Page 47 of Pack of Crooks
The weird thing about business wear is it’s all so conservative. Like oh no, don’t flash any cleavage or the stock market might collapse. Trying to find something I don’t hate is taking longer than usual, but the men are being patient.
Kill and Ezra are a few racks over, browsing through options, and Maddox is with me, strangely in tune with my taste. I pull out a hideous yellow dress, and he takes it from me and puts it back.
“Next.”
I smile, shaking my head and continuing my search. “Usually guys hate this.”
“Are you going to try the outfits on?”
I pause, hand on a cute black dress that I don’t hate, and glance at him. “Do you want me to?”
He arches an eyebrow, as if that’s a dumb question. “What alpha wouldn’t like watching his omega try on clothes?”
“Watching as in. . . in the fitting room?”
“Where else?” he asks, gaze dropping to the dress I’m holding. “That one works.”
The outfits I’ve chosen are draped over his arm, and they’re disproportionately full of dark clothing, but I’m not really a yellow or pink kind of gal. The brightest I can go is a nice plum or burgundy.
“Trade?” Ezra asks, eyeing Maddox’s armful.
“Sure.” Maddox grins at me, then goes to join Kill who is frowning at a pink and white polka dot dress.
“It’s so. . .”
“Ugly?” I offer.
He nods. “So ugly.” Shuddering, he puts it back.
“He’s funny,” I murmur to Ezra, sliding hangers along the rack, shifting through the obvious rejects. A dark blue pencil skirt catches my attention.
“You are too,” Ezra says.
“Oh thanks, it’s the trauma.”
He nods at the skirt. “Add it to the pile.” He holds out his arm, and I drape the material over it. “What type of trauma are we talking about?”
“Mommy trauma,” I say on an exhale, shaking my head. “Picture the worst mom you’ve ever known, multiply it by ten, and maybe another hundred.”
“So, she’s definitely bad then?”
“Was.” I pinch my eyebrows together, searching through more clothes as I explain. “She overdosed and died.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not.” My gaze lifts to meet his. “Does that make me a terrible person?”
“Not if she was as bad as you say.”
I nod. “She was terrible. I’m glad she died before she damaged Lottie the way she did me.”
“Your sister is lucky to have you.”
Laughing, the sound void of amusement, I shake my head. “I don’t know about that, but I’m trying to give her a better life.” Which is why I took the job with the pack. In a way, my desire to protect her brought us together.
I wonder what she’d think of them.
“How old is she again?”
