Page 17

Silas

He read and re-read the Alphaholes chat, his temples throbbing at what he was seeing. He jabbed at the bridge of his glasses when they slipped down his nose. He didn’t wear them often, choosing contact lenses purely from a vanity point of view, but late at night he always opted for glasses.

Sex club.

Ziggy had gone to a sex club… without him!

It made no odds in his mind, he’d backed off from Ziggy.

Shut him out since Booker’s angry outburst. The hurt—betrayal—gave him too much conflict.

When he’d calmed down enough to get his brain in working order, he’d become embarrassed at his own lack of control.

At how he’d kicked off at Booker when all he’d done was convey what he believed to be the truth.

He’d never lie to Silas. His gut and years of being friends, then brothers, told him it was not something Booker would ever do to him.

Only he couldn’t find the words to fix it between them with how confused he was by his own feelings.

Subsequently, Booker had given him a wide berth, then had left to go to Drinkwater so they hadn’t talked, which was unlike them.

They never went this long without clearing the air.

And okay, that was in part because Silas was too chickenshit and terrified of spilling his guts about Ziggy when it was now apparently obvious—after recalling Booker’s comment about Frey—Booker was interested in the little fox.

It was the only logical explanation. This meant when Booker calmed down, he’d also be easily able to figure out what—who—Silas’s issue was.

All of that became compounded when it felt like everywhere he looked, his brothers were falling like dominos for their PAs. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but he didn’t want to be thrown in the mix when he didn’t want a relationship. He didn’t have room for that in his life.

Then why are you so mad at Ziggy?

He hated his wolf's snippy attitude and ground his teeth together. Why don’t you just fuck off!

Like I’m gonna do that when you’ve banished my snake.

I’ve banished nothing. And he’s not ours when he’s clearly fucking omegas.

You don’t know that ‘cause you never asked him and he could easily be ours.

Silas’s jaw ached with the desire to rant, shout at the top of his lungs to release his frustration. Rolling off the bed, naked and pissed, he stomped to the bathroom, glasses slipping down his nose to add to the pissedoffness. He hated feeling weak. His eyes made him feel that way.

He couldn’t remember when he’d received the diagnosis of night blindness.

It probably wasn’t long after Popi had taken him to the opticians to get his vision checked when he struggled to see certain things that were right in front of him.

Which got worse at night. It was a trip down a full flight of stairs and a broken wrist that had brought things to a head.

He snarled at the night lights Popi had found and plugged in the sockets in his room as he stepped into the bathroom.

He had a pee, washed his hands, avoided looking in the mirror, then stomped back to the bed.

One look at the rumpled sheets and he realized going back to sleep was going to be impossible with the turmoil battling with his insides.

He laid all the blame on Taylin for mentioning this shit in the first place in the group chat, and Jupiter, who was also on his shit list for being at the damn club and seeing all the PAs!

Damn sex clubs. What fucking madness was this where all the PAs went out together?

Had Jupiter mentioned the one he likes to visit to Wilder? To one of the other PAs at work? Was this why they had all gone out?

Was it a double standard that he’d frequented a sex heat club and was part owner of one?

Of course it was.

He knew it, hated it, but couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting to hunt Ziggy down and demand to know what the fuck he was playing at. Like he should have done after Booker dropped the bombshell on him.

He muttered and cursed how out of sorts he felt, going to the large chest of drawers to drag a drawer open and find a pair of loose fitting sweats to put on.

In the hallway, he swore once more at the lamp switched on just for him.

He sniffed, sticking his nose in the air, and went downstairs, keeping his steps light despite wanting to stomp.

Popi and Dad were only down the hallway and he really did not want to disturb them, then have to explain why he was in a foul mood. Popi had ways of making them all want to spill faster than emptying a glass of water down the sink. It was a damn talent, and one Silas wasn’t equipped for right then.

In the kitchen, he pulled up short at the sight of Dad sitting nursing a glass of amber liquid. There in the depth of the light blue eyes, so similar to his own, Silas saw pain when Dad glanced at him.

It pulled him up short as his brain switched lanes and the reality of why Dad was nursing a scotch alone registered.

“Is it that bad?” He’d not gotten all the details of what Booker and Taylin had found on their return to Drinkwater to finalize the purchase of the factory they had decided to buy after getting a feeling something was off for the omegas working their.

A hunch, smells and something about the atmosphere got them making some discreet enquires to purchase the place.

The work the omegas produced was exceptional, but from what Silas had gleaned in the emails he’d read, whatever they thought was going on, wasn’t the half of it.

Dad’s expression spoke to how much worse it was.

“Oh shit, was it a clusterfuck?” Silas asked, glancing at the glass.

“Worse.”

That one word, said with utter devastation, brought Silas to Dad’s side to wrap his arms around him. “Want to talk about it?” He rested his chin on Dad’s head and felt the shudder run through him.

“I’m grateful Jup wasn’t with your brothers. Fuck, to all that is holy, they chained them in the basement when they weren’t working. The rat fink fuckers!”

The thick emotion caused Silas’s eyes to ache with tears, the misery becoming his own. A memory of Jupiter’s torn and abused body, shackle marks around his wrists and ankles, made the tears fall. “Dear Christ. How many?”

“Too many. Too fucking many.”

Silas couldn’t get his lips to work, to ask anything more.

He clung on to Dad, offering comfort but also taking it because he understood what kind of journey those men would go through.

Buying the company Booker had desperately wanted to make the leather pieces for the new collection had come about from an onsite visit.

The people who owned the factory hadn’t disguised the awful conditions—or not fully—from Taylin, Rue, Kodi and Booker.

Silas had listened to his brothers go through what they’d found, though they’d not considered there was something much worse going on than oppression and bullying. He knew his brothers would blame themselves for that.

A dejected sigh escaped, and Silas unashamedly clung a little tighter. “How’s Popi taking it?” he finally asked.

Dad sniffed, lifted his glass and drained it, giving Silas the answer.

“Crap shoot all around then.”

At the curt nod, Silas shivered, stepped back and headed to get a glass. He came back and sat down next to his dad, reaching for the malt whiskey. “Want another?” he asked, pouring a large shot into his glass.

“Yes.”

He poured the drink and put the bottle back in front of them. He picked up his glass and drank deep, feeling the warmth of the silky smooth liquor chasing away the chill inside him. “What do we do now?”

“Cut off the fucking head of the snake!”

Silas winced, distracted by how one gorgeous snake loved to wrap himself around his naked body and rest his head on top of Silas’s.

Not anymore.

He shook away the image and thoughts of Ziggy.

They could wait.

“How do we do that?”

“What do you mean Ziggy’s not in for the next few days?” Silas shouted at Wendy.

Seeing her take a step back, he gritted his teeth and willed himself to calm his ass down. Somewhere, he was aghast at his own behavior.

Ever since Hollis had taken Ziggy away from him , his mood sea-sawed between sullen and fury at who Ziggy now worked closely with. Jupiter. Why did it have to be Jupiter, who could entice anyone into his bed?

With Ziggy’s talents, and the fact Jupiter had no clue as to their relationship— not a relationship, fucking— then that left Ziggy fair game for his brother. Silas couldn’t decide what worried him more, Jupiter or the flirty fox, Frey.

“—taken some vacation time. He put it in the calendar and Hollis approved it. Wilder is your new PA… remember?” she asked timidly.

How the fuck could he forget?

He may have done the avoiding thing because he felt betrayed—raw, like someone had taken a piece of sandpaper and rubbed it against every sensitive part of his body.

How he felt created a list of things he was trying not to think about, which grew daily.

It was an exercise in futility to pretend life was ‘normal’ with how it kept walloping him about his face with the force of Booker's punch to his gut.

“Is Frey in?” he snarled, practically seething.

Clearly his temper was not anywhere as under control as he’d wished when his gut churned hard enough to make him want to heave.

He had purposefully not looked at the heat calendar Popi had created, so the omegas didn’t need to ask permission to take time off when they would have a heat, after Booker’s declaration.

He didn’t want the specifics of knowing when Ziggy and Frey…

Blocking it out isn’t the answer.

“No—”

He waved a hand at Wendy impatiently, not letting her finish as he avoided his snarky wolf. “Fine, get Wilder in here now.”

She left quickly, closing the door quietly behind her.

What the fuck was Ziggy playing at? Vacation? Was that the new code for sexy time with Frey? It had to damn well be with Frey also not in work on a fucking Thursday.

His temples throbbed—a state he was becoming very familiar with—hard enough his eyes blurred as he rose and rubbed so violently at his aching eyes, dislodging his contacts.

He cursed at how they scratched the surface of his corneas, forcing him to bolt for the small restroom attached to his office.

He went in search of a bottle of lens solution to remove them before they glued themselves to his eyeballs.

The one time he had experienced that was more than enough.

Contacts out, his eyes hurting made putting in a fresh pair out of the question. Having to wear his glasses in the office—which he never did—just added to his anger issues.

He stomped back to his desk as his phone rang. He snatched it up, glowering at it. “Yes!”

He heard the sharp indrawn breath before Wendy timidly said, “Wilder is in a meeting with Jupiter, doing a hand over. He’ll be free in an hour.”

“Fine,” he said a fraction softer, barely resisting slamming the phone down.

First the whole crapshoot with Ziggy and Frey, and now he was going to have to contend with getting used to another PA. It wasn’t even like he’d fucking asked for this to happen!

Was he being unreasonable? Absolutely.

Could he stop it?

Not a fucking cat in hell's chance when all he could envision was his sexy snake wrapped around… Frey.

You’re going to make an ass of yourself because you haven’t even talked to Ziggy about what’s going on with Frey.

He’s fucking him as we damn well speak. That’s what he’s doing. Mr no fucking anyone else without being honest! Damn it all to hell!

Seriously, are you listening to yourself? You’ve never been this unreasonable before. Why is that? his wolf taunted him.

Unreasonable. Unreasonable, he screeched. There is nothing unreasonable about someone cheating.

Just fun. Just sex. No relationship. That ring any bells, dipshit?