Page 146 of Ours Later

“Quack, quack motherfucker!” I yell in Dr. Brunes’ face as he gets the same treatment.

Enjoying his pain, I hum to myself as I put the brand aside and pick up a pair of scissors. Making quick work of their pants and boxers, I begin to sing as I pull out knives and sharpen them slowly.

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall,” I sing as I crouch down in front of the two betas and begin to stab them.

Sometimes I hit their legs, other times the chair, but the truemoney shot is their ruined, sad cocks. It doesn’t matter how much they scream, or what they attempt to say to me, I continue to stab them.

I hope they feel as helpless as Nina did whenever they conducted their experiments. The blood flows onto the floor, soaking into the carpet as I work. I don’t give a shit since I’m wearing all black and I have a change of clothes for myself far away from the blood.

I have no idea how much time has passed as I find that the light has gone out of their eyes. They’re dead, but I’m not done yet.

There’s a lot of flammable wood in this room, making it easy to stoke the fireplace fire and get it spread out. I read that there are a lot of accidents during the winter months that occur just like this. The fire will burn hot and destroy any evidence that I was here, and a toxicology report won’t show the tranquilizer drug I used.

Packing up my shit, I let myself out the way I came in and jump the fence. Walking through the woods, I call my contact with the Alston pack.

“You good?” he asks, knowing it’s me.

“Yes, they’re out of commission,” I murmur. “I’m hiking out to where my pick up is. How is the hospital?”

“Evacuated,” he says. “Everyone is being moved due to carbon monoxide emissions. They have the fancy fire alarms that go off when the levels are too high. We insisted that they be transferred. Blowing it sky high now.”

“Good,” I say. I don’t ever want that building to be inhabitable again. “Thanks for this.”

“She’s our friend,” the alpha says. “As are you. This bullshit isn’t acceptable. We’ll see you on the plane.”

Hanging up, I pull my coat hood over my head and trudge into the night and the snow.

Ethan

Three years later

“I’m gonna get you!” I yell as I chase Juliette.

She squeals as she runs, her chubby little legs moving as fast as possible. I follow her to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself as we get lost in the greenery of the backyard, picking her up the second it looks like she’s going to trip.

Little legs can only run for so long before they get tired, after all.

I also may be kind of a helicopter dad. I’m trying really hard not to be, but I hate when she scrapes her knees. Riley is better at this shit because he knows how serious her bumps and bruises are.

Hugging Juliette to me as I blow raspberries onto her neck, I love every second of her giggles as I carry her back to where everyone else is.

“Did Dad catch you?” Nina asks, pretending to gasp.

Juliette giggles. Nina is wearing our son, Ellis, in a ring sling as she nurses him. She decided she was going to be a brat and name our son after my fake name.

I suppose I deserve it.

“I saw that you ran super fast,” Riley says, watching as I put her onto the ground so she can run to him.

“I did!” she says. “Dad always catches me.”

Since Juliette has three fathers, we keep it easy and have her call all of us “Dad.” None of us care that we’ll all answer to it when she says it. She thinks it’s hysterical when we do.

“He’ll always catch you,” my father chuckles.

Sometimes, I wonder if anyone will ever be an asshole to our kids because their dads are related. Others, I decide that our kids will be aware enough to be able to tell people off and then make them accept it.

We don’t get to choose our scent matches, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

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