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The words hit me like a punch to the chest. Knotting with Denver last night, I felt so attached. Cared for. Connected. And now, he’s dismissing me to the others, like I’m some short-term nuisance, passing as quickly as the rainstorm. My only comfort is that his words seem to piss Memphis off, too. The tracker’s expression is downright murderous.
Unsurprisingly, Camden tries to play peacemaker. His voice carries clearly. “We only have to return her home. She’s an adult. She can decide what she wants for her life after that.”
At least he’s thought about sticking around. Of course, he’ll have no idea there’s anything wrong. Papa and Grayson always were good at putting on a show. I’m confident they’ll play the happy family reunited with their missing little girl perfectly. Trusting as he is, Camden won’t be able to see what’s really going on. If he thinks they’ll let me go once they have me back, he’s horribly mistaken.
“There’s just one thing that’s bothering me still. She’s hiding something,” Denver says. “She doesn’t want to go home and I need to know why.”
A gust of wind makes the tree branches shake, and I can’t make out what they say next. I don’t move, even when they move on to talking about logistics. Apparently, Denver’s going to watch over me for a while so Memphis and Camden can get some sleep. After lunch, we’ll get moving again.
They’re not going to bother consulting me about what we do next, obviously. I’m not one of them—I’m just a job. They want distance, and really, I should thank them for it. If I’m not careful, I’m going to start imagining this is something more than it is.
I’m Roger Castle’s daughter, and they’re his employees. To him, I’m a prize—to them, I’m a job. I’m not a real person to these Alphas.
I’m not real to anyone.
TWENTY-TWO
—
M E M P H I S
The forest looks beautiful after the rain. Raindrops cluster on spiderwebs, shining prettily in the pale sunlight. The emerald green of the moss and trees looks more vibrant, the soil under our feet darker and richer. Birds chatter around us, swooping from branch to branch.
But Brooklyn has never looked so miserable.
Her expression is completely defeated, the corners of her plush mouth turned downward. She plods on behind Denver, one foot in front of the other. Before, she was graceful and light on her feet as she walked. Her eyes were everywhere, alert and calculating. Now, the only thing she seems interested in is the ground right in front of her.
I’m not sure what’s going on with her. She seemed happy at breakfast. The worst of her heat symptoms were over, the rain finally ended, and it seemed like she’d started to trust us a little—or, at least, to endure our company. But she’s been downcast since I woke up from my much-needed nap.
For a second, I wonder whether Denver said anything to her to make her sad. He’s the only one who was awake to talk to her. I quickly dismiss the idea. He’s the one who lectured us about keeping our distance from her, about staying professional, despite what we did to her during her heat. We need to deliver her, as unharmed as possible, or nobody gets paid, and encouraging any kind of feelings was just going to get in the way of that. He was dead serious about it, too. I doubt he tried to start a conversation with her, positive or negative.
No, I have a feeling her mood is entirely about where we’re going. Home. Denver said there was a reason she didn’t want to go back. Whatever it is, every step we take toward the edge of the woods is bringing her closer to it.
Yet she keeps on walking. Denver said he made some kind of deal with her, and she’s keeping up her end. Sure, I don’t miss chasing her after she runs away from us. But I miss her spirit and her sarcasm. She doesn’t feel like her.
As we walk downhill, I spot a cluster of little white starflowers, and have the insane urge to pick one and tuck it behind Brooklyn’s ear. Maybe that would make her smile. The whole idea is weird. Sure, I like nature as much as the next guy, but I’ve never had the urge to start picking fucking flowers. I just can’t stand seeing her so beaten up.
So yeah, fuck Denver’s warnings about distance. I respect him, and I get he’s our leader, but he’s dead wrong about Brooklyn. Icing her out isn’t going to make letting her go any easier. She’s the job, sure, but I care about the girl. If there’s a reason she doesn’t want to go home, then I’m not going to force her. I abandoned professional a long fucking time ago when it came to her. If Roger Castle doesn’t want to pay me, I don’t give a shit. I came here for the challenge—I don’t need the money. I’m ready to tell him to go fuck himself, it that’s what Brooklyn wants me to do.
Besides, she’s an unbonded Omega. I have no idea if she likes any of us, or if she only let us knot her because her heat was driving her crazy. But there’s a possibility that maybe, she feels more for me, or Camden or Denver, than just biological lust. I know on my end, I’d jump at the chance to bond with her. I have a feeling that at least Cam feels the same way. Who’s to say she wouldn’t want to bond with us? Her dad might not approve, but Brooklyn’s a big girl. She can decide for herself if she’s interested.
When I see another patch of starflowers, I don’t stop myself. I step off the path to pick one and hand it to her. She practically jumps when I get close, startled that I’m in her field of vision. I extend my hand, offering her the little white flower.
“What is this?” she asks.
“It’s a flower,” I say. I wonder for a second if I’ve made a mistake. Maybe a little gesture of affection like this isn’t welcomed. I could just be making her uncomfortable. Too late to back down now, though. I put the flower in the hair above her ear, where it contrasts with her gorgeous dark hair.
Then, she smiles. It’s small, not warm like the ones I saw at breakfast this morning. I’m still glad to see it, though, breaking her tough mood.
“Where’s my flower?” Camden jokes, catching up with us. It makes her smile widen, and Cam catches my gaze.
He feels the same way I do—I’m sure of it. We want to find out why Brooklyn’s avoiding going home, not because we’re worried about the job, but because he cares as much as I do.
“You built a solid shelter,” Camden says. Trying to get her to open up. “Pine boughs make good insulation.”
Brooklyn shrugs. “I did the best I could. Log walls would have been better.”
“Hard to get up without a saw, though,” he says. “More trouble than they’re worth, a lot of the time.”
