Page 118 of The Butcher

“I don’t know, but you can’t convince me you would have stayed if you knew, so either way you’re still an asshole!”

She slams the actual door as soon I have the screen open, locking it before she drags a kitchen chair in front of it, securingit under the knob, then flips me the bird through the small, square window. Indy watches me for a moment, satisfied with herself for ripping me a new one and essentially kicking me out, then her brows shoot up and she whips around, running toward the front door one second before I remember we fucking have one.

“Goddamnit, Indy,” I grunt as I crash into the now locked and blocked door with my bad shoulder. “That’s my fucking house, you can’t keep me out of it.”

“Go to hell, Bramley,” she shouts through the window.

I watch as she folds her arms against her chest with a victorious little smirk, then immediately winces, and brings her hand in front of her face. She scowls at the blood in her palm, her eyes darting to mine as they throw daggers, then she disappears from view to most likely fix up her hand.

And I just stand there, stewing on my front porch because this is all my fault.

The tension, the fighting. Her going into heat alone. Getting locked out of my own goddamn house.

Everything going on between me and my mates, it’s all my goddamn fault, and there isn’t any fixing it unless I’m the one doing it.

I back up and look at the front of our house, assessing how I’m going to get inside. I’m not above breaking a window. Nash would lose his shit if I did, but I’d throw one of the rockers on the porch through either of those big ass windows without thinking twice if it was the only way. Which it might be.

Backing up further and off the front steps, I look up at the second floor, and that’s when I know how I’m getting in.

Lumbering my way to the far-left corner in the back, I stand below what is currently our bedroom and hope that Clayton has still been opening the window despite the fact that it’s still cold as fuck at night.

Both Nash and I run hot, and he usually likes it, but only if the window is open so he doesn’t sweat his balls off.

Bingo.

Fucker is open a few inches, so if I can get up there, I can push it the rest of the way and break into our fucking house without actually breaking anything. Since there is no way the trellis would support my weight, and I’m not goddamn Spider-Man, I guess I’m going to have to find an alternate route up and in.

Old as hell tree, it is.

Grunting the entire time, I climb my big ass up the tree next to our bedroom, crawling out onto the longest branch. I hold my breath with each scoot toward the end, the thing creaking and bowing under my almost three hundred pounds. Reaching toward the sill, I stretch as far as I can, my fingers just shy of the ledge, and I know if I want to make this happen, I’m going to have to throw myself at my fucking house, and pray I connect on the first try.

If I don’t, there might not be a second one because it is a tall motherfucker with a serious drop from all the way up here.

Counting to three in my head, I launch myself of the branch, cringing in pain as I smack into the siding, knocking the wind out of me briefly as my vision blurs. I made it, but I caught the ledge with my dominant hand, and dangling here for a few seconds is wreaking havoc on my shoulder.

Once I regain my composure, I dig the toe of my boots into the wood, glad I listened to my mates when they suggested the log cabin style building even though I bitched up a storm at the time. I pull myself up until I can hook my arm through the opening, bracing myself there while I use the other to push the window open all the way. With another internal three count, I propel myself through it, the momentum I thought I neededmore than enough, and I send myself directly onto the floor with a thud.

Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling while I try to catch my breath, thinking about what the best approach might be when it comes to my omega, but, I don’t get the chance.

Indy is already in the door of our bedroom when I finally get to my feet, her eyes wide and searching, a poker from the fireplace raised above her head like a fucking battle axe, and the second she sees me, she turns and books it down the hall.

This is not the approach I planned on taking.

If I’m going to chase my pretty little omega, it’s going to be through the goddamn woods for the fun of it, after I tell her to start running, and you can bet your ass the minute I catch her, I’m fucking her up against the nearest tree. Chasing her through the house because she’s pissed at me and trying to keep me out of our house is not exactly my idea of a good time. Especially when it involved climbing a stupid tree.

“Indy,” I bark as I follow her down the stairs. “Stop fucking running.”

“Eat a dick, Bramley!” She squeals as she nearly bites it on the last step, catching herself on the banister before she takes off toward her room. “Or choke on one, I don’t even care!”

Unable to hide the way that makes me chuckle, I grin when Indy looks over her shoulder to see me gaining on her. She reaches for her bedroom door, faking a left like she’s going inside even though it appears to be busted, my omega darts to the right through the doorway, and that’s when this goes from kind of annoying to obnoxious and kind of fun.

“You stay right there, Bramley Ambrose,” Indy says as she pulls the dining room table in front of her. “Don’t even try coming after me.”

“Or what?” I grab the closest chair and slide it out of my way, stalking my prey slowly while she watches me like a hawk. “What are you going to do to stop me, omega mine?”

She falters at that, something about what I said knocking down part of that wall she built. “I… I’m going to…”

I watch her throat bob as she swallows hard, sliding another chair out of my way when I’m hit with a very strong wave of her scent. “You’re, what?”

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