Page 3 of Pack Baines

I shake my head rapidly, hand clutching my burning cheek while tears gloss my eyes. “No, sir. I’m sorry.”

“You best believe you’ll be fuckin’ sorry when I’m through with you. You’re about to learn some goddamn manners,” he announces, lip curled in a nasty snarl. “Might not know what you are yet, but you’re gonna learn that alphas fuckin’ rule here, you little bitch.”

And then another fist comes at me. And another. And a booted foot that collides with my still-aching stomach. Repeatedly, Hershal tries to teach a lesson I didn’t need learning. The others meander away, uninterested with everything but their addictions and bonds, leaving Hershal to beat me black and blue, leaving cuts deep enough that I feel the blood slowly drip from several wounds that litter my malnourished body.

By the time he’s done, breathing hard and looking down at me as though I disgust him, I can barely move. Everything hurts. It hurts so much. My head is cloudy with pain, and I can’t move an inch without crying out in agony. Not that anyone here cares. Especially not Hershal, who wipes his bloody hands on his stained shirt, before dropping into the nearest chair with a contented sigh.

“Get yourself up and go to bed, Juniper. You have school in the morning,” the woman supposed to be my mother claims, voice soft but no emotion behind it, not once leaving the lap of her bonded to check on me. “And don’t be late coming home tomorrow. Make sure you cover them marks, too.”

It takes me a moment to haul my small body up, sobbing with every move. I have to hold on to the wall while I shuffle to the closet that is my room, passing the nest Victoria made when she was still trying to play the role of omega with her alphas.

I shut the door after myself when I enter my room, slumping against it and sliding down the wall until my bum collides with the unforgiving floor. My vision is spotty, and my head feels wobbly, my stomach rolling with sickness when I try to move too fast. I awkwardly fish out the cell phone Bear bought me and immediately call Lowie.

“Juniper?” he answers, picking up the call after only two rings.

“Low,” I rasp, breaking out into painful coughs that hurt my throat. Liquid flies from my split lip, and I peer down at my hand and find it covered in blood. I don’t think that’s good, but neither is the way my consciousness seems to be draining out of me quickly.

I can hear Lowie, then Leylan, both shouting from the phone, and it takes me a moment to realize I’ve dropped it from my ear, my hand hanging limply on the ground. Then I’m tilting sideways and everything around me fades to black.

I wish I’d known then that things would only get worse from there on. I wish I’d known that life as I knew it would implode in a matter of hours. Maybe then I might not have called Lowie. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to deal with all the officers and social workers and moving to a strange house with people in white coats, and missing out on the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I knew Mrs. Burnham would bring me for lunch.

Maybe then I would have kept my promise to see the boys the next day. But that day never came, and everything around me crashed and burned until I was left alone in a world that wanted to do nothing but hurt me.

Chapter 1

Juniper

Staring down at the acceptance letter, I wonder not for the first time if it’s even real. I mean, the letter was addressed to me, my name printed clearly on the front of the crisp white envelope. But it still feels surreal. I mean, me, a nobody from a trailer park, won a scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the world.

Someone, slap me, because clearly I’m dreaming.

Or maybe I’m delusional.

Either way, I can’t tell if I’m actually looking at the right words, or if my mind is conjuring what I want to see. I know how much work I put into trying to get that scholarship. Not an easy feat when you’re taking the last of your school years online while falsifying documents that claim I’m still living with the last foster pack. Still, I’ve worked my tits off for this thing. Countless sleepless nights, tears, and almost-late deadlines, and it has finally led me here. And I can’t bring myself to believe it.

Rubbing at my tired eyes, I peer down at the paper once more and find it unchanged.

Congratulations! You have been awarded the North Five Educational Scholarship…

I don’t even bother reading the rest, the first word enough to have me crumpling the paper and hanging my head with relief, a shuddering laugh slipping from my lips before I can stop it. I did it. I got in. I’m going to fuckingcollege. “Holy shit.”

Another laugh slips out, echoing through the still bare room in my shitty rental, and I bite my lip to trap any more that wants to escape. Swiping a hand over my mouth, I flatten the paper clutched tightly in my hand and force myself to continue reading. I’m told that I’ll receive an introductory package that will include information about my dorm, class options, and a schedule will follow soon after. The only thing I’ll need to pay for are essentials for my dorm, all of my textbooks and school stuff will be paid for under the scholarship grant. I can hardly believe it, but the ink on the paper doesn’t change, only warbling slightly when tears fill my eyes.

Grinning, I check the starting date. Two weeks from Monday. Shit, that doesn’t give me a whole lot of time. Although, it gives me enough time to hand my notice in at the bar I’ve been working at for the past couple of months. I can’t say I’m sad to give it up. I mean, it was only a source of income to keep a roof over my head after moving to a different city when the last one didn’t quite work out. Or the one before that. Or the one… you get it. I’ve been city hopping for years, ever since I got out from the last foster’s that thought they could take advantage of a sixteen-year-old omega without suppression tablets. Not much better than the assholes who birthed me and made my life hell for twelve long years. Right up until the night I almost died at their hands, anyway. After that night, everything changed, and not all of it was for the better.

Hand tracing the last burn scar on my forearm I received at that home, I decide to text my boss and let him know I’ll be quitting in two weeks. It takes me two seconds to shoot off the message, receiving a blunt, “You’re in tonight, though,” that has me rolling my eyes with a grin. At least he didn’t fire me straight away like he did the last girl. Probably why he’s not acting out, actually. Asshole isshort staffed and I’m the only stupid bitch willing to work whatever hours available to save for cash. Cash that keeps me fed, homed, and only slightly warm when the heaters actually want to work. Beats living in hell, though, so you won’t hear me complaining too much. Anyway, I’m his favorite, so of course, he’s not kicking up a fuss.

With my cell still in my hand, I scroll through what little notifications and messages I have, one in particular catching my attention over the spam that bogs my phone down. It’s a reminder for my appointment at The Centre, a six-month check-up that I’m overdue and reluctant to attend. After all, The Centre did fuck all to help me after the night Hershal beat me until I was internally bleeding. I was forced there after I’d recovered enough at the hospital, forced there for two years while my designation came in and we learned that I’m an omega, and then they discarded me when I refused to join their Program for a Pack. Sent on my way with what little belongings I had and six months’ worth of suppressants, I was forced into the system, foster home after foster home housing me until I ran from the last one when the sons thought they could bag themselves a breeder for their fucked-up family.

Reaching into my purse on the cracked counter, I scoop out the small bottle of pills and rattle them, wincing when I realize I’m going to need a new prescription. Especially if I’m heading to a new school filled with alphas, betas and omegas alike.

Sending a reply to confirm the new appointment at The Centre nearby to North Five University, I ditch my cell and go about getting ready for a long night bartending at a rowdy bar filled with ruffians and assholes for shit tips and backache. Slipping on my bar-issued shirt that reveals a little too much cleavage for my liking, and tight, black leggings that suction to my ass, I style my dirty-blonde hair into a messy bun and swipe the bare minimum of makeup I can get away with on. I blink at myself in the mirror, nodding at the mascara, eyeliner, and lick of mauve lipstick, before leaving the crappy bathroom to stuff my feet into a pair of five-inch stilettos that are going to make my life hell tonight.

Scooping my purse from the counter, I stuff my letter inside and take a suppressant right before spritzing my entire body in deodorant and body spray that will hopefully disguise the lingering scent of my perfume. Satisfied that I smell more like a cheap hooker and not an omega hiding from her past, I hook my purse over my shoulder and head out.

***

“I’ll need my pay by the end of next week,” I remind my boss, Mack, for the third time tonight. He’s following me around, scowling like the burly biker he is, all muscle and beard, and a big ‘stay the fuck away from me’ vibe that can be scented from a mile away. I just didn’t listen to it, got myself a job working for the bald biker old enough to be at least an older brother, and have been working for him for the past five and a half months. The guy didn’t even question that I was only twenty years old. I was hired on the spot as soon as I told him I could hold my own and pour a beer that wasn’t just froth.

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