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Hockey didn’t help. I mean, there are rules and shit, but we also have a literal penalty box. On the ice. And the fans sort of love it when you end up in there. The bunnies always did, too…
So, it wasn’t really a deterrent.
The point is: I am not a rule-follower. I’m a rule-breaker.
Is anyone really surprised that while Celine was arguing with Smith, I took a picture of the info on the front of Remi’s Forever Matched file?
Exactly.
She left the damn thing on the coffee table, like two inches away from my phone, so. It really isn’t even my fault that I’m here, turning onto Remi’s street.
Which sucks, by the way. Holy shit. There are so many potholes that it looks like there’s a meteor shower happening instead of a spring rain.
I haphazardly parallel park my Audi, frowning at the rain pelting my windshield. My hair is going to look ridiculous.
But every time I close my eyes, I see Remi’s lower lip trembling. And every breath I take still tastes like her fear.
Fuck my hair.
It’s cool and damp tonight. The kind of weather that keeps people inside. Years ago, Cass, Smith, and I would have squashed into the living room of the loft we used to share, arguing over the TV and whether Thai food is better or worse than Chinese.
Now, I’m sure our living room is as empty as it always is. Sealed up like a tomb, shrouds and all.
Jesus.
Having an omega is making me morbid.
I cup my hand over my brow and run across the back street. My footsteps pound along with the rain, slapping the uneven pavement. When I finally drop my arm and look around, squinting through the downpour, my spine snaps straight.
There’s a hooded figure hanging around the building’s stoop. Back hunched, hands in his pockets, pacing like an angry bull. A growl vibrates in the back of my throat, protective instincts rising.
I grew up surrounded by junkies. I’ve seen first-hand how much damage they can do when they get too agitated or impatient for their next fix.
When I snarl, though, the guy in the hoodie answers with a roar of his own.
A familiar one.
“Beastly?” I balk. “The fuck are you doing here?”
Cassian stands up and shoves his hood back, revealing unstyled, wet hair and a ferocious scowl. He throws his hand at Remi’s building. “I’ve been here for hours! I came as soon as we left the match place! You think I’d let her be in this building alone? In this neighborhood? I’ll fucking sleep on this stoop if I have to.”
Wow. Okay.
Beastly is in A Mood.
I glance at the apartment building’s foggy glass door and the small foyer beyond, all cramped with rusted mailboxes. It doesn’t exactly seem like Fort Knox.
“Did you consider just, like, going in?”
He glowers, chest heaving in angry pants. “Yes, I considered it. But this is her safe place.” He eyes the building dubiously, lingering on the rusted-out locks. “Well, she thinks it’s safe. I don’t want to just— She was scared, Damon. Of us.”
Of Smith.
The bitter voice in my head is enough to twist my gut. I hate it when we aren’t getting along, but I can’t deny this is all our pack alpha’s fault. Before he walked in, Remi didn’t seem scared at all. He really must have treated her like shit.
My teeth clench on an angry sound. “She wasn’t afraid of us,” I argue. “It was Smith. And he’s not here. I say we try to go up.”
He isn’t sure, but I can tell he’s on the ropes. Little does his grumpy ass know, I’m going up there either way.
