Page 120 of Pack of Crooks

Unfortunately, pretty bad ones. Before the pack though, I was single by choice. Obviously my past relationships didn’twork out. In fact, none of my relationships have lasted, and they all have a common denominator.

Me.

Pressing my lips together, I gaze out of the window. Honestly, that’s probably my fault. I purposefully pick the ones that I know I won’t ever fall in love with because loving someone means giving them control. Mom only ever abused that control. I loved her, did whatever she asked, telling myself all along that maybe one day she’d be the mother I dreamed of.

The car rolls to a stop as we wait for a light.

“Look at me.” That demanding tone brushes down my spine, I whirl around, see the line cutting across Maddox’s forehead, and stifle the urge to snap at him. I don’t know what to do with this softness. The unconditional love.

What does it say about me that it would feel easier if they just tore me apart. That I know how to handle. This though? It makes me unsteady but at the same time, it fills me with warmth and hope and happiness.

“Playyourmusic,” Maddox insists.

“We don’t want you to change who you are,” Ezra adds.

“Plus, omega music makes me horny.”

Kill’s quip breaks the tension that’s settled over my body, and I laugh, a full belly, carefree sound that heals something inside of me. “Okay, okay,” I tell them, putting on my favorite song, one about an omega longing for a perfect pack, and as I sing along, I know that I’ve found mine.

thirty-four

HAZEL

After a blissful weekend, going back to Kain Industries is particularly hellish. Tristan has been on a rampage, barely greeting me in the mornings outside of demanding to know the schedule for the day or forcing me to go get his coffee or dry cleaning.

Tristan owns the building, but it would be really cool if he would fucking leave. Last week was a total bust, and this week isn’t looking much better. My only opportunity is Thursday afternoon when he goes for a monthly meet up with one of his oldest friends.

It’s the only meeting he’s kept on the calendar.

Everything else has been cancelled or moved to his office.

“Get me another coffee,” he demands without looking up or saying please.

“Yes, sir.” Ugh, I hate myself. Another thing about him always being here? I’ve learned I really don’t fucking like him. He’s rude. Doesn’t know how to use his manners, and frankly, thinks way too highly of himself as a single alpha in his late fifties. No pack. No omega. Not even a beta.

I’m doctoring up the coffee the way he likes it when the shouting begins. My hackles rise, and I focus on the drink, letting Tristan rip into whoever has pissed him off without an audience, but then I hear the other person.

Calm. Controlled. Feminine.

I spin around, eyes widening as I see Ellen standing at the threshold of his office, arms crossed, features pinched together in annoyance.

Vivian appears beside me. “What’s happening?”

“I have no idea,” I say as Tristan starts screaming again.

“—hire them, Ellen! You’re supposed to fucking protect me.”

And then Ellen’s response, firmer and a little louder. “There’s only so much I can do when you assault them. NDAs only go so far.”

“Now you’re blaming me? What about you? I know you’re fucking your assistant!”

Vivian sucks in a breath, glances at me and the few other people working on the executive floor, and scurries toward Ellen’s office to avoid their scrutinizing gazes, leaving me alone. I glare at the CTO’s smirking admin. She rolls her eyes and turns to watch the blow out.

Tristan is in Ellen’s face, voice too low to make out, but from the mottled red color and the bulging vein on his face, he’s still pissed. Ellen looks just as mad, spine ramrod straight and teeth bared, like she could rip his throat open, but then he leans toward her and whispers something that makes her gaze swing in the direction Vivian ran off. Lines of concern cut across her forehead.

She mutters something to him, spins on her heel, and storms to her office, slamming the door shut behind her.

Tristan’s wolfish smile makes my stomach turn. It’s downright evil. Like he’s plotting something terrible. He glances at me. “Fuck that coffee. Go get me something from Rosie’s.”