Page 92 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
ChapterTwenty-Six
WHITNEY
The guest house is nice. Cozy. There are only two beds. Once the guys finally come in, I’m standing in the hallway, staring at the biggest room and chewing on my lip. This is going to be fun. There are five of us. Two people can fit on the other bed, but three people will have to stay on the bigger one. Common sense tells me to take the couch. I can’t help wondering if Hayden will share a room with me. He made promises earlier, and I’m eager to see more of his dominant side.
“Yeaaah.” Asher stops beside me and glances between the rooms. “It’s a little smaller than our house, but we’ll make do. Trev can sleep on the couch.”
“The fuck I will,” the grumpy man says, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
My empty wine container sits on the counter. There wasn’t nearly enough alcohol in the one drink. I sigh and turn from the rooms, bumping Asher’s shoulder on purpose.
“Hey.”
“Oh sorry, didn’t see you there.”
“Liar,” he whispers, grabbing me around the waist and yanking me against his front. My muscles tighten, and I forget how to think for a full second. The room warps. Stains grow on the walls, threadbare carpet replaces the nice tile. Even the smells change. Tobacco, alcohol, and poison.
“Stupid. Fucking. WHORE.” Mother’s arms are like iron, pinning me against her as she drags me toward the cellar. Her pre-heat pheromones smell like acid, tainted with her fury.
“No. Stop! Let me go.” My pleas are pathetic and broken.
“Asher,” Trev barks.
His anger brings me back, but the memory rides me like a beast ready to sink its fangs into my skin. I flinch when he growls. I’m still trapped against Asher’s chest. A strangled sound leaves my mouth. My lungs seize as I struggle to breathe and fight off a flashback. Trev drops his bottle on the counter and storms toward us, his glare slicing through Asher, whose arms are still holding me hostage. Asher realizes his mistake. He releases me and moves back, giving me plenty of space and raising his hands to show he’s not a threat.
“I’m sorry.” Remorse coats his words like honey.
I try to open my mouth, try to tell him it’s okay. It’s not his fault. I’m the damaged one. I can’t say anything though. All I can do is suck in sharp breaths, hoping my lungs don’t burst from how hard I’m suddenly panting. Sweat pools on my lower back and my hands grow cold. My heart is hammering against my ribcage so hard I worry my bones will shatter.
Trev stops in front of me, a fierce presence that somehow keeps me from losing myself to a moment I’d rather not relive. He lifts his hand, slowly reaching toward me. His palm rests on my cheek. With the most understanding look in his eyes, he stares into my soul. Trev flips the pages of the diary I keep tucked away, scanning the contents with nothing but concern. There’s no pity. He’s worried, but he doesn’t feel sorry for me.
There’s the time Mother beat me in the kitchen, hitting me over and over again with a wooden spatula.
Another when she cornered me in the bathroom and shoved my head into the wall because I used her conditioner. At the time, we only had one bottle.
There’s so much more written in that journal of pain. So much I try to hide. Trev doesn’t know all the ways she tortured me. He can’t know everything that she’s done. But his face darkens as if he does, eyes flashing with violence. The anger isn’t directed at me. No. The look on Trev’s face promises retribution. I grab his hand, leaning in to the touch. My tears coat his hand, but he doesn’t care.
I suck in a shaky breath. “I’m okay.”
“Who?”
“No,” I say, holding his gaze.
He starts to speak again, but I pull his hand away. Turning his palm, he captures my hand to keep me from running. His face turns from angry to desperate. Trev is a natural born protector. It’s not his job to protect me though.
“No.” This time my answer is firm.
A deep rumbling builds in his chest. He doesn’t like my defiance. That’s too damn bad. I’m not going to tell him who or what happened. He already saw too much. They all did. I flick my gaze to the side. Hayden and Avi are standing side by side, equally displeased frowns on their faces.
I shake my head. “I’m not your charity case.”
“Who the hell said you were?” This comes from Asher who is still behind me.
“You don’t have to say it.” I glance over my shoulder, hating how far away he is. He moved all the way down the hall, like he thought the extra distance would help erase the last few minutes.
“You’re not our charity case,” Hayden says.
He and Avi slowly walk toward where Trev and I stand. They’re afraid I’ll startle. I rub my hands over my face and groan.
