Page 44 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

Brad chases along behind us. His voice suddenly cuts off, and I assume he’s retreated because he knows I’m about to be out on my ass—or worse—anyway.

The walk is a daze.

A high-pitched whine blots out any further sound.

It takes the entire ride home for my mind to reconcile what’s just happened.

...and that the number of people who know my secret has now grown exponentially.

Chapter Eight

Mason

Izzy barely speaks the whole ride home.

She sits in the middle seat in the back of Trick’s SUV, with Vin on one side and me on the other. Trick shows an unreasonable amount of restraint in following traffic laws.

It strikes me, watching him nervously drum his fingers on the steering wheel while his eyes shift to the back seat in the rear-view mirror, that he doesn’t seem surprised.

Trick knew she wasn’t a beta.

The night he went to her room runs circles in my mind.

I gave Trick such shit for sleeping with her, but it was the same night we took the video in the kitchen. I edged her hard. Took pleasure in how she squirmed in her seat at dinner. Had I known, I’d never have...

My memory is vivid because I must have watched it a dozen times while listening to her beg for an alpha and stroking my dick until my balls begged me to stop.

Now, though, the fearless woman beside me is thoroughly shell-shocked. She stares out the window and shivers whenever I stop purring for her.

This asshole knew and said nothing.

Vin’s holding her hand, but he’s mentally elsewhere too. He has to have caught on to Trick’s reaction. I can’t even imagine a packmate keeping something this big from me.

Izzy is an omega.

We’ve been living with an omega.

My knuckles are screaming because Brad has a steel jaw, but at least it finally shut him the fuck up.

She shutters under my arm as quiet tears soak Trick’s spare shirt. It’s a silent, sorrowful sob that can’t be natural. Her expression is this forced poker face of blandness even while tears stream down her face.

She’s probably scared out of her mind.

I want to say something, but have no idea where to start.

Instead, I do the only thing I can think of—I hold her close and kiss the top of her disheveled hair. Pretty sure there’s glass still in there, but I don’t give a fuck.

When we pull into the garage, Trick stops the car but no one gets out.

We wait in the stale darkness with nothing but the engine’s cooling tick to fill the void.

“I’m on suppressants,” Izzy says, her tone artificial and flat. “You never knew and we can pretend that’s still the case until I leave. I’ll stay in my room for the day to pack and then be out of your way. Let me know when my car gets here and I’ll come for it. I’ll be prompt, I promise.”

“The fuck you will,” Vin explodes.

“Bobby,” Trick admonishes, but there’s no stopping the guy on our left.

“She’s not fucking leaving, Trick. If you want to be a pack, then this has to be my house too. I say she’s staying.”

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