Page 273 of Rage

The same one I used to turn myself into a monster, just like them.

Acton dissolves into a fit of laughter at my clear disgust, and my entire body shudders. He really is a psychopath.

Hurst sets me with a vengeful glare and fishes his phone out of his pocket.

“I’m calling a friend to come clean her up,” he states, punching numbers into the screen. “Call the bank back. Now. I will not have a bunch of feral wolves showing up at my house.”

I pick my phone up from where I dropped it on the couch when Garrett lunged at me and swipe it open. Hesitation grips me as my thumb hovers over the number, and I flick my gaze back to Hurst.

“Do it,” he orders, and my thumb immediately presses down, months of obedience gripping me in an instant. “And, Ivy,” he says as I lift the phone to my ear. “Not a single scar on your body is from us. Your parents disowned you for being a mutt, and we saved you. Never forget that. Not if you want your secret safe and want to live.”

Chapter Three

Ivy

My hands are sweating profusely as I follow the nurse through the doors and into a private room. Hurst dropped me off, along with my bag and a reminder that he will kill me if I tell my new mates about my time with the Forrester pack. His words still ring in my ears.

I tamed you, Ivy Allaway. Not this man. Don’t you ever forget it.

If I hadn’t witnessed them kill five women and two men in the last six months while I lived in that house, maybe I wouldn’t believe him, but unfortunately, I do. I can’t even take solace in having mates that will protect me, because I don’t want to do anything to upset the monstrous men I’m leaving.

I’m getting out by the skin of my teeth.

And keeping my own demons hidden in the process.

I may be filled with scars, burns, brands, wounds, and bruises, but I’m alive. And otherwise intact. That’s one thing Hurst seemed relieved about when he was driving me here. That he kept his brothers from doing anything sexual while I was with them, continuously reminding me that if they needed a doctor to check me when I went into heat, I couldn’t have any signs of trauma or they would immediately take action and callthe police. Meaning my back, shoulders, and arms are covered. Anywhere a doctor wouldn’t need to look to assess my ability to carry a child for them.

And thankfully, now I never have to.

Though, to be honest, I’m not sure I could have.

I wipe my hands on my pants as I wait. The nurse speaks to me, letting me know that it’s my choice if I want to leave with the man coming in to see me—the mate I’ve always dreamed of. Oliver, she said his name was. If not, I’m welcome to go my own way—with my one bag of clothes and the twenty dollar bill Hurst gave me before peeling out of the parking lot.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified. Those men stripped me of everything. My belongings, my livelihood, my inheritance. My dignity.

Everything.

The door creaks open, and I shoot to my feet, the skin-healing tape on my back stretching and causing a stinging sensation. The scars will always be there, but forcing me to push off this meeting for an entire week means the prescriptions they put me on and the medicated tape have had time to clear up most of my issues. Hell, Hurst even brought me to get my hair done the other day. Said he couldn’t let Oliver meet me and have me look like the mutt I am.

So sweet, that one.

Oliver strides into the room, and my first reaction is that he’s strikingly handsome. His six-something frame towers over my measly five-foot-two stature, but he doesn’t have the looming presence the Forrester pack did. Instead, Oliver looks a bit shy and dorky with his swept-over onyx hair and thick black-framed glasses. He’s dressed a bit preppy in a sleek, navy-blue button down tucked neatly into khakis.

“Ms. Allaway,” the nurse says, interrupting my ogling of Oliver with his warm brown eyes and inviting smile. “This isOliver Bergman. Mr. Bergman, this is Ivy Allaway. I’ll give you two a few minutes.”

I barely notice as she leaves, too engrossed in the man in front of me. He’s not what I expected. Not that I’ve had a ton of experience with wolves outside my hometown, and they’re a close knit group. Of assholes, that is.

“Ms. Allaway,” he croons, stretching out his hand toward me in greeting.

“C—call me Ivy,” I state, taking his hand and noticing the way his smile grows even wider.

Gods. He is beautiful.

“Ivy it is,” he replies. “You can call me Oliver, or Olly. That’s what Ewan calls me anyway.”

“Ewan?” I question, confused by his response.

Oliver drops his hand and rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yes. Sorry, I wanted to wait to tell you. Ewan pulled his information from the bank, but he’s my other mate, and that means he’s likely yours as well. We didn’t want to overwhelm you by both showing up.”

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