.

I can’t imagine Cleo’s light being extinguished forever. If there’s any chance of saving my best friend from herself, it’s now, and I know I must have a part in it. We’ve been through too much; I know every little thing about her and every dark corner of her mind. I can get through to her. I know I can.

But how can I do that when I’m going to forever be tied to people she hates? How can I help her, and still be with them in the end?

The conclusion that springs to me is heart-wrenching, my hand fumbling as it moves to my chest, feeling the skipped step in the beat. As we get up, I try to maintain my smile, to keep myself upright for her still-crumbling emotions, but my heart hurts.

Because I know what the answer is, I just don’t know if I’ll have the strength to carry it through.

ELEVEN

TUCSON, ARIZONA

Hanging around the hotel bar isn’t usually my cup of tea. I much prefer to spend time with my mate or pack, relaxing in our suite, writing music or watching a movie. The lobbies of most hotels are crowded and loud, and there’s too much of a chance that someone could recognize me.

Despite all of that, I’ve found myself hanging out at this bar for the past few days, my darkest tinted sunglasses on my face and a camouflaging beanie on my head. All for the opportunity to glimpse the demure omega in case she decides to pass by.

It hasn’t happened yet. I think I’m starting to realize she is just as much of a hermit as I am, but I can’t seem to give up on my efforts. I have a weird feeling this is going to happen at every stop and every hotel until the alpha in my chest can’t handle it anymore.

“Want another one?” the bartender asks, pointing at my champagne, and I give him a curt nod. I keep my face down as he walks away, attempting to hide the shame flushing across my cheeks. He probably thinks I’m some lonely pervert, but my mate is waiting for me upstairs. Jamie understands why I’m doing this, why I go through this peculiar night-time ritual on the off chance that I might get any alone time with my scent match.

We’ve all been wishing for that time with her, hoping she’ll come around sooner or later, but it’s been two weeks since we’ve started this tour and she seems more distant than she was before we knew of our connection, which seems hard to accomplish because we were all strangers at that point.

Just when I’m about to give up for the night and return to my room, I smell her. That gorgeous sparkling scent that I can feel all the way down to my toes. It curls around me, making its presence known, and I am suddenly grateful that my little dose of insanity worked in my favor just this once.

The bartender puts my refill in front of me, but I no longer want it. It may satiate me in the meantime, but it’s nothing like the real thing, which keeps getting stronger by the second.

I turn, my eyes locking with green ones across the lobby. She must recognize it’s me, or smell my own distinct scent in the air, because she smiles with recognition and strides toward me. My alpha growls in my chest at her lack of disguise, worried that someone might identify her and harass her, but I stomp that down. I’m not the kind of alpha that micromanages his pack, even if I want to do everything I can to protect the ones I love.

There’s a thin line between possessiveness and caution, and I have never been one to step over it.

“Champagne, I see,” Josie comments, glancing at the flute in front of me.

“I had a craving.”

Her face flushes a pretty pink—one that I could gaze at for the rest of my life—before swallowing thickly. My eyes trail over her arms, where her tattoos sit in an intricate pattern that makes my mouth water. A huge bushel of roses takes precedence on her shoulder, flashy in its detailing, but there’s also simple black linework. A guitar on her left bicep, barbed wire wrapped around her forearm, and a word in black-letter script above the crook of her elbow that says “vicious.”

I point at the stool beside me. “Would you like to sit? I’ll get you something.”

She nods curtly. “Sure, but no champagne.”

“Whatever the omega wants,” I confirm. “What’s your poison?”

“A lychee mojito.”

“Nice choice.”

My hand finds the stool right where her backside touches it, and I pull the seat closer, satisfied when I see the rosy complexion bloom once more over her cheeks. When the bartender sees her and strolls by, I order her drink and ask him to put it on my tab.

When he leaves, I turn to her with a hopeful look. “So, what are you doing out and about this late? I figured you’d already be in bed after such a long night,” I partially fib.

“I was actually going to come see you,” she admits, causing my stomach to somersault.