Page 34 of Pack Owned
What she’s not saying is fucking huge, but I can read the silence. Had enough in my past to fill a damn encyclopedia of abuse. I want more than anything to pull her into a hug. Not paw her, just comfort, but it’s too soon, and she doesn’t know me from a random dude on the street.
“Yeah…” I trail off, not wanting to taint this moment with too much darkness, but I need her to know she’s not alone, that we both have ghosts haunting us.
She gives me a small, almost imperceptible nod. When I reach for her hand, a tremor shoots through her body, a flinch so sharp, it feels like a blow, and it guts me that she is so vulnerable.
Who hurt her so badly that she reacts like this? Rage simmers in my veins, and I want to track down the bastard and put him in the hospital just like I did my foster dad.
When I drop my hand and take a step back, relief washes over her features. I clench my fists, holding back the anger, but I don’t want Kayla to think I’m upset with her.
“Hey, I’ll switch over the laundry when it’s done. Why don’t you take a tour of the place? I’ll come find you when the food gets here. Should be about half an hour.”
“Sounds good. I’ll let you know if I discover any skeletons in your closets.” A lopsided grin tugs at her lips, and she heads out.
I lean against one of the dryers.
“Kayla,” I call out, my voice husky sounding.
She pauses in the hallway, facing me.
“You don’t have to fight alone anymore.”
CHAPTER 11
KAYLA
As I walk through the massive mansion, every echo of my footsteps screams, “Imposter!” Seriously, this place is fancier than a five-star restaurant on a billionaire’s yacht, from what I’ve seen on TV, anyway.
Spiral staircases wind upward, dripping with wealth I couldn’t even imagine in my wildest dreams back home. With every ornate tapestry, every gleaming chandelier that dangles from the high ceilings, I’m reminded of how far from home I really am—a world away from the cramped two-bedroom I share with my mom and stepdad.
“Damn,” I murmur, fingertips brushing over a dark mahogany banister, cool and smooth under my touch. Bet no one here would have to share a bathroom with a creep who huffs beer like it’s air. Gary’s sweaty form pops into my mind, and I gag a little.
I peek into several cavernous bedrooms, easily two or three times bigger than my bedroom. The sleek modern furniture and decor seem to say in a snobby voice, “You can’t afford a crumb of this.” Hell, I probably couldn’t afford to buy one of the doorknobs without going broke. Wishing like hell I couldis a longing in my chest—wanting the fairy tale the mansion promises. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling of being a caged animal on display, all dolled up but still feral underneath.
“Get it together, Kayla,” I scold myself, rubbing my arms for comfort. “You’re not here to play princess.” Inhaling sharply, I force my feet forward, each step an act of rebellion against the seductive pull of comfort this place dangles before me.
Survival… that should be my only desire. Not the lingering warmth of an Alpha’s hug or the treacherous fantasies of a life ensnared in silken sheets.
“Survive first. Dream later,” I remind myself, though my voice feels hollow.
This fancy-pants mansion is suffocating, like a gold-plated cage imprisoning me.
“Mom.” The word catches in my throat. She has to be freaking out by now and probably staring at the cracked screen of her phone, waiting for a call that never comes.
God, she must be frantic. The thought alone sends a jolt of urgency zipping through my veins like electricity.
Ugh, gotta find a phone. Gotta let her know that I’m not hurt.
I creep through rooms dripping with velvet curtains and shelves overflowing with books I really want to crack open and lose myself in.
But a phone? Nada.
Just the cold hum of technology locked behind password screens. Several laptops lay scattered across mahogany desks, their sleek surfaces reflecting my frustrated scowl. After trying a few random guesses and getting the error messages on the laptops, I sigh heavily. They’re like everything else here—pretty to look at but completely useless.
With a frustrated huff, I make my way to the kitchen, banking that Dane might be there. He owes me one, right? The least he could do is lend me a phone.
“Hello?” My voice bounces around the huge kitchen.
Nothing. Zip. Zilch.
