Page 19 of The Gift
And I make a point of keeping my attention on her, and only her, because really, she’s the only one I need to report to. Buthe’smaking me feel like I’m free-falling. Andhehasn’t said a fucking word. This is what I was worried about, the invisible juju-magic power that alphas have. Well not asshole alphas, because they’re easy to avoid. The whole world should ignore them.
“You’re sick? You shouldn’t be here then,” Ashton inserts, and asserts himself in our snarly, plastic conversation.
Carmen hooks a thumb at him, nodding her head like he’s the freaking Messiah with all the answers to the world’s problems. Traitor. “No, I’m serious. Nothing is that pressing that you drag a person from their bed,” he continues.
He pulls out his phone and shoots off a message to someone, which is a little rude, but hey, these guys think they can supposedly do whatever they want.
“I’ve messaged Donnie. We’ll reconvene when you’re better. We don’t have anything major scheduled for a couple of days. We wanted to do a debrief after yesterday and to give you an update on a class action that Pack Miller have initiated, but it’s as bullshit and baseless as they are, so it can wait.” Ashton talks at me, not to me, and when he stands, his hand out expectantly, I look to Carmen for direction. Again, I blame her and the tabs for my newly acquired lack of decision-making abilities.
“Don’t look at me. I’d tell you to go drink a cup of cement and harden the fuck up,” she quips, deadpanning me at the same time. Although she can’t hide the concern in her eyes, but she’s my girl so she knows where the lines are. She generally doesn’t step over them with her insensitive humour.
Ashton keeps staring at me with his hand out, I realise a little belatedly. “I have all day to wait. But you need to go home. We’re dropping you back to your place. Reno will drop your car over later.”
Wow, who knew that Ashton was a goddamn steamroller. One with pretty eyes too.
“And you’re being bossy, not sure that’s in your contract,” I offer back. My sarcasm is en pointe despite the small slur to my words, my butt still glued to the seat.
“Regardless, you said you had a fever and might have a flu. I’m sorry, but it goes against my very nature to let you stay here or even drive yourself home. Come on, Bailey, I’m about to show you the other side of how a real pack works. The caring side. I can assure you wholeheartedly that Pack Miller are the minority, I’ll prove it to you too.”
“No, from where I’m sitting, this really does look and sound like your bossy side,” I insist, following it with a small hiss like a baby snake. Carmen shakes her head from side to side, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
“You’re saying this is me being bossy? Really? I haven’t even growled at you. I can, if it’s your thing, otherwise you can…”
He’s laughing, and I know he’s playing, but I’m not there today. Simple words get lost in interpretation and caught up in my cotton balled thoughts. I think that’s what’s going on, but as he talks, my skin prickles.
“Okay, okay.” I wave him off, swallowing a rush of saliva that fills my mouth. I blow out a strange breath as I climb out of my chair and Carmen’s eyes change to that of a hawk, assessing me. Yay me. I stumble a little, or wobble. Either way they both freaking catch it.
“Bailey, you’re looking worse actually. You’re not getting harassed again are you,” she says, climbing to her feet too.
I shake my head too quickly, and they both scowl, but my danger radar is off so I don’t know if I’m being overly paranoid or if I’m dealing with a leftover of the effects of the chemicals I’ve been hiding in. I really hope that is what it is. I’m in a strange state where the ghost of hostility from yesterday follows me relentlessly, feeding my doubts more than they should.
“I got it, thank you.” I hug my baby blue Burberry to my chest like a life-preserver and don’t miss the tip of his lip. I’m sure lots of people find it amusing when people get attached to their things, I’m slightly more attached, depending on the day. And even on a bad day, I can recognise my attachment to certain things are involuntary manifestations of my omega traits as I seek comfort in material items.
I flick my head up, blinking past an uneven step that threatens to make me fall on my ass, and I make a beeline for the door, flinging it open and walking straight into another fucking door. My nose plants ungraciously against the hard surface.
Something is clearly wrong with me because all of a sudden I’ve been infused with the attracting properties of, well, a magnet. My nose refuses to budge off the surface, the strong scent of long lazy nights in bed, tattoos and open fires cloy and scratch aggressively at my throat until the reality of what I’m doing slaps through the haze. The smell changes to denim, faint tinges of motor oil and a person I have no right inhaling. I think I hide it well enough, and when the man moves to catch my stumble backwards, I add a squeak, much to their amusement.
“Ah, Bailey, you remember Koda? He’ll take you home, and I’ll sort out with Carmen your schedule for the next couple of days. One of us will give you a buzz later to check in.”
“What?” I strike like a wasp, ready to sting any or all of them. And if the room stopped spinning, I’d know where to direct my sting.
“Be a good girl and listen, Bailey,” Carmen croons happily. Her smile is as loud as her voice.
I swing around to look at her, and the smirk on her face clashes with the concern in her eyes. But she’s like that, too complicated sometimes for me to catch up with.
“What the hell?” I whisper. To myself. I’m sure it’s to myself. I hope it is.
I glance back to Koda, hoping for a little support and am dumbfounded at what I find on his face. What is it with these people? I guess I completely locked down how he looked from our first meeting so caught up in trying to vocalise my point, but now standing here it’s like I’m looking at the March spread for Tattoos and Guns calendar. The man towers above me, his light brown hair is styled with precision, dark brown eyes hold mine without wavering. Add in the swirls of black and dark colour running up from under his shirt, circling around his throat, and the jut of his jaw it’s enough to make any woman swoon. Not this woman, no siree. Goddamn it, maybe I could do a little swooning. I wonder if he’s tattooed all over, maybe I should ask to check. Which makes a lot of sense to me. I take another small step, a twitch of his arm making me take another, but my brain isn’t telling me if I’m stepping towards or away.
“You’re sick? And you drove?” He shakes his head as he talks too softly for a man his size. But his voice is like spring water, rinsing some of my confusions away, replacing it with a growing need to apologise profusely to him. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me and my thoughts, it’s like we’re not the same.
He watches me, those eyes of his deepening in colour and concern, and I watch a little shocked and horrified as his nostrils widen while he takes like an overly long inhale. I don’t move a muscle, even when his eyes flare.
“You smell… odd. I’ll take you home.” He says, after what feels like forever.
Actually, I’ll take myself home and die under my bed of embarrassment before increasing the dosage of those suppressants by one thousand percent, I argue in my head. And that’s before I start marinating myself in soy sauce if need be. I’ll become as Bailey Kikoman and stay salty, if it means I keep a little of my dignity. This is out of control, my reaction to them that is. Obviously, I should have been caged in the synthetic manipulation gone bad side of the lab.
“Oh my god, who are you right now?” I ask, shaking myself and making my head spin.
