Page 77 of Marigold Run

“Silva. It’s Don.”An alpha with a deep, rasping voice speaks as if leaving a message. “I’m gonna cut right to the chase. Stanley and I have parted ways, but I think that we should work together. With your reputable dealings and my street smarts, we could create something really beautiful.”

Izan’s big body tenses above me and he growls at the phone. It's clear he’s desperate to snatch it up, but the phone is too far for him to reach, and he can’t move without hurting me. So we both lie here, continuing to listen to the bizarre message.

“I know things haven’t always been good between our packs. Dassy did me wrong.”Izan growls again, but this time even louder. Angrier. “But I’m willing to look past that. It’s time we made amends. In fact, I heard that Stan gave you a shit omega that up and died on you.”

I flinch at that, staring up at Izan, but the alpha refuses to look at me, keeping all of his attention on the phone on the floor.

“Just to show you how good we are, I’m willing to get you another omega as a gift. One that’s better than anything you can get in the fucking Morder.”He spits the last word as if it were poison. “Those trash omegas only want to trick you, kill you, or they end up dead.”

All the blood drains out of my face.

“There’s a fuck ton of money to be made out there,”Don continues. “And it’s ours for the taking. Think about it, Silva.”

The room goes completely silent. It’s just me and Izan. I’m staring at him. And he’s staring at the floor.

“What’s the Morder?” I ask in a cool, calm voice.

“Mari.” He finally turns his head toward me, but his eyes don’t meet mine. “I know what you must be thinking.” He stares at my chest.

“What’s the Morder?” I repeat. “Is that where you got Brea?”

Izan’s eyes snap to mine, wide and confused. His reaction makes sense. As far as he knows, I don’t know about poor Brea. “Did Everly tell you about her?” he asks. His voice is soft, filled with restrained emotion.

I set my jaw, refusing to answer. And he refuses to say anything else either.

Time ticks by and the air seems to grow thicker as two of us stare at each other. It’s an awkward stalemate with Izan holding himself over me—his fat knot lodged inside my cunt and his bite mark still bleeding down my neck.

After what feels like forever, the base of Izan’s dick finally softens. His knot deflates and so does his resolve. “We got Brea from the black market,” he says as his cock slips out of me. It’s quickly followed by a river of slick and cum. The release of pressure makes me want to moan, but I shove it back, concentrating on my anger.

“Everly agreed to getting an omega from the black market?” I ask, struggling to believe it.

Izan sits on his feet between my legs, staring at the mess we made on the bed. His cock is still hard. The knot at the base looks massive, and I wonder if it’s struggling to go down. “It was her idea.”

My mouth falls open at that, picturing rows of omegas in tiny cages, displayed like stray dogs ready to be adopted. “Bullshit,” I whisper, praying it isn’t true.

Izan looks up at me, staring deep into my eyes. “Wewanted an omega, andshewanted to save someone.”

Now that, I do believe.

I slowly sit, drawing my knees up under my chin. How the fuck did I ever convince myself that these assholes were worth coming back for?

Black market omegas, Tenus pack alphas, and forced mating bites.How is Hutch the only one that hasn’t broken my heart?

“Brea wasn’t with us long,” Izan continues, acting as if I asked. I can feel his deep sadness creep into the fog in my head. It’s so suffocating. So familiar. “She was sickly from the moment we brought her home, but we didn’t suspect it was distress.” He hangs his head, and it takes everything in me not to crawl in his lap and hug him tight. “She passed away in a matter of months. Everly was devastated.”

I scoot to the edge of the bed, dangling my legs next to the nightstand. My neck still stings and my cunt aches. I guess I should be thankful I didn’t end up like poor Brea. “I’m very sorry,” I say, turning away from Izan.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, his voice distant, still thinking about past memories.

“I know.” I rest my hand next to the marble lamp. It looks really heavy.

“Then what are you sorry for?” There’s a lift to his voice, genuinely curious.

“This.” Gathering all my strength, I grip the base of the marble lamp, and I swing.

The Twin’s Bedroom

Everly

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