Page 18 of Saved By The King's Gamma

Shaking my head, I pop the trunk, grab a fresh shirt, and pull it on. Hearing the butcher’s shop bell jingle, I glance over my shoulder, and a scream rings out from an elderly lady sitting out the front of the bakery eating a scone under a blue and white umbrella.

Liam struts out naked, drenched from head to toe in blood. He shakes off some congealed blood that has plopped on his foot. His apron is clutched in his hand, and he flicks it out.

“That is not coming in the car. Put it in the trunk,” I tell him.

“But how will it dry?” he whines.

“I gotta grab Logan and Oliver. The kids will freak if they see you like that,” I tell him when a shriek reaches my ears and a crowd forms around the old woman.

“Are you itchy?” Liam asks, scratching his balls. I snort when people rush over to the small bakery. Liam glances over there, and so do I, to see the old woman choking. Another woman pats her back frantically, and Liam sighs before stomping over to her.

He starts performing the Heimlich maneuver on her, which is a sight to see. Everyone scatters as he grabs her. His arms wrapping around her, his naked ass tensing as he performs the task. A piece of scone flies from her mouth, and she sucks in a breath before he lets her go. The woman collapses on the ground, and Liam clicks his tongue, sitting her up, his junk right in her face. She gasps, her eyes going wide when she realizes his dick is like an inch off her face. She looks at him as if she’s going to faint.

Liam winks at her. “I’ve got something you can choke on, love,” he says, blowing her a kiss. She stares at him, appalled, his dick slapping her cheek as he turns to walk back to the car. I shake my head as he leans into the trunk to retrieve some clothes.

He pulls on some shorts and a tank top before moving toward the passenger side, and I jump in the driver’s seat, starting the car. As I tear out of the town square, the engine revs loudly, headed for the orphanage. Liam lights a smoke, and I click my fingers at him before he growls, pulling the smoke out from between his lips, handing it to me, and lighting another. I draw back on the smoke while weaving through the streets to get the kids.

“So what do you intend to do with them, anyway? Since when did you become all fatherly?” Liam asks, and I shrug. I never gave much thought to kids until I met Abbie. Maybe I could keep them? I shove the idea away. Abbie might not want kids. I suppose we will see each other when I get her back.

“I’m not keeping them,” I tell him.

“So, why are we taking them?”

“Clarice,” I tell him.

“Ah, I see, a fine woman. Too bad she could never have kids. She would have been an excellent mother,” Liam says.

“Well, she is a mother. She practically raised Kyson and half the servant’s kids. Clarice will look after them, love them,” I tell him, and Liam nods.

“That she will; my favorite childhood memories were always with her,” Liam states and I glance at him but he has that far away expression on his face he gets when he relives his past.

I slap his chest and jolt him back to the present. He clears his throat, and I arch a brow at him wondering where his mind went. He pulls a flask from his boot, flicking off some gunk from Doyle out the window.

“You good?” I ask him as he drinks the entire thing in two long gulps.

“Yep, peachy. Mind wandered a little; not to worry, let’s get these adoptees,” he chuckles. I snort and shake my head as I pull up in front of the orphanage.

I park the car out front of the orphanage, the engine rumbling softly as it idles. The building is dimly lit, and the sun is almost completely down. The faint sound of children’s chatter filters through the slightly open windows, a reminder of the chaos and suffering that lingers in this place. Liam flicks his cigarette out the window, crushing the last bit of it under his boot as he steps out.

“Alright, let’s go get the kids, so I can get home and feed my sausage to Dustin,” he says, clapping his hands together and rubbing them like he’s preparing for a grand event. I raise an eyebrow at vulgar words.

“My sausage not Doyle sausage; I left those for Alpha Dean to chow on,” he says smugly.

I roll my eyes at his antics but follow him up the creaking wooden steps toward the entrance. Before we even knock, the door creaks open, and Katrina stands in the doorway, her face weary but relieved.

“Thank God, I thought you were the Alpha,” she says softly, stepping aside to let us in. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back for them when you were gone for so long.”

Her eyes linger on me for a moment, gratitude shining in them despite her exhaustion. The bruises on her arms, faint but visible, tell me everything I need to know about what she’s endured here at the hands of Mrs. Daley while trying to protect these kids from the old bitch. I can see the faint hand prints like she was grabbed. Katrina, noticing my stare, tugs the sleeve of her top down.

“Those from Daley or you need me to sort the Alpha out for you?”

“No, my father, he isn’t too steady on his feet these days.” I watch her carefully wondering if she is lying.

“Promise, no one is hurting me, I would say so if they did. So the boys, I will grab them for you.” She wanders off, calling up the stairs for the boys. I hear the patter of tiny feet rushing to the stairs. Katrina returns and sighs heavily.

“Are you sure you can take them?” she asks.

“We’ll take care of them,” I tell her firmly. “And we’ll figure something out for the rest of the kids soon. Are you right with them until then?”

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