Page 13 of Nothing is Free

“Fine.” I stand and roll my eyes. “Now, if you’re done giving me things to do. I’m going to pass the fuck out for a while.” I turn to Omari, but he already has his eyes on Vic. I walk past them and head out of my office, stopping when I reach Dez’s side.

“If it means we are closer to getting her back, I will do whatever I can to help you achieve it. Even it if means charming the pants off people I want to kill.” I eye my brother and his nostril’s flare at my words. I let my money do the talking most of the time, but I am not afraid to get my hands dirty. Especially when it comes to my family. Dez does the heavy lifting most days, but this, this needs all of us. I pat Dez on the shoulder and let the weight of the past few days pull me toward the sweet release of sleep.

I drag my feet as I shed my clothes, not caring in the least where they fall. My bed has remained cold and empty since the night Freeya was taken from us. I can’t stomach to look at it without her in it or think about how her head shared mypillow in the late-night hours. But crawling toward the last place she laid her head I did, as if the satin covered pillow called to me, and let her scent engulf me. “Mon Chéri,” I whisper. My nose skims the fabric, sweet and floral, roses and her lavender shower gel greet me like an unspoken promise. We are going to find you baby.Je vous promets.I promise you. I take a deep breath, inhale her scent and groan. Dark brown eyes, smooth red lips, soft silky skin under my fingertips, flash behind my lids, the soft murmurs of promises, the need to tell the woman who came into our lives by chance, that I’ve fallen for her. I’ve fallen hard. My eyes flutter closed, and I let my dreams take me to a place where we are all together. At least, in my dreams, I can be with her and she with me.

CHAPTER 8

FREEYA

“Straighten up, you careless girl!” my mother shouted as her eyes travelled over me from head to toe, making sure nothing was out of place. I snapped my spine, rolled my shoulders back and placed my hands in my lap. I hadn’t noticed how comfortable I’d been, and I should have known better than to ever let my guard down in her presence. God forbid I relaxed, even though I was the only person in the room at the moment. She huffed and turned her attention back to the double sliding doors of the sitting room we were waiting in.

The doors were cracked open with enough room to see a beam of glorious sunlight shining through, and enough room for my mother’s eyes to spy on my father’s conversation with the men in the adjoining room. I can hear the low timbre of my father’s voice, followed by the sound of laughter at whatever he was saying.

I ran my sweaty palms down the fabric of the tightest black and white calf-length bodycon dress my mother had pulled from my closest for this occasion. In any other circumstance I would love the way the dress molded to my slimframe, the cap sleeves and sweetheart neck, definitely my style. At least she gave me something I am partially comfortable in. The only problem was the length, the hem wrapped around my calves making it hard to walk and I had no choice but to sit like a robot. My legs firmly closed for the duration of this visit. I would rather be in a T-shirt and jeans, maybe pyjamas, but it would give my mother a coronary even thinking it. Hmmm. . .maybe I should have been petulant and suggested it. I don’t think my sisters and I would grieve for her in the slightest. But none of them were treated as poorly as I was. It was as if she had hated me from the moment I’d left the womb. I sighed. How I longed for her early demise.

The day I had dreaded from the moment I turned seventeen was finally here: meeting my pack. Pack Harrington. Three Alphas in total, from what my mother told me: Damyn, Sebastian, and Josiah. All three came from prominent families, but Damyn had given the pack his last name, making him the lead Alpha. All of them were two years older than me and I was terrified. I didn’t want to disappoint my mother by voicing my fears. She wouldn’t listen to me anyway. So, I sat and waited to meet the men who would decide my future for the rest of my life. Was that what I wanted? No. Did I have a choice? Well, that was laughable. “Omegas don’t get to choose. Omegas obey. Omegas please,” my mother had stated to my sisters and me as a daily reminder. The sadistic mantra made me want to puke.

I didn’t register that I was nervously chewing on my fingernail, or that the heel of my shoe was beating a staccato beat against the hardwood floor until I felt the slice of pain across my face. My neck snapped to the side from the blow and my hand immediately reached up to protect my face from more of my mother’s assault. Once again, I was caught slipping.

“Straighten the fuck up, Freeya, and take your damn hand out of your mouth. Biting your nails after all the money we’ve spent to make you look halfway presentable. You ungrateful. . . God! If Dr. Neeson wasn’t one hundred percent sure you will present as an Omega, I wouldn’t bother with you.” She shook her head as she looked over her shoulder toward the doors then back at me in disgust.

Pointing behind me with cold indifference she shoed me away. “Go out the side door and fix your face. If I didn’t have to correct your behavior all the time you wouldn’t be sporting my handprint on your cheek. Find Marie and tell her to cover that up.” She turned and I watched her straighten, poised and presentable, as she approached the doors once more. Like she hadn’t just knocked the shit out of me. The woman was deranged. Why? What had I ever done to her but be whatever she’d asked me to be. I’d never stepped a toe out of line, yet I was treated like the crap on the bottom of her shoe most days.

Standing, I didn’t let the tears fall as I held my aching face. I could already feel the hot swollen raised flesh of her handprint underneath my palm. I tiptoed out of the room, spilling out into the hallway and leaned against the wall. Hanging my head, I let my old friend sorrow in as I tried to find my fight. The fight and the will to be more than this person, this puppet shaped and molded by my mother’s need to break me down. She had taken it all from me, and as the sting in my face subsided, I knew she’d won. At least for now.

“Freeya. Why are you out here?” I heard Marie but I didn’t look up. The soft shuffling of her shoes against the carpet was a soothing balm. I preferred the sound and I welcomed it. The alternative, the clicking of my mother’s stilettos, was never good and always led to more pain, mentally and physically.

“Freeya, I’m talking to you, child.” Marie stopped infront of me, but I didn’t want her to look at me. Not like this again. Lifting my chin with her finger, she took in my watery eyes and l watched her brown ones drift to the mark on my face. The only reaction I noticed was the widening of her eyes and the pursing of her lips.

“Yep. You know me. I’m a ball of disappointment,” I said to her as I swallowed past the lump in my throat. My self-deprecating thoughts only made her scoff at me as she grabbed my arm gently and pulled me down the hall.

“She hates me, Marie. I am her constant target. Nothing I ever do is right, and I will never measure up to her?—”

“She hates you because you are who she could never be child. Strong. Resilient. She hates you because she will never break your spirit, no matter how many times she leaves you black and blue. Don’t you see, Freeya, you won’t bend like your sisters. You never have. From the moment you were born, that stubborn soul of yours was determined and destined for more. You don’t fit the mould, sweet girl, and that is why you are your mother’s target.” She looked over her shoulder and offered me a soft smile so full of love and understanding that my chest ached from the force of it. “Some people don’t deserve the gifts the good Lord bestows upon them. Your parents are those people. If I could take you and your sisters away from this hellhole, I would,” she said in a whisper as she ushered me into the nearest restroom. “Now sit and let me fix you.” She pointed to a stool in front of the mirror. I sat and she began to take out make up to cover up the physical embodiment of my mother’s torment.

“Thank you, Marie,” I mumbled.

“I only wish I could do more, sweetheart,” she said as I finally let the tears fall. The only comfort I was ever given was in the presence of our housekeeper, who had been more of a mother than my own.

I let the tears slide down my cheeks unchecked. All I have are my memories to keep me company, and they’re not the good ones of me and Mercy or my pack. No, I am left to stew in the misery of my life under my parents’ controlling thumb. I just want to forget my past. I sniff. Fucking tears.I can’t wipe them away. I shift on the bed, but it doesn’t ease the ache in my back or the cramps in my legs from being held down for so long. Damyn made good on his promise and has left me strapped to the bed as punishment for attempting to run from him. Not like I got very far, but it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. At least I didn’t break my arm like I feared. He probably would have gotten off by the sight of me retrained in agony from a broken limb. In his eyes, I disobeyed. Like I am supposed to be okay with his nefarious plans of taking my child from me. He is right about one thing though, the only emotion I feel for him is hate. All-consuming hate. What little pity or misplaced feelings from the past are long gone. I don’t care about his reasons for doing the things he did for me to get to this moment. At this point, knowing what I know now, I would have refused his protection. He should have let my parents kill me. I want nothing from him. I hate him. I hate him for taking me, tagging me, making deals with my parents to steal my baby, imprisoning me, let alone thinking first and foremost that I will ever be his. It doesn’t matter how much paint you put on the walls or the creature comforts you provide, this room is my jail.

I need to stand, to move, anything but think. Anxiety is the monster under my bed, waiting and biding its time until I’m at my most vulnerable. Then it rises slowly, my dark desperate demon, hovering over me to take hold of my body. But I fight it back, despite the tears and rapid breathing, I push it all down and let my anger in instead. My rage burnshot and potent inside of me. If I can’t use my legs, then I will use my voice to purge all of these emotions out of me.

I scream at the top of my lungs, thrashing underneath the restraints. “Damyn! Damyn! Damyn! I know you can see me!” I turn my head to the cameras strategically placed in the top corners of the room. I wait. . .and wait some more. Silence. Then I start all over again.

I scream but he doesn’t come.

I scream until I have no voice left.

I scream until the metallic taste of my own blood slides down my throat.

“Damyn!”

“Dam. . .”

“D. . .”

I scream until I am silent, and all my tears have long gone.

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