Page 105 of The Butcher

I look at Bramley and pop my hip out. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

“Tell us what?” They ask in unison.

“She’s a Harden omega,” he grunts, Bramley almost disgusted by the words as they fall from his lips. “That’s her fucking number.”

He nods toward me, and I point to the digits tattooed on my skin.

“Indy?” Nash looks between us. “Is that true? You were at the ranch?”

Here we go. “I was born there. Well, I was born in Virginia but I was carried to almost term there, and my mother and I were sent back when my father died.”

The entire vibe in the room changes, shifting from the weird cocktail of emotions it was a few minutes ago to straight up tension. Heavy, thick tension.

And I don’t have the goddamn patience to wait for the onslaught of questions.

“I’m not sure what you want to know, but I’m guessing this changes any long term plans, assuming you probably have a pretty good idea what happens there.”

I feel so gross.

Telling the men I love, the pack I want a future with, that I was used for years by countless alphas.

I wasn’t exactly thrilled with my life before this, not really a fan of how things played out, but even still, I never felt disgusted with myself. Harden and his men, the alphas thatcame in hoping to knock us up or get knocked up by one of us? Absolutely. They are the epitome of disgusting, lower than scum human beings, but that’s where my feelings like that stopped.

Until now.

Right now, I feel dirty. I feel broken, and like any hope I had is slipping away.

But no one says anything.

Nothing to support how I’m feeling, or to contradict it.

That makes me feel like I want to run away and hide.

Instead, I settle for zigzagging between Nash and Clayton, rip the sheet off the bed, and wrap it around myself because I need something to try to comfort myself. Especially if no one else is going to anymore.

Pulling the material tighter around my shoulders, I fight the way my nose stings and my eyes well.

I haven’t cried because of an alpha yet, and I don’t plan to start just because my scent match and mates don’t want a used up omega. I can’t even blame them for that.

“Do you know them?” I look up as Bram walks toward me, his hand outstretched, what looks like cards between his fingers. “Recognize them at all?”

The second my eyes land on the photos, I wretch and turn away.

“Indy?”

I hold up one hand while I cover my mouth with the other, shaking my head while I try to combat the incredibly strong urge to vomit.

All three of them take a step toward me, those stupid bonds forcing them to act even when they don’t want to, but Bram is the one who continues speaking. “You do.”

“What gave it away?” My stomach rolls and I heave again. “The need to puke, or the intense panic?”

“How do you know them? Did they work at the ranch?”

Shaking my head, I take a few deep breaths and slowly get myself under control.

For all of two seconds before Bramley says, “They told me they were sent to look for an omega. Some guy named Hall sent them, and?—“

“What?” I practically screech, straight up fear slicing through me over that name. “They said Hall sent them?”

---