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Talking doesn’t solve shit.
I could tell my pack brothers their problems all the livelong day. Finn’s desperate, Atlas keeps choosing duty over his mate, and fucking Jett is so far in denial, he needs a pickaxe to dig out of his own ass.
And Lilah…
I can still picture her, passed out in the back of my truck. Bleeding. Not asking for help. At first, flinching away from touch, then soaking up attention like an omega starved.
She’s too vulnerable, too sweet, and way too much fucking trouble.
Lilah is the match that’ll set every one of us on fire.
We stop to pick up Chinese, and the air between us stays suffocatingly thick. We need to clear it, or I need to pound a bag until my knuckles are hamburger.
When we get home, Atlas and Jett stomp inside, leaving Finn and me to carry the bags. Most nights, we’re back too late to eat as a pack. Tonight, Orion waits for us in the doorway.
“Rough day?” he asks, rubbing his arms against the tension vibrating through our pack bonds.
When no one answers, he deflates and his scent goes sour apple.
I feel like the only one with basic senses. Or a conscience. I grab Orion around his shoulders and steer him toward the kitchen, wishing the guys would see how he perks up at the smallest touch. “Day’s over. Want to eat together?”
“Yeah.” Orion gives this happy, heart-breaking smile that the others don’t register.
Finn rips into the takeout bags as soon as we hit the kitchen, and everyone pulls out their food while I side-eye the cleared-off countertops. “Did Craig clean?”
“Not exactly,” Orion says, not meeting my eyes.
“Did you?” Atlas asks, already rumbling. “That’s not your job.”
“Lilah did.”
We all freeze, mid-bite.
“Why the hell was she upstairs?” Atlas knocks back his chair with an angry screech.
“I gave her the Wi-Fi password. We talked. She’s not... She’s not awful.” Orion pokes at his sweet and sour chicken. “She promises she doesn’t want to stay.”
“What if I want to keep her?” Finn asks dreamily, oblivious when Orion flinches.
“Not happening.” Fucking idiot. I smack his shoulder.
I was worried for about thirty seconds last night when Finn started obsessing. But he didn’t mention Lilah once today unless someone else brought her up, and he conveniently forgot she existed when he put in our dinner order. He only sees her as a toy, switchable with any one of his bikes.
“Craig told her to put shit away,” Orion says.
“We need to get rid of them both,” Jett says through gritted teeth.
“Soon.” Atlas stares toward the basement like he’s going to bull down there and drag the girl out to the curb. “We can’t push back right now. As soon as we deal with the Redfangs, we’ll have space to negotiate with Scorpio.”
Now it’s the Redfangs.
Next week, we’ll be dealing with some other shit.
There’s always something, always some reason to push off making the hard changes. Numbskulls need to realize this.
I wolf down dinner, then give in to the itch in my veins and jog downstairs. I’m taping my hands for a marathon punch-shit session when I spot the too-thin girl squeezed between the washer and dryer.
Lilah holds a crumbled protein bar wrapper, and a crumb of chocolate clings to the corner of her lush lips. A protective rumble builds behind my sternum. I pull in my diaphragm until the sound dies the way it needs to.
