Page 57 of Pack of Crooks
His fingers curl into fists. “He’s a piece of shit who made money off of letting people use us when we were kids.”
Bile rises. “Use in what way?”
Three masks turn in my direction. They don’t have to say it. Their silence is loud enough. Their past is not so different from my own. My stomach drops and tears swim in my vision. I fight nausea and my own memories, digging my nails into my palms.
Tristan did that to them? How can they even stand to look at me right now?
“I’m so sorry.” My voice trembles. “Do you want me to go?”
“No!” Maddox shakes his head at my souring scent. “You’re safe.” He gently grabs my arm. “We’re not leaving you.”
But Tristan, my fucking father, hurt them.A sob lodges in my throat. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” Ezra asks. “You weren’t there.”
“I just.” I shake my head, pinching my eyes shut. “I hate that it happened.”
“You’re the only one that knows the real reason we’re going after him,” Kill says, tugging me out of Maddox’s hold and into his and Ezra’s arms.
“You’re with us?” Ezra asks.
“I was never with Tristan,” I reassure the pack, carefully hugging Ezra and Kill. “And as far as I’m concerned, he can die.”
“That’s the plan,” Kill mutters. “Eventually.”
I mark them both with my scent, fighting tears because they’re not crying, so why should I? But knowing that they all went through something so terrible rips me to shreds. This pack deserved better, and I’ll do everything I can to make sure that Tristan pays for what he’s done.
We may share blood, but that’s where our story ends. Tristan is a rich, ruthless piece of shit who deserves everything this pack is planning.
seventeen
HAZEL
Because I was late, I’m one of the last to finish my weekly write up and review the next week’s tasks. I’ll spend time at Kain Industries becoming a part of the team. The biggest goal, and probably the hardest for me personally, is to gain Tristan’s trust and get access to his phone. I’m not sure how I’m meant to do that. Especially with what I know. I don’t know how I’ll be able to look at him.
He’s disgusting.
But I have to, no, Iwill, earn his trust and get that much closer to the money that’s been promised to me.
When I emerge from the hub and into the night, a wave of warm humidity hits me. Summer is having a hard time letting go tonight. Soon enough though, the warm days will be gone and I’ll be wishing it were hot.
Exhaling, I check around to make sure none of the members of Resistentia are lingering around and rip the mask off. Tucking the plastic bunny face into my backpack, I clutch my small can of mace. Normally I carry my gun but with the chaos of running late, I forgot it. The thing about being an omega is that eventhough humans have run the animals out of the cities, the worst of predators are still here.
Killers. Rapists. People who will beat you up simply because they’re bored. The worst of humanity doesn’t hide. It lives and breathes the same air as I do. It lurks within the stranger everyone finds charming. It thrives in the rich alpha who owns the world’s largest conglomerate. It hides behind a pretty smile and a seemingly perfect life, a different kind of mask. Some people don’t bother hiding their evil. They leave it on display, almost like it’s a badge of honor.
That’s why, as a general rule, I don’t trust people. Luckily, this late at night, most of the pedestrians are asleep. There are still people out, but I have enough room to breathe, which is a rarity in a city this big.
My skin ripples with goosebumps as I head down the stairs and into the station. Someone is watching. I glance over my shoulder, rising on my tiptoes to look over the edge of the sidewalk, searching for the pack . They’ve been stalking me. I don’t hate it.
Wherever they are, I can’t see them. That doesn’t mean they’re not there.
Smiling to myself, I continue on, butterflies dancing in my stomach.
The underground tunnel reeks of piss and exhaust, and I try not to breathe too deep as I hop over the turnstile. Thankfully there are no police patrolling this station tonight. I’m striding toward the platform when the beep of a passenger paying floats over to me.
I fight the urge to look over, not wanting to appear too eager to see them again. I have to save some of my dignity. Meandering over to the farthest side of the platform, I stare into the tunnel. Skin prickling with awareness. A certainty I’m being watched. How often have they done this? A loud cough echoesthrough the platform. My forehead wrinkles. That didn’t sound like any of the pack.
I glance over, pulse jumping when I see a tall guy with sickly pale skin and dark circles under his eyes leering at me. No shame. No remorse, but a taunting smile pulling at his cracked lips. His wrist has an alpha mark, and when his grin widens, I see touches of feral desire in the depths of his eyes.
