“Get good answers.” My sister takes a slice for the road, then Mom drags me into the micro-kitchen.
She folds her arms over her cardigan. “Talk.”
“Didn’t Bish explain?” I run my fingers through my hair.
How do I tell her what’s up without mentioning the guys are planning to kidnap an omega?
She’ll murder me, and I didn’t even agree to this bullshit plan.
“Don’t stall.”
I wince. “Triad power struggle. Just need you to be safe for a few days.”
“But you won’t be safe?”
“No. I’ll be safe too. Promise. Everything will blow over soon.”
While they pack, I scarf smegma slices. Even though the girls bustle around the tiny-ass house, my ears are already starting to echo with silence.
Everything would be fine if I could hug my beta.
But Solly is gone.
Soon, Mom and Dany will be gone.
And fuck.
I don’t care if you’re alpha, omega, triad, or cartel.
If you’re not my family and you’re not my pack, then leave me the fuck alone.
I don’t give a liquid shit if Serafina Redfang is having a rough life.
My caring card ran out of space when I was fourteen, and I’m fresh out of fucks to give for anyone new.
All I care about is protecting my own.
To set my intention, I sneak into the bathroom and jerk my frustrations into a washcloth.
Fast. Dry. Angry.
I cum so hard I bellow in wingdings:
????? ????? ???????? ????????
(Forget you, elevator omega!)
This load belongs to Solomon.
I spend the night staring at my phone, waiting for an update and sleeplessly researching how to craft a parachute from sheets if I have to emergency-bail the penthouse.
When the sun rises through spotless, floor-to-ceiling windows with zillion-dollar views, I have to face the womp womp music that says I’m getting screwed.
I’m a good actress.
But good enough to fool Nikolaj Redfang longer than it takes to microwave a hot dog?
Not betting my life.
