Page 98 of Heat & Deceit
“No, actually. I feel like shit.”
Rome backs away and drops into a chair. “That makes three of us.”
“Do you want some?” Javi asks us, gesturing to the decanter.
I shake my head and find my own seat. I haven’t been drinking, not after the incident with Carmine. It wasn’t my lowest point, but it was pretty damn low. Throwing up after drinking as a full grown man is fucking embarrassing. Not to mention all the intrusive, self-loathing thoughts that were unlocked while I puked my guts out.
I know I’m a disappointment. My fathers told me as much, and with my pack, all I’ve done is mess up our chances of finding an omega. But those darker thoughts...those telling me everyone would be better off without me...they are hard to ignore.
The only thing that kept me hanging on was what Carmine had said.
I think I like you better when you’re sober.
It took heraccidentalfriend request to push me to go see her again. I managed to stay away from the shop for a few days, but as soon as I saw her picture appear on my phone...I had to see her. Her smile. The crinkle of her eyes. The way she huffs when I’m annoying her. Everything. I hadn’t realized how much I really needed them until I showed up that day. Carmine makes it easier to breathe.
And, for once, I’m not the fuck up.
Rome knew—or at the very least, suspected—she might be an omega. He should have told us. I could have talked to her. And said what?Hey, Carmine. I know you sort of hate me, but a little birdie told me you might be an omega. Are you looking for a pack?
As much as it pains me to admit it, Rome was right for not telling me. I wouldn’t have been able to keep myself from asking her. I wouldn’t have stopped until I knew.
“Tell us about the background check.” Javi drops into one of the leather chairs, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. Unlike me, he’s always been able to control himself when it comes to drinking. He can be one and done.
For me, one usually leads to two, and two leads to three as I chase a buzz that’ll dull those voices in my head reminding me how much I’ve failed my pack.
“Right. Carmine isn’t real, at least, not the recorded version of her. The license, beta security numbers, family records, all of it is obviously fake. A damn good fake, but forged, nonetheless.”
“So, who is she?” Javi drums his fingers on his leg. He’s trying to hide his anger, but he has to be pissed. This is more than a little lie.
“I don’t care who she is,” I snap, glaring at him. “We know her. She’s meant to be with us. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“We don’t know her,” Javi counters. “We only know who she let us know.”
“So what?” I lean forward and rest my arms on my thighs. “Do you need to know more? Would it change how you feel?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “But what if who we think Carmine is isn’t who she is at all? What if she isn’t that same beta you love bantering with? What if—”
“I’m not changing my mind based on a bunch of what ifs, Javi.” I narrow my eyes. “Carmine might have a fake identity, but that person we got to know is her.” It has to be. Otherwise, there’s no one else who’ll want me.
There’s no one else who would match me barb for barb.
And if there’s no one else... I stand up and storm to the piano, dropping onto the bench and placing my fingers on the ivory, breathing in and holding my breath as I begin to play the most complicated song I know. I hold that breath until it aches. I hold it until every thought but getting oxygen falls away. I hold it until my lips crack open of their own accord and I inhale, curling over the piano and playing until the guys stop talking.
I play and play until, one by one, they leave me. I play until the sun rises and until my eyes burn. I play until I teeter on the edge of nothing. My head buzzes with overstimulation and my muscles are numb, the ache having long since settled. I drop my forehead to the glossy black piano top, locking my hands behind my head and breathing through my teeth.
As much as I wish Javi’swhat ifshave no merit, I can’t help but worry that one specificwhat ifmight be true.
What if she’s not the person I love bantering with?
Twenty-Eight
NOVA
All I know is pain. Everything hurts. My skin burns. A cramp rocks through me, stealing my breath. I’d do anything to escape this agony. I’dtakeanything. I’m too tired to get up, though. A weak whine cuts through the abandoned warehouse, the keen of a dying animal. The sound is coming from me.
My skin is covered in dirt, but I don’t care. I pull my legs to my chest, ignoring the scrape of concrete and the blood that follows. Wave after wave of cramps and heat wash over me. My clothes are drenched in sweat and slick. I’m filthy, covered in scrapes and bruises from thrashing, and my mouth is so dry. So fucking dry.
I don’t think I’ll make it through this heat.
