Page 93 of Defiant Beta

“You brought her with you?” I flinch at the volume of Xavier’s yell.

I reach for the phone, but Della beats me to it. A few clicks and she’s lowered the volume to just below ear-piercing levels.

“There was nobringinganyone. Vincent and I have an agreement.” Della tucks the cell phone back in the hands-free as I internally wince when I pull away from the house.

Xavier is silent for a long ass time, and I know exactly why that is.

“He told her,” I say as I speed toward town. “Ididwarn him.”

“Warn who what?” Della asks.

“What else did my brother tell you?” Xavier demands.

Her mouth opens in a silent O. “You’rebrothers?”

Xavier muffles a curse, and I hide a smile.

“Do you have a fake name as well? Wait. Don’t answer that question first. Iknewyou couldn’t be a real gardener. I have never seen someone do such a shit job of raking leaves in my life.”

“I did a good job,” Xavier’s voice rises, clearly offended.

“Sure you did.” Della rolls her eyes, then shakes her head, mouthing. “Terrible. Truly awful.”

I grin at her.

“What car?” I ask Xavier before he can continue arguing with Della.

Luckily, she’s in sweats and sneakers. Della is determined. If Xavier’s call had come when she was in PJs, she wouldn’t have stopped to dress first before following me out.

“Electric blue sedan. A Volvo.”

Vincent settled on a black Audi because it was discreet. My dream car has always been a Ford Mustang since my dad restored an old one when I was a kid. The bonus is it’s fast as fuck so it doesn’t take long to get to the school.

Just up ahead, I spot a blue sedan turning right and disappearing from view. A Volvo. Mr. Irwin’s car. “We’ll call you back, Xavier. I have him.”

Della turns off the phone. “So, who are we tailing?”

“Science teacher.”

“Why would he kill your omega?”

“I have no fucking clue, but we’re about to find out.”

We lose him a couple of times, and I nearly drive right past a parked car when Della grabs my arm and squeezes. “There. Outside the motel.”

“So much for a doctor’s appointment,” I mutter as I park in the motel parking lot.

“Doctor’s appointment?” Della’s forehead furrows.

I shake my head and cut the engine. “It’s not important. If I ask you to wait in the car?”

She unsnaps her seatbelt. “You’d be wasting your time.”

“Thought so,” I mumble.

The yellowed price-per-hour sign is the first clue that this won’t be pleasant or clean.

Della shudders and rubs her arms. “I feel dirty just looking at it.”

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