Page 42 of Pack Plus Three

Jeremy frowned, thinking deeply for a second. “Okay, in that case, I'm kidnapping you.”

“Excuse me?”

He took several steps until he was right in front of me, looking down at me, only mere inches away. “My alpha is very close to the surface right now. He is infuriated that there’s a chance you were in danger. What if you had been home when this had happened? I can't even think about that. I need you to be safe, okay?”

“But . . .” I struggled to find the words.

“I know I keep having to remind you, but I'm serious about us. I will never be able to forgive myself if you get hurt and there was something I could have done to stop it.”

“Nate hasn't even met me.”

“He's a big boy. He can handle it.”

But could he? Everything I'd heard about him made him sound like a complete enigma.

“Someone could have hurt you or the little one,” Jeremy reasoned. “Even if you're not 100% on board, surely, you'll do it for the safety of the baby.”

“Bastard,” I grumbled, even though the word held no heat.

“I'm not above playing dirty to keep you safe.”

“Can I at least go and get a few of my things?” I asked.

Jeremy nodded. “I'll go with you. I have to warn you, though. The place has been ransacked, and it smells like someone threw bleach around. Most of your belongings won't be salvageable.”

“Why would they destroy my belongings if they were there to steal things?”

“Probably angry that they didn't find something better to steal,” Jeremy admitted.

“That's fair. I definitely didn't have anything decent to steal.”

I should have been freaking out, screaming, crying. I had just been told that my home was broken into and most of my things ruined, and yet, I felt oddly calm.

“Just pack things of sentimental value. We can grab you new clothes and that sort of stuff.”

“I'm not letting you buy me things!”

“We've covered this. I'm rich and I want to.”

“You’re a stubborn asshole,” I grumbled.

“Can call me all the names you want, as long as you're safe. Now, I'm going to go pack a bag for myself. You need to get your cookies out—they’re burning—and then we will go and get your stuff,” Jeremy said in a matter-of-fact tone, striding off to his bedroom and pulling out a duffel bag.

Crap! The cookies. Turning to the oven, I quickly pulled the tray out. Thankfully, they were just slightly browner than I would usually let them get. I could add a butter glaze, and that would make everything better and softer.

Butter improved everything.

He wasn't kidding. My place was destroyed.

Bookcases had been upturned and my sofa slashed open. The whole place stank of bleach, and I couldn't see a single item of clothing that had survived.

“All stuff. We can replace it,” Jeremy said lightly, rubbing my lower back as I took in the carnage.

“It was all I had,” I said around quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy soothed, pulling me in for a hug.

In the end, we only managed to rescue one or two T-shirts, a few items from the kitchen, and some old photos I had stashed under the bed.

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