Page 95 of Pack of Crooks
“It’s not a secret,” I shrug, smoothing her hair. Sharing this piece of my history will make it easier to share other memories. Good ones. But first, the bad. “My mom and brother were killed by my fathers. Had I not snuck out with the pack, I’d probably be dead too.” Survivor’s guilt is something I’ve learned to live with, but it presses in around me. Mom and Lance should be here.Lance was a sweet kid. My chest aches, like someone has gripped both sides of my ribcage and is slowly ripping it apart.
Hazel’s features soften and she smooths her palm up and down my back. “Are your dads?—”
“Dead.” And fucking forgotten.
She lifts an eyebrow.Did you do it?
I nod.
She exhales in relief. “Good. What type of monsters do that?”
“The type that don’t like when their mate wants to break up.” Mom was tired of being treated like shit, but the last straw was when my dads locked Lance in the safe room as punishment for crying while doing his math homework. “In a way, she got away from them, so for that, I’m glad. I only wish my mom and brother were still here.” My eyes mist.
Hazel nods, teary-eyed too. “Of course you do. What was your brother like?”
“The funniest kid. He was so full of life when we were together. He was going places.” I choke off and swallow. Missing Lance never gets easier, but talking about him keeps part of him alive. As long as I’m around, his memory will live on.
Hazel hugs me, resting her head on my chest and murmuring, “I’m so sorry, Maddox. I can’t imagine how much it must hurt.”
I hold her. “Hurts a lot less than it used to.” It’s not as painful with Hazel in my arms. She brings a comfort I haven’t known for years.
She sniffs. “We don’t have to play the game,” she says.
“It’s okay. I’m not upset. It’s part of my history and I wanted to share.” I pull back and cup her face. “Truth three: I enjoyed watching my dads die.”
“They deserved it.”
And that’s why she’s perfect. She understands. She doesn’t look at me like I’m a monster. She doesn’t hate the darker sides of me and my pack. She embraces them. “Truth four?” I ask.
She nods, blinking away moisture.
“I’ve never wanted an omega.” She starts to pull away, but I cling to her, continuing. “Untilyou, sunshine. Nothing about finding a mate was appealing until you walked into that warehouse and plopped yourself in my lap.”
A smile breaks across her face. “Stop it, you’re going to make me swoon.”
“You already swooned,” I tease, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. She sighs into my mouth, body completely relaxed and soft against mine, giving in to my touch in a way I never knew I needed. As her scent surrounds me, I make a silent vow to cherish this omega in ways that my mother was never cherished.
Hazel deserves the world, and my pack is going to give it to her.
twenty-six
EZRA
Dressed in fatigues and weapons, my pack quietly climbs out of the nondescript SUV we keep around for special occasions like tonight. Rook, an annoying alpha who makes it his mission to piss us off, has crossed yet another line. Disguised as a gentlemen’s club, the house is a cesspool of the worst the world has to offer. Packs who pay to purchase unwilling participants. Some of the things they do to the omegas after they buy them fill my head with my own nightmares.
Clenching my jaw, I force my thoughts away from the dark reasons we’re here and count each step we take, feel each breath as it fills my lungs until the nausea subsides and I can think clearly. We have one purpose tonight.
Kill everyone here for fun. Rescue those forced to be here.
Simple as that.
“Heads up,” Killian murmurs.
My gaze skips ahead of us, watching three alphas and an omega prowl toward us. The men are built like Kill, muscled and strong, danger glinting in their gazes, but the female omega is the one to watch out for. While she might look sweet, somehowJo captured the attention of these three and through a series of violent and frankly unhinged events, she took charge of the Atlantic City Knights.
They operate a criminal organization and even they still recognize just how wrong what Rook is doing really is. Our two packs stop mere feet apart, each of us appraising the other. Mac, covered in tattoos and a swath of dark hair on top of his head, tips his head and breathes in.
“You guys smell.”
