Alphas Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  Before he rejects the call for me, I tell him, “I’m going to find the letter you wrote Beckett.”

  He studies my expression, and I try to breathe better, stronger. Seeing that, he nods. “I’ll take this, and we’ll meet back up?”

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  I think it’s killing him not to kiss me in a short goodbye. He wavers.

  “I’m sorry—”

  He cuts me off, “No, don’t be. You’re giving me more than enough, wolf scout. I’m here for what you need, and you need privacy.” He lifts his brows. “Later?”

  I nod. “Later.” And I exhale even bigger.

  Farrow has to redial Oscar since the call rung out, and while he returns to the couch, I pop my knuckles and head to Beckett, Charlie, and Sulli’s table. Game pieces spread out, colorful cards in hand.

  A gold dragon-headed cane is propped against the table. Eliot has been swapping out Charlie’s canes every so often with new ones. And whenever I see my cousin, his newest cane looks more ostentatious and bizarre.

  Beckett leans back on his chair, cigarette between his lips. I’ve been so goddamn concerned about Beckett, but since he’s not using right now, the most I can do is check in with Charlie. Which is difficult since Charlie ignores me more than half the time. But until Beckett returns to ballet, it has to be enough.

  “Hey, Beck,” I say. “Where’s the letter Farrow gave you? I want to read it.” Can’t think of a better pick-me-up.

  “Oh yeah, it’s a good fucking letter,” Sulli says with a strong nod, rolling dice.

  Jesus. Has everyone really read this letter but me?

  “It’s in my cabin. Top dresser.” Beckett taps ash into an ashtray, and very meticulously, he wipes the rim. Charlie watches his twin brother more fixatedly than usual.

  “Thanks.”

  “I like him, by the way,” Beckett tells me honestly. “Farrow, he’s really good for you.”

  My eyes almost grow. Is this letter magical or something?

  Charlie says to the table, “Does anyone have any sheep they’d trade for brick?”

  “Fuck, you can take all my sheep for wood or wheat,” Sulli says.

  I walk away and tune out Charlie’s response. My bare feet pad along the deck, and I slip through the sliding glass doors. Entering the main saloon, this living room area is quiet and dimly lit. I thought I’d find my brother and sisters here, but all three are gone.

  I ascend winding steps to the second-floor where there’s a stretch of cabins. In the hall, I slow down at a door, muffled voices filtering through.

  “Love you too, Luna,” Xander says, his breath caught short again. A giant part of me wants to go inside that cabin and fix this. But he made it clear that he wanted space, and I think I should give him that.

  I pass their door, and then another one at the end of the hall swings open.

  Rowin emerges from his cabin.

  He’s really the last person I want to run into right now, but I try to be casual; in my head I’m taking solace in the fact that these next few days will be his last with my family.

  “Hey, Rowin,” I say, still on course to Beckett’s cabin.

  “Hi, Maximoff.”

  And I feel his blue eyes travel all over my body: my bare chest, my abs, my arms and legs, my dick. It’s making me more aware that I’m barely covered in a skin-tight bathing suit. And I’m used to eyes pressing on my body. Ogling and gawking, all normal for me. But not from my man’s ex-boyfriend.

  I glare. “Can you not do that?” Not only am I fucking uncomfortable, but I can feel just how badly this would pain and enrage Farrow.

  Needing to move forward, I don’t wait for Rowin to respond. I just rotate to the door on my right, and I grip the knob to Beckett’s cabin. I turn—it’s locked.

  Great.

  I suddenly marbleize…

  I sense his presence encroaching my space. But my brain shrieks, there’s no way, there’s no damn way this is happening. My brows knit, and I slowly check behind my shoulder.

  Rowin slinks up on me, seemingly so rapidly because my reflexes lurch in shock. His intrusive gaze is tearing off my swimsuit, his hands dangerously close. I whip around at the same time that his hands sink on either side of the door.

  Trapping me for a tense beat while his mouth tries to near mine—I shove his chest with all my goddamn strength.

  His back thumps into the wall, disbelief widening his eyes.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I glower, winded and pained like I’m currently running the ultra-marathon on the roughest fucking terrain.

  “Come on,” Rowin says like I’m oblivious, and he tucks a piece of his deep auburn hair behind his ear.

  My eyes scald, probably bloodshot, and ten tons of brick compound on my chest. “Stay the fuck away from me.” How I’m not slamming my fist in his jaw, I don’t know. Rage is my go-to feeling, but I think…I think I’m in a lot of shock.

  His face contorts in indignation. “I like you, and you’re into me—”

  “No, I fucking hate you,” I spit out, my skin crawling. I’m about to tell him that his ass is going to be flung off this yacht, but he takes a step forward and I raise a warning hand. “You come near me, and I’ll break both your kneecaps.”

  I’m yelling internally, my ribs concaving around my lungs and shrinking my fucking breath.

  Farrow—he’s not here. I love him so damn much that I can already feel the pain he’ll feel from this moment. But for some reason, I only wish he were right by my side. Maybe because I know he can carry the weight with me. I know he can bear it.

  “Come on,” Rowin repeats. “You and me would fit more than you and him. You’re kind, considerate and sweet, and he’s…” Our heads swerve as a cabin door cracks open.

  No.

  No.

  “Moffy?” Luna peeks her head out, concern and fear wobbling her voice. I’m not sure how much my siblings heard, but I have one mission now: shield them from this doomsday.

  “I’m okay. Go back inside.” I move towards her, stoic and unbending. Rowin—I feel him lingering in the hall, closer to me than I fucking like.

  But I reach my sister’s cabin, and I notice Kinney and Xander right behind Luna, their eyes huge like saucers. Uncertain of what to do and scared.

  “I’m okay,” I say strongly. My eyes have to be bloodshot because they stare at them like it’s the only evidence that I’m not. “I’m okay. You’re all safe, and I’m going to shut this door—”

  “No, Moffy!” all three shout like I’m exiting a bomb shelter to face certain death. The intensity of their reaction startles me a bit, and I try to think back on what they could’ve heard:

  Can you not do that?

  What the fuck are you doing?

  Come on.

  Stay the fuck away from me.

  I like you and you’re into me.

  No, I fucking hate you. You come near me, and I’ll break both your kneecaps.

  Come on.

  Fucking Christ. That’s it, that’s all they could know.

  Luna grabs my hand, looking from me to Rowin. He’s in my peripheral, and I don’t acknowledge him or curse him out. Because I’m trying not to frighten my siblings.

  I guide her further into the small cabin, a nautical comforter on two single beds. Luna drifts backwards with Xander and Kinney, and I slip further inside, shutting and locking the door behind me.

  “I’m not in any danger,” I tell them. “You don’t need to panic. Alright, Kinney. Kinney.” I force out her name; my thirteen-year-old sister has buried her face in her hands. “I’m okay.”

  My harsh tone pops up her head, and she scrutinizes me.

  “I’m okay,” I repeat.

  “Then stay,” Kinney snaps at me, her voice cracking in a brief sob.

  I can’t. I need to get Rowin off this fucking yacht. She can tell that I’m planning to go back out, and she wails at me like I’m being reckless with my life and throws a pillow at my face.

/>   “Kinney.” I smack the pillow away. “I’ll be back.”

  She gears up to chuck another pillow.

  “Stop, Kinney,” Xander cuts in, his cheeks blotchy and tear-streaked. His face is flooding with remorse and pain. “Moffy has been beaten down enough tonight from me, you don’t need to do that too—”

  “Summers,” I say with the shake of my head. “You could tell me to rot in hell, and I’d still overwhelming, unconditionally be there for you and love you—there is nothing you can do to push me down. Alright?”

  Xander rakes his hand over his face, hot tears pouring out. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I love you, you know I love you, right?”

  I didn’t think I needed to hear that, but maybe some part of me did. I breathe more, and I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “In every universe.”

  I wrap my arms around my brother’s shoulders. Same height, he hooks an arm around mine, his head hung while he rubs his eyes.

  He murmurs, “I can’t live without you…”

  My eyes try to well, and I whisper, “I love you.” I open my stance for Kinney and Luna. “All three of you.” And our sisters join the hug. My arms envelope my younger siblings, and I can feel them cling onto me.

  I breathe and breathe. Knowing they’re safe calms me, and when we all pull back, I glance at the locked door.

  Luna tries to hide her face in her white shirt. “Where’s Farrow?”

  “I’m about to go get him,” I say. “You three stay here. I’ll be back later.”

  They’re not as uneasy. My confidence in this situation helps—the I can handle anything mantra pouring out of me—and they nod me forward.

  I exit the cabin and shut the door.

  The hall is empty. No Rowin.

  New mission: find Farrow and then push Rowin off this yacht.

  35

  FARROW KEENE

  Light rain patters the mega yacht, and an overhang shields half of the main deck from the drizzle. I’m dry, sitting behind the fully stocked bar. Mostly so none of Maximoff’s cousins can see me daze the hell out.

  I can’t rid the nauseous scent of rain on metal.

  Reaching into the bar’s cabinet, I grab a bottle of Grey Goose. I try to untwist, and I hear ping ping ping.

  I stare off into nothingness.

  Listening.

  And someone rips the bottle out of my hands.

  Sensory overload, I’m not going to be able to discern who just stole my vodka. At least not right away.

  Seeing as how six protective motherfuckers have been towering above me, I’ll take an educated guess and say it’s someone from SFO.

  I blink, and I see Banks Moretti crouching and opening the Grey Goose. Brown hair curled behind his ears, eyes the color of a coffee bean, unshaven jaw—he looks absolutely identical to his twin brother in almost every way.

  He’s officially an Omega bodyguard, but I wasn’t there for that security meeting. Obviously I couldn’t be.

  And thankfully these guys know that I wasn’t planning on drinking the vodka. Banks does what I was about to do and holds the bottle beneath my nose.

  “Smell that, Redford?” Oscar asks me.

  I hang my forearms on my bent knees. “Not even a little bit.”

  “Shoulda brought the pizza from our boat,” Donnelly says. “Pizza smells better than vodka.” True.

  My fingers press into the ground, about to rise to my feet, but I suddenly feel gravel digging into my palms. It’s not real…

  There’s no gravel on the boat.

  “Hold up, don’t stand,” Akara tells me, an ace at leadership, even when I’m not a part of the team anymore.

  Thatcher hands a bottle of water to Banks to give me, and when he does, I unscrew the cap with more focus. I see my surroundings clearly. My other senses are a little out of whack from the intrusive memories.

  Maximoff.

  I don’t see him. He’s not back yet, but he most likely ran into his siblings inside. Xander has a hard time staying angry at his older brother, so I imagine they’re patching-up their fight.

  Akara sets his beer aside. “Is it just the rain?”

  “Yeah, it’s been a hotspot.” I comb my hair back and eye the beer bottle. “Don’t stop drinking on my account, Kitsuwon.”

  Quinn swigs his beer at that, and Oscar gives his baby brother a look like he shouldn’t be listening to me.

  I almost smile, my pulse gradually beginning to even out. And I take a gulp of water.

  “Should you go inside the saloon?” Akara asks.

  “No, if I avoid it, it’s just going to persist.” This kind of PTSD isn’t new to me, and I’m fairly certain I have the tools to move past this. It’s just a process that takes patience, but the bad timing is frustrating as hell.

  Rain on metal. It’s suddenly three times as pungent. “An orange?” I ask vaguely.

  “In the galley,” Akara tells Quinn, and Quinn leaves to return quickly with the fruit.

  I concentrate on peeling the rind. Citrus overpowers my nose. There we go. My pulse is slowing, and Donnelly starts rehashing a story about how Quinn slipped off the rib.

  And I rise to my feet. More at ease, I lean on the sleek bar, and the glass doors slide open in front of us. I set down the partially peeled orange. Donnelly goes quiet, and we all look at who walks on deck.

  “Farrow.”

  It’s Rowin.

  Fucking hell.

  My ex glances cautiously at SFO while he closes the saloon doors. “I need to talk to you,” he tells me. This entire yacht trip, he’s been passive aggressive and petulant towards me, but as he approaches me now, he’s neither of those things.

  He’s acting cagey as fuck.

  “Go ahead.” I wave him onward.

  “In private,” Rowin clarifies.

  I narrow my gaze. “No. I don’t give a shit if SFO hears.”

  But he does. He runs a hand down his tense face, staying about three arm’s lengths away from me. “I just wanted to clear the air with you.”

  “You want to clear the air with me?” I repeat like his screw has come loose. “Today of all days?” It’s my boyfriend’s birthday.

  “It only just came up.” Rowin glances out at the starry night. Lanterns light up the wet deck.

  And the rain has stopped.

  I watch him shift his weight. I don’t like this.

  Something’s not right. My gut is screaming, and I straighten off the bar.

  Rowin jabs a thumb behind his shoulder, pointing at the saloon. “I ran into Maximoff inside. And I misread a few signals. It shouldn’t be a big deal; he said he wasn’t interested.”

  My pulse spikes as I try to decipher this shit. “Are you…?” My face twists in agonized thought. “Are you saying that you came onto my boyfriend?”

  There’s no way in hell that can be right.

  Rowin avoids my gaze. “Like I said, I misread the signals.”

  I explode forward. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I yell between my teeth.

  SFO yells over one another, trying to separate me from Rowin before we even collide. My ex stumbles back and holds up a hand in surrender.

  “You’re a piece of shit,” I sneer and shrug off my friends that try to restrain me, and I glare at Donnelly. “Let go.”

  He does.

  They all do.

  Claws may as well be shredding my entire body and heart and skull. I don’t know what Rowin did exactly, if he threw out a pickup line or…I can’t imagine…

  I rub my mouth and take a deeper breath. I center my emotion on something productive. Bile burns the back of my throat, and everything inside of me is screaming to find Maximoff. Adrenaline ramped, pulse beating in my eardrums.

  Find him.

  I push past SFO and hawk-eye the sliding glass door, about to go inside. Four steps there, I change course. Instinct propels me, and I swerve onto Rowin. In one swift move, I twist his shirt in two white-knuckled fists and slam his
back up against the glass.

  “If I find out you touched him, I will kill you,” I threaten.

  Rowin is only looking at SFO behind me. He’s waiting for the six guys to come to his aid. But not a single one moves. None of them save him. None of them want to.

  Because they’re not his friends.

  They’re mine.

  And they know he’s a piece of fucking shit. I release my grip because I see a figure through the glass. Inside the saloon, Maximoff just steps off the winding staircase.

  “Akara,” I say, but he immediately detains Rowin before I ask. Pulling him far, far away from the entrance to the saloon.

  I waste no more time.

  I go inside.

  “Maximoff,” I call out, quickly sliding the door shut. He’s in almost no clothing. A skin-tight swimsuit cut like boxer-briefs—if Rowin touched him…

  My nose flares, and I realize that Maximoff is on a fucking mission. Storming past the interior cocktail bar with stoicism and purpose, he gestures behind me and asks, “Is Rowin out there?”

  I rapidly sweep his sharpened features. “What happened?” I don’t move away from this door because wolf scout is coming in hot. He has one sole focus. And it’s not on me right now.

  “We need to get Rowin off this yacht. We can toss his suitcase in the sea for all I fucking care, but he needs out of here.” He fixates on the door.

  “SFO have him—” I cut myself off and sidestep before Maximoff passes me. I block him with my build.

  “Farrow.” His Adam’s apple bobs.

  “Look at me, look at me,” I breathe, our chests an inch apart, and as soon as I capture his attention, I say, “You need to tell me what happened, Maximoff.”

  He blinks, eyes completely bloodshot. “Rowin trapped me against a door, but he didn’t put his hands on me. I shoved him off. That’s it.”

  I almost rock back, like I’ve been sucker-punched. “He trapped you…against a door?” I picture it, and my chest just collapses. I reach out to hold Maximoff. To touch him, but I wait for the confirmation.

  He nods repeatedly.

  Over and over.

  We draw together. Chest to chest. His arms weave across my back, his rigid body not slackening. And I feel his pulse racing.