Page 97 of One Way Out

Leo told me it mentioned how they never changed their phone numbers, just in case I ever needed to reach them. It explained a little about why they stopped working for my dad, and it encouraged me to reach out when I was ready to talk.

I’m sure Samantha kept it from me out of spite, but that’s actually pretty low on the list of terrible things she’s done to me over the years. It hurts, butfuck her. I’m not giving her the satisfaction of knowing how much it bothers me.

I give a tight smile and slide past her into the long hallway.

Turning back to Shaw, I say, “Give me two minutes, and I’ll help.”

“You got it,” he says, flashing a wink that makes my knees weak.

My eyes rake over the pictures on the wall, taking in the images of the happy family. There’s one of me holding the boys when they weren’t more than three months old, but other than that, I’m basically a ghost.

Samantha’s heels click as she follows me down the hallway, like she needs to ensure I don’t rob them.

I ignore her, stepping into the formal living room on the left.

This house holds nothing but bad memories. It was hell. I feel safest in confined spaces, and this place is open and grandiose. Actually, the only good memories I have in it revolve around the time Leo and Shaw lived here with us.

Turning back to face Samantha, I clench my hands to keep from stimming. Even seeing her fills me with anxiety, but I need to get this off my chest so I can move on. “Where are the boys?”

“Piano lessons. You’re late. I need to leave within twenty minutes to pick them up,” she says simply.

“I know what you did. Not telling my father about the phone call and instructing the guy at the facility to keep me,” I tell her, catching her cold blue eyes. “I’m not sure what I did to make you hate me to that level, but ultimately, I don’t think it was about me at all. No matter how well I behaved…” My head shakes as my eyes burn. “It never would have been enough.”

I’ve never hated anyone to the level she seems to dislike me. Maybe the alphas I met in the facility, but that was justified.

Her hate isn’t.

It’s always existed without reason. And that says more about her than it does me.

“At the end of the day, you have to live with the choices you made,” I say, smiling tightly. “Knowing that would eat me alive, but we’re two very different people.”

The toe of her high-heeled shoe taps against the tile floor.

It clicks.

Nothing I say or do is going to have any impact on her.

I sigh. “I hope you treat your biological children a hell of a lot better than you ever did me.” And with that, I head back to the entryway.

The pile of stuff is gone, and Shaw is just shoving the final load into the back seat of his truck as I make it outside.

I pull the door closed behind me and take long strides toward the vehicle. Only, that single picture frame with the photo of me and the boys flashes in my mind.

“Come on, princess,” Shaw says, waving me over. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

I raise a finger, rocking on my heels. “I forgot something.”

“Hey, wait,” he growls, jogging in my direction.

I’m closer to the house, though.

I don’t bother knocking this time. Striding inside, I make it to the wall of photos and grab the frame of the one I’m looking for.

Shaw’s boots slam against the tile as he follows me in, but low talking catches my attention.

More than that, it’s the voice.

Omen has the worst American accent I’ve ever heard. He only pulls it out when he wants to make me laugh. I make it back to the doorway to the family room, peeking around the corner.

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