Pack deception part two, p.1
Pack Deception: Part Two, page 1
Pack Deception
Part Two
Wren Whilte
Copyright © 2023 by Wren Whilte
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Designer Name: germancreative on Fiverr
Editor Name: Jenni Gauntt
Formatted by: Jenni Gauntt
Contents
Trigger Warnings
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by the Author
Dedication
To my readers. Your support keeps me writing, even when I feel like quitting.
Trigger Warnings
Brief mention of alcohol abuse, conversations about off-page miscarriage, mentions of emotional and physical abuse, and sexually explicit scenes.
One
Summer
My thumb taps send, and I stare at the single sentence that will likely turn my world upside down. The one I've spent the last five or so months trying to rebuild.
I know what you assholes did, and I’m going to make you PAY.
Sent to the three people who tried to ruin my life. Who lied to me, drugged me, abused me. Alphas, all three. Though how they call themselves that, I'm not sure. Cowardly is more like it. Disgusting, virulent cowards.
My adrenaline from the run over is starting to wane, the reality is setting in, and the shakes take over. Shudders ripple through me, adding to the growing tension in my body. I'm wound so tight, staring at the text, waiting for the response that'll damn me.
My phone pings, sending my heart rate through the roof, and a little whimper tries to break free, but I choke it down. It's not Pack Monroe, though.
Brooklyn
Hey, cherub. You close? xxx
Two whole minutes. That's how long I was able to forget about the most recent betrayal. From another pack I thought was with me for me.
If she's ever going to believe she's our mate, it's now.
Just another group of selfish alphas ruled by their dominating nature. Their physical and societal need to be coupled up with an omega, no matter the cost. Mason though...
He should have been different. Just last week, he was nursing me through my post-heat aches and pains with no ulterior or sexual motive. With a glance at my unkempt bed, I can practically feel his hands kneading my muscles and the smell of the minty oil he rubbed into my skin. Out of the whole pack, he should have been my safe space. But he's just like the rest.
I exit out of Brooklyn's message without responding and click the side button of my phone, shutting the screen off. A muffled thud sounds as I toss it on my bed and pace the small space in between the bed and closet, trying to distract myself from my racing thoughts. I don't want to talk or think about any of them ever again. I don't want to see their beautiful, deceitful faces. It isn't a very realistic dream, I know that. They'll keep texting and calling when I don't show. Even if I respond to tell them I'm sick, they'll just insist on coming over to take care of me. All part of their caring ruse. It's still the beginning, so they have to keep trying. Until I have their bite marks, that is. Then, their true selves will start to peek through, little by little. That's how Pack Monroe did it.
When I first left them, I read about the term love-bombing. About how it's a form of emotional abuse where someone goes above and beyond for you in the beginning only to trick you into a relationship. After which, they start to tear you back down once you've been hooked. That's what I thought had happened to me before I saw Doctor Tanner, and she told me about the passion pack. Now, I'm not sure if there ever really was extra effort put in by my three current bondmates or if the drug just made me imagine the flattery and affection. Maybe they always were assholes, and I couldn't see past the cocktail of poison traveling through my veins.
Ping.
An involuntary twitch goes through my hand like my body wants me to reach for my phone, but my mind is rebelling.
Ping.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Half a dozen messages come through before I can't take it anymore, and I check.
Unknown
Stupid, useless cow. Have you had fun spreading your fat legs for everyone in a five-mile radius?
It's time to come home, omega. You've had your fun.
We'll forgive the disrespect this time, Summer. Don't push us past our breaking points.
Hudson
Our table is ready, pretty girl. Are you on your way?
Unknown
You think you can whore yourself out without any consequences? They'll get sick of you soon enough.
Mason
Mav's starting to get hangry. I'm pretty sure the elderly woman next to us heard his stomach rumble three times already. ETA?
With two quick swipes, I delete the notifications from Pack Whitlock and stare at the four texts from unknown numbers lighting up the screen. It's easy to tell which texts are Jade's. Since that ill-fated night when she slapped me hard enough to purple my face, I've thought nonstop about how she treated me. When the fog lifted from the drugs, it was easy to pinpoint how hateful she was. Vile and cruel. Obsessed with fat-shaming me. Of making me feel less than. Brody and Connor aren't saints; the goddess knows that, but they're more passive in their disdain. I can't say for sure which sent the other two texts.
The text telling me to come home most likely came from Brody. He was constantly micromanaging my time and activities. Always checking my phone to see who I was texting–which was nobody but them–or obsessively stalking my location on his Find My Omega app. Every time I looked at someone for longer than half a second, I was always flirting with them in his eyes. He'd definitely see my running away from them as just another snub. A chance to rebel from his tight control.
Connor was a little more vindictive than Brody, though certainly not to Jade's level. Anytime I wanted to do even the smallest thing for myself, I was selfish. Disrespectful. Once, I tried volunteering two days a week at a local library. It lasted one day. By the time I made it home, Connor was sitting at the kitchen island, glaring at the empty stovetop. The library closed at eight, so I was home before eight-thirty. But I usually had food on the table by six-thirty or seven, depending on their work schedules. He'd yelled that I couldn't even handle one day of working and keeping up with the housework. Spouting nonsense about how I must not care about us or our pack if I would choose a library over our home. At the time, it didn't seem like nonsense, though. The hate and drivel wormed itself into my drugged-up brain and convinced me that if I loved them, I'd give them my all. Maybe it wasn't even the drugs, though; maybe I really am so screwed up and insecure that his words took root all on their own.
No matter. I got away from it. From them. A clean house and food on the table has taken a back seat to my own happiness and career. So, I clear their notifications and try to put them out of my mind. At least halfway out of my mind. Because now that I've sent the text telling them I'd make them pay, there's a big part of me that still wants that to happen. Even as the fear has seeped in some.
A heavy, shuddering sigh escapes from between my trembling lips. Goddess.
Pull yourself together, Summer.
With a shake of my head, I try to dispel the warring emotions and stiffen my upper lip. My phone vibrates in my hand—again—only this time, it isn't lighting up with a text. It continues to buzz, a constant loop, and when I turn it over, I see it's Mason calling. Since I don't want him to know I see his call, I don't reject it. It rings until my voicemail picks up. A relieved sigh escapes, only for it to break off when his name pops up again. I do the same thing, waiting for it to ring through. When it doesn't immediately ring again, I figure he must have gotten the hint. Only, a few seconds later, a voicemail comes through. My curiosity and impatience win out. With a few taps, I'm lifting the phone to my ear. His voice is warm and a little rough with worry. Despite myself, a shiver rolls through my body.
Damn, drugs! I can't trust myself with them until I know for sure they're out of my system. Though, to his credit, he is an excellent actor.
"Hey, babe, we're starting to get a little worried. Please call me back. Just let us know you're okay."
"Tell her we're coming to check on her," Maverick's muffled voice comes through a little garbled in the background.
"No, get back," Mason hisses back to him, voice now muffled as well. He must have put his hand over the speaker to growl back at Maverick. They're obviously still at odds with each other. I should feel guilty about it, but after what they're doing to me, I hope they never work things out.
"So just... you know, call me." There's an awkward pause, and th
A burst of panic hits me at the idea of them on their way to see if I'm home. No. Absolutely not. In a frenzy, I dart around the apartment, grabbing the barest necessities: toothbrush, toothpaste, pajamas, and work clothes for tomorrow. Within two minutes, I'm out the door, work bag and overnight backpack in hand, and locking up behind me. As I'm tiptoeing down the hall and out of the apartment building, peeking around every corner before I do for signs of any member of Pack Whitlock, I get the worst case of deja vu. Back to a night when I was fleeing a different pack. Only this time, it's easier. This time, I'm not two years into a relationship or bound to three alphas.
I throw my hoodie up once I hit the sidewalk to try and hide my appearance in case I have to dart around a building to not be seen. There's nothing to be done about my scent. For that, I'm throwing up some prayers to the Goddess. When I make it far enough away from my apartment building, going the opposite direction as Nonna's, I pull my phone out and dial Ava.
"Summer?" She picks up just as I think I'm about to be sent to voicemail, and I could break down; I'm so relieved. "Everything okay?"
"Can I come stay with you tonight?" I know she can hear the tremble in my voice that I'm trying to fight back. I didn't even feel like crying until she picked up, and I thought about how pathetic my life was. But I did it. I called for help.
There's a slight pause on her end. I think she's contemplating letting me into her space. I've never been, and she's always managed to avoid inviting me over, always opting to come to mine.
"Are you okay?" Worry creeps into the apprehension lacing her tone. A knot lodges deep in my throat. She doesn't want me in her space, and I don't want to push her into doing something she's uncomfortable with. I push through and answer in a stronger voice.
"Oo-oh. Oh, yeah. Definitely. Just haven't seen you in a few days, is all," I lie through my teeth. It must sound as pitiful an excuse as it is because she sighs.
"I'm at the bar. Come see me." Better than nothing.
"Okay," I whisper and then end the call.
It's a Monday evening, so the bar is mostly empty. There's a small crowd of regulars, but the music is lower than normal, and nobody is yelling to be heard, so it's quiet enough. Ava isn't anywhere out front. I walk past the bar, nodding at Joe as he pours a drink for a pretty alpha woman, and head toward her office in the back.
Feeling a little unsure still, I knock softly before peeking my head in to see her mop of silvery hair in a messy bun on top of her head as she's hunched slightly forward, immersed in whatever's on her desktop computer. Her fruity scent is thick, coating every corner of the room. At the squeak of the door hinge, she glances up and smiles wryly at me, jerking her head for me to come in. I do and look around like I'm seeing the place for the first time. I'm not; I've been back here before but never really appreciated how unlike a bar office it is. At least stereotypically. I'd expect a mess. Papers everywhere, a ratty desk and chair, and maybe liquor bottles littering the surfaces.
This office is anything but. Ava's desk sits in front of the one brick wall, so her back sits toward it. The other three walls are black, and her desk matches it with some small gold accent pieces. The desktop itself is neat and clutter-free. Every paper in this office is scanned and filed away in the cabinets on the other side of the room. The only thing on it is her laptop, desktop, mouse, keyboard, cell phone, and one small pen holder that holds exactly one pen and one pencil. Not one liquor bottle or empty food container in sight. She's got a small couch in front of the filing cabinets and one chair directly in front of her desk that I walk toward.
It feels a little like a walk of shame as I drop my two bags on either side of the chair and take a seat. I'm not sure why because Ava isn't the type to judge. Not for needing help, but I don't like feeling helpless. Or foolish.
Which is exactly what I am. A fool for trusting another pack so soon after learning exactly how cruel the world could be.
When the cushion deflates a little under my weight, I glance up to look at my best friend. She has leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, and is frowning at me. The same worry I heard in her voice on the phone is painting her features. I don't say anything, just stare at her as I try to work the lump from my throat and stop the tears from pricking my eyes. There's something about putting words to a hurt that makes it sting even more. Like alcohol on a burn.
"Do you want me to just start guessing?" She huffs after the silence has stretched on a little too long. Apparently, that's all the push I need because the floodgates open up after that. Starting from the pregnancy scare, about avoiding the pack because I was worried how they'd feel about it, through to the actual appointment and learning I could be infertile. When I get to the miscarriage, my voice dips to barely above a whisper, and by the time I've finished with what I heard Pack Whitlock saying, her eyes are comically wide, and she's clutching her phone. My eyebrows dip when the first thing she does after my demoralizing monologue is unlock her screen and start typing up a message; her fingers fly across the screen before she hits send, locks it back, and places it face down on her desk again. I want so badly to ask who she just messaged, but it's not really any of my business, and maybe it has nothing to do with me.
"Okay. Wow. I'm not sure where to start." She puts her head in her hands, takes a fortifying breath, and then stands abruptly from her chair, making me startle a little in my seat. She walks around the desk before perching on the thick armchair next to me, grabs my head and shoulders in a side hug, and pulls me tightly against her body. Soft fingers stroke through my hair, and she continues, "I'm so, so sorry for what you've gone through. With the miscarriage and those pricks that drugged you. Nobody deserves that, least of all you."
My throat closes up again. A sob builds, and I shove my face further into her shoulder, soaking up the comforting touch, and let it rip out of me. "Shhhh, it's okay. Let it out," she soothes as I unleash months’ worth of heartache into her Hog's Head t-shirt.
"I just don't know what it is. If I knew wh-what I was doing to a-attract them, I'd stop."
"They were predators, Summer. There's nothing you could have done," she pauses and then leans away from me, so I pull back, too, to look at her. "But... babe... Pack Whitlock is not like your old pack."
I feel my eyebrows pull down, and my head shakes in denial. "Ava, I heard them–"
She tilts her head and looks sympathetically at me. In a soft voice, she says, "Did you hear them admit to drugging you? Or that you are their mate?"
"To drugging me!" I growl back automatically, standing up and pacing her small office. The smell of burnt nutmeg surrounds us as my frustration and stress leak out of me in droves. But once I say the words out loud, I know they aren't true.
If she's ever going to believe she's our mate, it's now.
They never did say anything about drugs or tricking me into anything. But that doesn't mean anything. Their words were admission enough. Why else would I have developed these feelings so hard, so fast, for an entire pack of strangers? I mean, seriously. What would the odds be of me escaping a group of alphas that pretended to be my fated mates, only for me to run into the arms of my actual mates?
Slim to freaking none.
That's not my life. This isn't some fairytale. Good things don't happen to me. Not since my mom died, since I met Jade, and everything went to hell. It's much more likely that they're going to try to convince me I'm their mate, that they've poisoned me than it is that I actually am.
