Page 138 of The Forgotten

“I do,” I say. “Marie is not in Chicago, and she’s hiding from her brother. I want to know why.”

“Fuck,” he says, taking a drag of his cigarette. He doesn’t smoke often, typically to take the edge off. The kid doesn’t do drugs, so I suppose this isn’t a terrible vice to have. “Why do you want that information and how do you know her?”

“She’s my scent match,” I say. His raised brow tells me he’s going to tell me what I want to know. I don’t talk about personal shit with him, so for me to divulge this much, it shows him that I’m for real.

“Alright then,” Bentley says. “How did you two even cross paths?”

“She had some car trouble,” I lie. “The club and I helped her out.”

“How altruistic of you,” he drawls. “What are you even going to do with a scent match like that? Marie isn’t the kind of girl that’s easily swayed by criminals.”

“Why not?” I ask, wanting to hear it from him. I know that his brother is in the mafia, but I don’t know what he specifically does.

“You know,” Bentley grumbles. “When you’re around them for a large period of your life, you’re more likely to be over their shit. Especially with how her brother treats her.”

“See! This makes me want to kill him,” I complain. “What’s one redeeming thing about him?”

“He’s my brother’s best friend and pack mate,” he sighs. Oh fuck. “They also share an omega so there’s that. She’d probably miss the fucker.”

“Well this is getting messier by the second,” I grunt. “She moved all the way here from Chicago and she’s staying in some shelter.”

“Shh,” Bentley warns. “Omega’s Haven, it’s important in this city. My older sister runs it with her best friend. Don’t blow up what they’re building.”

“Why is everything so incestuous here?” I ask, making him choke on his own saliva.

Shaking his head, he puts out his cigarette on a concrete pole and throws it out.

“Maybe cool it on the incest,” he says under his breath. “The Irish mafia runs shit in this city, and anyone with criminal ties who comes here needs permission to stay here. Since the Knotted Anarchists typically don’t put down roots, you all have been able to fly under the radar. Stirring shit up will change that.”

“The warning is noted,” I murmur. “I promise to attempt to behave. I’m pissed because Marie seems scared of her brother and she said that she’s staying at the shelter to avoid him.”

“Tommy has a lot of opinions,” Bentley says. “She’s his baby sister, and he seems to think that means she needs her life managed. If he had anything to say about it, she’d be a virgin and single forever.”

Oh my god. Please tell me that she’s not a virgin.

“She’s not, is she?” I ask, my voice as horrified as I am.

“You don’t know yet?” he chuckles. At my glare, he shrugs. “To be fair, I don’t know anything else about her sex life other than that. They run a gym and a club in the city. The Underground will be opening around nine tonight, and that’s probably the best time to catch him. There’s also a few fights planned for it.”

“He called an underground fighting ring club…The Underground?” I snort.

“As ridiculous as it is, they’ve been very successful. Are you going to check it out?” he asks.

“Yeah I am. I need to find out more about Marie, and she’s been very closed mouthed,” I say. “Why?”

“I’m one of their bartenders,” he says. “I fill in as they need me to and it’s extra money while I’m in school.”

At the reminder, I pull five one hundred bills from my wallet and hand it to him discreetly.

“Thanks,” he says, putting it away in his pocket. “Tommy is a tall, wide shouldered alpha. He usually has his blonde hair up in a top knot. I doubt he’ll be happy to know you’re dating his sister.”

“He isn’t going to scare me away, but I do want to know what he did to make her hide,” I growl, ready to go for a long ride before I head to the apartment to shower and get ready.

“Family isn’t simple,” Bentley sighs. “It’s ugly, complicated, and secretive. I’m still working on my relationship with my sister. It’s hard to know what to say to a girl who I thought was dead, ya know?”

With that, Bentley walks to his own bike to head out for the day, making me wonder what the hell the Midwest does to its omegas.

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