Page 33 of Whatever It Takes

He’s insanely hot all the time, but I love seeing him confused. I’m not sure he understands how human interactions are supposed to go, but even my least pleasant interactions with Easton are preferable to my most enjoyable interactions with the man I was supposed to marry.

“That is very thoughtful. Thank you.” I take another sip of my coffee, praying the caffeine kicks in swiftly.

“You shouldn’t encourage his bad behavior,” Keir says from behind me. I spin around, and he’s leaning against the wall just inside the kitchen. He’s in a black Shadow Security T-shirt. The tattoos that line his forearms and biceps bulge as he crosses his arms over his chest. There are even a few tats peeking out of the top of his shirt and sneaking up the sides of his neck.

Keir would have fit in fine among my father’s enforcers. His exterior screams he’s dangerous and that he could do some real damage if necessary, but his energy reminds me of a big, stoic teddy bear.

“Do I have a spending limit?” I turn back to Easton.

He chuckles. “It would take you several days of hard work and constant spending to even get close to the limit. Have fun.”

My lashes flutter.

That might be the sexiest thing a man has ever said to me.

My hands slide down my sides as I check myself out in the changing room mirror. This little boutique reminds me of the shops my mom used to take me to in Boston. My teeth dig into my lower lip as I breathe through the pain. The flashes of her skull exploding all over the wall at my wedding come next, and my eyes clench closed. She wasn’t a terrible mom, but she knew what she signed up for when she got involved with my father.

Unlike me, she wasn’t born into the lifestyle. She allowed herself to be courted by a dangerous man with few morals.

Look what it got her.

My head shakes, and I open my eyes to study the workout outfit I’m clad in. There’s a very specific purpose for this attire. After this whole shopping thing, I’m going to ask Keir to give me self-defense lessons.

The next time a man puts his hands on me in anger, I’m going to break his jaw and bust his balls. I’m tired of being the damsel in distress.

I want to be able to do some serious damage to anyone who means me harm. Okay, maybe that’s a bit unrealistic, but at the very least, I want to have a basic understanding of how to protect myself.

A light knocking sound fills the air, and I spin around.

“Are you doing okay in there?” Keir asks, keeping his tone at a respectful level, considering our location.

I tug the lock, pulling the door open. “Yeah, I’m almost done.”

I’m not sure why it takes me so long to realize it, but he’s not one of my father’s guards. They were required to keep eyes on me at all times, so if I was trying on multiple outfits, I often had to prove I was still in the changing room.

Keir’s eyes darken as he eyes me from head to my bare toes. It soothes some deep part of me to see the attraction written all over his face.

Omegas tend to be curvy with hourglass figures. The grandmother I’m named after loved to say that nature gave us child-bearing hips to pop out litters of little alpha and omega babies.

The point is, I’m not slender.

I’ve always been between a size ten—if I starved myself—and a fourteen—if I was eating how I preferred and not being forced to watch my weight. My father felt there was a fine line between being the ideal omega and too heavy for a man to want me.

I’m not sorry he’s dead.

Keir finally settles back on my face, clearing his throat. “That’s a nice outfit.”

“Thanks. I only have a few more to try on. Sorry it’s taking so long.”

He shrugs.

“I’m in no rush.” His tattooed hand stretches out, grabbing a dark wave and tucking it behind my ear. “I need you to know…” His gaze falls to the floor as his head shakes. “I’m sorry about the way things went down with Jameson. East lives in his own little world, and I don’t want to defend his actions, but I think he was trying to look out for you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from lashing out and saying something ugly. I’ve always had trouble holding backwhen I want to speak my mind, but my father beat that habit out of me in my teenage years.

Well, mostly. Shit still slips out from time to time.

I don’t even think I’m angry at Easton.

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