Page 77 of The Butcher

“The part about hate,” he says, his voice low and sharp, steady. “I hate that you’re here. In my town, in my fucking house. I hate that you’ve weaseled your way into my fucking family, that you’ve somehow bonded with my fucking pack.” He throws the tool that was in his hand, his stare icy while he spits his venom. “I hate that I crave your goddamn scent, that I can’t seem to get you out of my head, and it’s making me act like a fucking moron when I damn well know better. I hate that I keep picturing you with my alpha and my beta, and how that makes me feel. What that makes me want. There’s a lot of hate here, Indy, so I’d say that was dead fucking wrong.”

“You don’t know what that word truly means.” For some reason, one unknown to me, instead of breaking my heart that this man doesn’t seem to want me to be a part of his life the way I’m supposed to be, it makes me mad. “You have no idea what kind of weight that word holds.”

“No?” He scoffs. “I think?—“

“Hate is having every move you make scheduled and monitored by monsters. It’s being told you have one purpose and one alone, and if you can’t deliver, you’re worth nothing.” The dustpan falls from my hand as I bring them in front of me. “Hate is having the only person you loved erased from your life as if they were never there at all. It’s waking up every single day to a life you never asked for, and praying for a death that never comes. You don’t know hate, Bramley Ambrose, and I hope you never have to.”

He stands quietly for a few moments, looking at me, analyzing my words right along with my face, and just when I think I might have gotten through to him, he proves me wrong.

“For someone who thinks they know everything about me based on two encounters, you don’t know shit.” He shakes his head then chuckles, dark and hollow. “Your monsters have nothing on the devil, Indigo, there is nothing you can say that’s going to change how I feel. I want nothing to do with you, and if I lose my pack in the process, so be it. Now, run back to them before I say something else you’ll regret.”

My jaw drops as Bram turns, dumbfounded by the way this bastard can lie through his teeth without batting an eye, and watch him open up the cooler door only to disappear inside in a cloud of cold air.

I have no idea what the hell just happened between us but it was not what I was expecting when I agreed to come down here.

Now I’m mad as hell, I’m still perfuming like a dumbass, and I need to start ripping some band aids off of my own wounds so maybe all four of us can heal.

I know what they told him about me and until right now, I wasn’t ready to deal with it.

Bram wants to be pissed because he thinks I’ve bonded with his pack? Fine. I’ll give him something to be pissed about, and if we’re all connected the way I think we are, I hope he feels every goddamn thing that’s about to happen because it’s the only way he’s going to get his head out of his ass.

Chapter Eighteen

THE BLUEST OF BALLS

Indy

Idon’t know how I found my way back to their house, but I did, and I’m assuming it’s because I’m running on nothing but anger and spite.

Bramley is a real asshole, one who likes to use his size to his advantage, and he thinks he can intimidate his way out of reality. Because I am his reality. Same as he is mine; all three of them are. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, and I know that son of a bitch feels it.

There’s no way he couldn’t, not with the way we were responding to each other. He’d have to be emotionally cut off, completely void of a soul or whatever it is that makes us feel things, and asshole or not, I know that’s not the case.

I am so angry with him.

So angry with Bramley Ambrose.

My hands ball into fists as I stomp my way down the hill, even more irritated because I forgot my coat, but I’m too mad to be cold. I can see their house now, though, so it wouldn't matter if I were. I made it this far, a few more minutes out here isn’t going to kill me.

Rolling my eyes, I scoff to myself.

It almost did kill me.

Almost being the keyword.

With a scowl, I slow down a bit as my path gets a little steeper, and I run into some uneven ground. I can be mad and keep myself from falling on my face at the same time. No need to add insult to injury. Or maybe that should be the other way around since I just spent god knows how long being insulted by a man who made me perfume without even trying. Adding an injury to that would be the icing on the cake, as Nash says.

It’s such a weird thing, to see someone, to smell them, to share their air, and just know in your gut that you belong together. Regardless of how much I’d like to smack him right in his masked-up mouth, seeing Bram made everything click into place, and explained why I feel so at home here when I’d never heard of Obsidian Falls before.

Not that I’d heard of anywhere outside of Harden Ranch, but still.

Looking into those icy blue eyes, and ignoring the fact that the jerk has eyelashes for days, everything I’ve been struggling to understand, all the racing thoughts and mixed emotions, suddenly became crystal clear in that shithead’s presence. How he could stand there and look me in the eye while he spits some of the stupidest, most blatant lies at me, I will never understand. It’s almost impressive that he could do it with a straight face and so much goddamn conviction.

Now that I know how we could be spending our time when Clayton or Nash force us into the same space, I’ll be ready.

It caught me off guard that he was acting like such a dick, but only because I couldn’t fathom being that way to him, not until he decided not to hold back. That was a learning experience, one I won’t be forgetting any time soon, and I’ll prepare better for our next run in.

The last thing I’m going to do is avoid Bramley Ambrose.

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