Page 41 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
“I do care about you,” Angel says, shame in his eyes. “Bea–”
“Just go.”
“But Bea–”
“Nope,” Courtney declares, firing the shotgun into the air. Thick smoke billows from the barrel but she manages to stay on her feet this time. “I’ve been practicing,” she whispers to me, before shouting over to the alphas. “Just get out of here.”
The alphas look like they might start arguing again but she waves the gun at them and they slink off, climbing into the car and pulling away.
“Jeez, I wouldn’t want to be in that car ride,” Courtney says. “If looks could kill …”
“Exactly,” I mutter, and if I was ever in danger of wavering about these men, that danger has well and truly passed.
10
Axel
That didn’t go accordingto plan.
To be honest, in the last few weeks, nothing has. Not since Bea stumbled into my life at that gas station in the middle of nowhere. Since that day everything has been different. Nothing has run smoothly. Nothing like it should.
Getting the girl should have been easy as pie.
Getting the girl back after we screwed up should have been a little more tricky, but nothing to break into a sweat about.
It seems I was wrong.
Bea isn’t like girls we’ve dated before. She’s not like any omega I’ve ever met.
She doesn’t behave like she’s damn well meant to.
And, fuck me, if that isn’t half the reason I’m falling for her.
Maybe I like the sensation of whiplash. Maybe I’ve always liked it.
Plodding along, everything always the same, is dull, dull, dull.
I could do with a little tornado like her in my life.
Unfortunately, that’s looking unlikely. Because, even facing a torrent of bullets is not enough for her to forgive me. To forgive us.
I turf Angel out of my car as quickly as possible. I should never have agreed to his stupid plan to visit Bea together. He convinced me it was important to show her a united front. I agreed through gritted teeth. But the two of us keeping a united front is like two lions in a cage agreeing not to fight.
I drive back to York Tower, taking the elevator straight up to my office and ignoring anyone who tries to talk to me.
Including Mrs. Finch as I march past her desk and slam my office door shut.
It’s not enough to keep her out.
I should have locked the damn thing.
I’m standing by the window, hands in my pockets, staring glassy-eyed at the city view when she comes strolling in. She doesn’t even knock.
“Bea’s quit. I just received her resignation by email.”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumble, jiggling the loose change in my pocket.
“How do you know?”
