Violet shrugged. “Where else was I going to go? I revealed at sixteen. Hardly a good age to be out on my own, and I never had many friends in school. Wasn’t allowed.”
That was younger than average. Most omegas were at least seventeen.
“Still… aren’t there shelters? Programs?”
“I didn’t trust them. They might have told my mom where I was, and I couldn’t risk it.”
Yet, she trusted the brother she’d never met. Violet really valued family, despite being given a shitty one to grow up with.
“Anyway, you already know he was great to me. He took me in, made sure my mom thought I’d left the city for good, and helped me get into an online high school program so I could graduate. Everything was great for a few years, until…thatnight happened.”
Her body language changed abruptly, her posture stiffening. She turned her hand over and clutched mine tightly.
“I went out to a club with some people I thought were my friends. They weren’t, not really.”
Fake friends could be more dangerous than any man. She must have put her guard down, thinking they were watching her back.
I had a feeling they’d left her vulnerable, or worse.
“Some alphas took an interest in me. I wasn’t interested in them, refused all the drinks they brought me, all the things you should do to avoid being drugged. But one of my friends brought me a drink, and that one I took. I only realized later that those guys had given it to her to give to me.”
I squeezed Violet’s hand. “You’re right that she wasn’t your friend. Or maybe she was just a fucking idiot.”
Violet managed a dry laugh. “Bit of both, I think. All my friends left with the guys they’d picked for themselves until I was stumbling around the club alone. I don’t remember much else from that night, but I remember where I woke up.”
She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths, then opened them again and looked around the room. “I’m not there anymore,” she whispered.
“No, you’re here with me.” I shifted closer to her, hoping I wasn’t making it worse.
She leaned into me, continuing in her barely-there whisper. “I woke up in a warehouse. It was freezing cold, and I wasn’t wearing anything. They’d left me on the concrete floor. No one was around, and I thought I’d be able to find a tarp to wrap around myself and walk out the door. It wasn’t that simple.”
“I found something to cover up with, but every door I tried was locked. I was searching through the boxes for something to pick the lock with when they came back. They didn’t let me leave. They didn’t let me have clothes or food, only small amounts of dirty water. I think their plan was to keep using me until I died.”
Violet was so pale. Her hand trembled in mine. I could feel a cold coil of horror in my stomach as she painted a picture of what had happened. One of the worst things that could happen to us.
“Take some breaths with me,” I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my own voice.
She followed the cadence of my breathing until there was a hint of colour back in her cheeks.
“Thank you. The rest of the story is easier.”
No part of this could really be classified as easy.
“I was with them for two days before West found me. He saved me, but he’s always blamed himself for it because the guys who took me were with a rival motorcycle club.” She snorted. “I saw how they looked at me in the club, though. I don’t thinkthey targeted me as a way to get back at my brother—wouldn’t they have mentioned that in the two days I was there? I was vulnerable. In the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Guys don’t really understand that sometimes it’s that simple,” I murmured.
“Yeah. But I was really beat up, and mentally just... broken. He’d already killed the men who did it, so he needed to shift the blame onto someone he could still punish. Ended up being himself.”
She slumped back into the pillows some more, tension draining from her body.
“He’s good at blaming himself for anything that happens to the people around him,” I said.
“Tell me about it. He blamed himself for me needing to live at the Residence, too. I wanted to stay with him back then, even though I wasn’t doing well. Hetriedto help me himself, but I should have never asked that of him. He isn’t a psychiatrist, and I needed professional help and medication. When he had to leave me there, I was kicking and screaming for him to take me home. I think it just broke him again.”
I couldn’t imagine having to leave someone you love in a facility like that, knowing it’s for the best, but knowing they didn’t want to be there. It would weigh on anyone, but especially West.
He wanted to be the saviour.
