Page 20 of The Butcher

Bramley grabs the sides of my neck, roughly pulling me toward him, his cool fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of my neck. He presses his forehead to mine with a sigh, keeping us close like that for a few seconds, his eyes sliding closed as I lean into his touch.

Big babies, the both of them.

“Let’s go get rid of a body.”

I chuckle as Bram straightens up, kissing my forehead with his masked mouth, before letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Are you really going to drive?”

“Yes,” I say as I turn and hurry toward the open door before either of them changes their minds. “Now go get those handsand feet. I want to feed the bears fast so you can feed me before the Chinese place closes.”

And as I hoist myself up into the driver’s seat and begin checking mirrors, I can’t help but smile as I hear my alphas laugh a little, and together, for the first time in ages.

Maybe whatever is coming won’t be such a bad thing after all.

Chapter Five

PLACEBO EFFECT

Indy

My heart races as I cling to my comforter, cowering in the corner of my stall while my body begins to uncontrollably shake.

It’s been torture, the last few weeks of waiting, counting down the minutes until I find out what fate has in store for me. Assuming that since it has been weeks, it can’t be anything good.

Four and a half days of the worst heat I have ever experienced, hours and hours of alphas rutting until my body finally had enough.

I blacked out relatively early, and I don’t remember much of what happened before that, and nothing of what took place after until I woke up in the infirmary naked and alone.

The first time I tried to move, I knew something wasn’t right. My body ached in ways it never had after a heat, and once I could open my eyes without the fluorescent light stinging them, I saw why.

I was covered in bruises.

Purple and blue handprints, yellowing fingerprints. They were all over me and when I attempted to sit up, pain radiatedthrough my core, shooting up into my stomach and down my legs. It was so bad I actually yelped.

Thankfully, Scarlett was there.

She’s one of the lucky ones from my generation, if you want to call her that.

Shortly before they moved us, maybe a week or so, she found out she was pregnant.

Scarlett and I were born a few days apart, though she wasn’t born here and was almost breeding age when she arrived. They were scared, she and her mother had been through a horrific ordeal, so my mom took them under her wing. Our mothers had been close, we had neighboring stalls and were on a similar schedule, and when her mother died, my mom all but adopted Scarlett. They split us up after she was gone, but we saw each other briefly each time we went into heat—she’s been bred just as long as I have, unfortunately with the same results. Up until just over a month ago.

I was relieved to see a familiar face, the only friend I have in here being the one to greet me shortly after I woke up, but it was surprising.

Generally, once an alpha finds out he successfully bred one of us, he moves through the process of taking them home relatively quickly and they’re never heard from again. Seeing Scarlett had a second wave of fear rolling through me and once she tended to the wounds that turned out to be far less serious than they felt, she explained the terrible situation she was in.

The alpha—who she recently discovered was actually a Harden—died unexpectedly, and Scarlett never made it off the property.

She’s working in the infirmary full time now, helping the way her mother did, but she didn’t go into much more than that for fear of getting either one of us in trouble.

Conversation is limited and closely monitored, and certain topics are off the table. Like dead alphas who carry the family name.

I’m grateful she’s the one who’s been tending to me.

It’s brought a small sense of normality to my situation. Seeing her every day, chatting a little here and there about some of what I’ve missed or how she’s been feeling. Scarlett even snuck in a book to read to me when she had the extra time. If we were anywhere but the ranch, I’d say what we have is akin to some of what my mother talked about from her short time on the outside, genuine friendship.

And maybe that is what we have, it’s just sullied by this waking hell we call home.

My eyes dart toward the door as hurried footsteps head in my direction.

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