Page 49 of In Their Arms

Grayson immediately stiffens beneath me. His expression darkens, his jaw locking as he stares at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “No. I don’t want you talking to them.”

I exhale slowly, bracing myself for the argument that I don’t want to have. “I don’t want to either,” I admit. “But they might know something that could explain everything else.”

Grayson doesn’t respond right away. He’s working through it, deciding if the risk is worth whatever answers we might get. I let him sit with it, let him process, knowing that if I push too hard, he’ll just dig his heels in deeper. “You have a point,” he mutters. “And I hate it.”

I smirk. “You hate when I’m right.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re right too often but you’re not leaving my lap the entire time.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” My gaze drifts over to Blake who’s focused on something on his screen, brows furrowed, nostrils flared. I know in some part he’s listening to us but most of his attention is on work and I love that for him. I do. I just wish he would breathe a little.

A heavy sigh falls from my lips as Grayson presses his phone into my hand, his grip lingering just a second too long, like he’s reluctant to let go, like if he holds on long enough, I’ll change my mind. But I don’t.

My fingers hover over the screen for a moment before I take a slow breath and dial, my stomach twisting into knots so tight I feel sick. It shouldn’t be this hard. It’s just a phone call. Just a voice on the other end of the line. They haven’t really been my parents for a really long time and now I have mates to anchor me when I didn’t before.

The phone rings once, twice, and then—

“Hello?”

The breath punches out of me, a sharp little sound I don’t even mean to make, but it’s too late to swallow it down. I hate her. I hate everything she’s done. And yet, some small, broken part of me still aches for the mother I never had. That piece of me that still wants to believe she loved me, that she did what she did out of desperation, not cruelty.

There’s a pause before her voice sharpens, laced with irritation. “Luca? Jesus Christ,” she hisses. “We’ve been trying to get in contact with you for ages and you’ve been gallivanting off with another pack rather than being with Hudson?”

The sharpness shatters whatever weak nostalgia had curled around me. And then they start yelling. It’s more than just her. I don’t know if my father is in the room or if she’s got someone else with her, but it’s a flurry of voices, overlapping accusations and anger, demanding to know where I am, telling me I need to come home, that I don’t understand what I’ve done. That they’re going to lose everything because of me.

Grayson squeezes my leg, pulling me out of my head but it’s still just a bit too much. My fingers tighten around the phone, my pulse hammering so loud I can barely hear them. “You only gave me to Hudson for money,” I whisper. “I know that. I made my peace with that. But I want to know if you knew.”

The shouting stops.

Grayson pulls me in tighter, wrapping himself around me, holding me together as I press my fingers against my temple, my breath uneven. “Did you know?” I ask again, this time my voice cracking. “Did you know about the abuse? About the times when the fridge was empty? The times when he ignored my ‘no’?”

More silence.

I let out a broken sound, pressing the heel of my hand against my eyes, willing myself not to let them hear me like this, not to let them have that power over me. But the weight of it is suffocating, the confirmation I don’t need but get anyway. I swallow hard, forcing out the next question, the one that’s been sitting heavy in the back of my mind ever since we started putting the pieces together. “Was I meant to be Hudson’s?” I whisper. “Or someone else’s? Was the plan for me to end up as an Ellis, or was there someone else in line?”

“We gave you to Hudson. That was it.” There’s a beat of silence before my mother starts speaking faster. “Look, I need to go. We’re having… we have an appointment.”

Something about the way she says it, the stumble in her voice, the way it doesn’t quite fit the conversation—it sets something off inside me. My stomach turns, bile creeping up my throat as my fingers loosen around the phone. Slowly, I pull it away from my ear, staring at it like it might suddenly explain what the fuck I just heard.

Before I can process it, Grayson slips the phone from my fingers and hangs up.

My mind is racing, pulling apart everything I just heard, twisting it into shapes that make me feel sick. The moment I stand up, Blake is already there, his arms wrapping tight around me, pulling me in like he can feel the way I’m barely holding myself together. And maybe he can. I grip the back of his shirt, clinging to him, pressing my face into his shoulder as the words spill out before I can stop them.

“I heard him,” I whisper, voice shaking, my body trembling so hard I feel like my knees might buckle. “Hudson is at my house. He’s with my parents.”

The moment the words are out, my legs give out, and Blake goes down with me, holding me as I crumble. Grayson moves to the floor beside us, wrapping himself around my back, their warmth pressing in on all sides, anchoring me.

“I don’t know why it matters so much,” I choke out, my breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. “Why is he still trying to get to me?”

The temperature in the room shifts as Maceo and Luther’s scents fill the room, their added presence allowing me to relax. Luther’s eyes flick over me, taking in the way I’m curled into Blake, Grayson’s arms around me. His brows pull together as he drops down onto the floor in front of me.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

I lift my head from between Blake and Grayson, swallowing down the panic trying to crawl up. “Hudson was at my house,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He reaches forward, running a hand through my hair, his expression softening. “Sweetheart,” he says carefully. “I think Hudson was a lot more twisted up in this than we realized. I won’t give you all the nitty-gritty details, but I think he was dealing battered Omegas.”

I stare at him, blinking, my mind trying to process what the fuck he just said. Dealing battered Omegas. Like a fucking business transaction. “What the fuck?” I breathe, my entire body going rigid. “My mom—she said I wasn’t… that Hudson was it for me. That I was supposed to be his.” My voice cracks and I shake my head, gripping Blake tighter. “She said if I don’t go back, they don’t get paid. But I don’t know why he was at my house.”

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