Page 23 of Puck Your Charity

A wave of cold, rational terror washes over me.

Before I presented, Rick treated me like an annoying, uptight relative. He made crude jokes and ignored me. Now, he looks at me like a novelty. He looks at me like an exotic toy trapped inside his house.

His words paint a sickening picture. He has an Omega fetish.

"Alphas think they own the market on Omegas." Rick stands up from the table. He takes a slow step toward me. "They think their knots make them special. But a desperate Omega doesn't care. When the slick starts pouring out, you'll beg for any cock you can get. Even a Beta's."

Genuine fear spikes in my chest.

An Alpha's presence triggers my arousal and forces my body to react. Rick's Beta presence does nothing to my hormones. It just makes my skin crawl with dread. I lack a pack to protect me. I lack a job to escape to. I sit isolated in the suburbs, vulnerable to the whims of a man who views my new status as an open invitation.

He takes another step forward, backing me toward the edge of the kitchen counter. The smell of his stale beer invades my personal space.

I slam my glass down on the counter.

I pull myself up to my full height. I drop my voice into the icy, authoritative tone I use to control unruly patients and combative parents on the hospital floor.

"Take one more step, and I scream until Chloe wakes up." I glare at him, my eyes wide with furious intent. "I will tell her every word you just said to me. I will pack my bags, walk out that front door, and never speak to my sister again. And she will know it was your fault."

Rick freezes. He blinks. The predatory gleam in his eyes vanishes, replaced by a nervous stutter. Mentioning my sister hits the mark and stops him in his tracks.

"Relax." Rick holds his hands up, taking a quick step back. "It was just a joke. You're too sensitive."

"Stay away from me." I snatch my glass of water off the counter.

I turn on my heel and march out of the dark kitchen. My legs shake with every step I take down the narrow hallway. I reach the spare bedroom and slip inside.

I push the door shut. My trembling fingers twist the flimsy metal lock on the doorknob. The tiny click offers no real security. A strong kick would shatter the cheap wood in a second.

I sink onto the edge of the twin mattress. My chest heaves as the terror takes root.

This house is not a safe haven. The suburbs offer no protection. Those arrogant athletes destroyed my career and stripped away my independence. I fled their infuriating, entitled pack to rebuild my life, only to land in a cage with a predator. I'm in real danger here, and I have nowhere else to go.

Chapter 8

Ilean my hip against the marble island in the kitchen. A cold bottle of beer sweats in my hand. We just finished a grueling three-hour ice practice. Our muscles ache. The playoffs start next week, but the mood in the mansion feels like a funeral. The tension in the air tastes thick enough to choke on. The silence stretches, broken by the hum of the large stainless steel refrigerator.

Three days have passed since Olive kicked Finn out of her apartment's parking lot. Three agonizing days of radio silence squeezed between brutal drills on the ice.

The front door opens and shuts.

Finn walks into the kitchen. He drops his hockey duffel by the door with a loud thud. He looks like a stray dog caught in a rainstorm. His broad shoulders slump forward. His auburn hair points in every direction from his hands dragging through it. He tosses his car keys onto the counter with a loud clatter. The metal rings against the stone.

Malcolm turns away from the refrigerator. "Any luck?"

Finn grabs a stool and sinks onto the leather cushion. "Nothing. I drove past her old apartment complex again after practice. Another tenant moved in. She vanished. We have no idea where she went."

Victor paces the length of the kitchen floor. He wears a dark scowl. His icy eyes flash with frustration. "She has no job. She has no money. An unbonded Omega wandering the city alone makes her a target. We need to find her."

"We tried." Finn buries his face in his large hands. "I spooked her in the parking lot. She rubbed blocker paste right under her nose. The stuff smelled like concentrated menthol. It burned my eyes from five feet away. She refuses to accept what she is. She looked ready to fight me to the death."

I take a slow sip of my beer. The bitter hops coat my tongue.

Victor stops pacing. He slams his fist against the marble counter. The sound echoes in the large room. "She needs a knot. Fighting a heat destroys the immune system. Those suppressants will rot her stomach. We have to track her down and bring her home."

Malcolm crosses his arms over his chest. He projects a calm, grounding cedar scent to settle the room. "Backing an unbonded Omega into a corner just traumatizes her. We need a strategy."

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my jeans.