Page 62 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
Javi’s jaw ticks. “Why does it sound like you’re trying to help me?”
“Because…” Ephraim pauses, and then his voice drips with spite. “I don’t like what she did, and she’s a stupid bitch. But I wish she’d never come back. It’s shameful. She should’ve died at sea like her?—”
The door slams shut.
Hard.
Javi stands there, his back to me, his whole body vibrating with barely leashed fury.
I can’t speak.
Can’t even look at him.
My eyes drop to the pile of junk we sorted last night, desperate for something safe to look at—anything that isn’t the ghost of my brother’s voice in my ears, telling me I should’ve drowned.
When Javi turns around, I don’t raise my head.
“I don’t want to let you go there,” he says.
There—meaning the kitchen, the omegas, the pack rules I thought I’d escaped.
But that’s not what I hear.
I hearthereas in the pain. The shame. The memory of my mother on her knees, the storm washing over the Rig while I ran and ran and didn’t save a single one of them.
“I’ll be fine,” I whisper. It’s the lie I’ve told myself since the day I left.
I drag in a breath, my voice trembling as I add, “But I’m not wearing that raggedy old nightgown again. I’ll keep the t-shirt, thank you.”
Javi doesn’t say anything for a moment, and when I finally glance up, he’s just standing there—watching me. Like he wants to say something else. Like he doesn’t know how.
“You’re more than welcome to the t-shirt,” he says, voice gruff. “Now…we need to figure out a story for what I did to you today.”
I blink. Then?—
A ghost of a smile touches my lips.
Our little game.
Our ugly, lifesaving inside joke.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask.
He crosses his arms, his mouth twitching into the barest hint of a grin.
“I’ve got some ideas.”
14
JAVI
Dinner is just as painful as I expected it to be.
Pretending like this is a family when it’s little more than a cult, eating food prepared by prisoners. This is not my idea of a good time, and I don’t think it’s Peaches’ either. The women in the kitchen don’t talk much, and they don’t even introduce themselves…but then, I don’t think they’re allowed to. Gideon gives them a stern look every time they make so much as a peep, moving listlessly between the dining room and the kitchen.
All that being said, the room is surprisingly empty. With three wives, I thought Gideon would have lots of children running around, but it’s just me, Ephraim, and Abel as guests at his table. The spread of food is far more than the four of us need, and I have to wonder how they’re so well-stocked out here.
I sit on the side of the table facing the kitchen, just close enough that I can glimpse her through the open doorway whenever she passes by.
