Page 31 of Puck Your Charity

I throw the car into reverse and slam my foot on the gas pedal. The tires squeal against the concrete. I back out of the drivewayat a reckless speed, missing the mailbox by an inch. Shifting into drive, I speed down the suburban street.

I drive for twenty minutes without a destination. I take random turns, putting as much distance between myself and that house as possible.

I pull into the empty parking lot of a deserted strip mall. I throw the car into park and leave the engine running.

My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly thatmy knuckles ache. My chest heaves with ragged, tearing gasps. The adrenaline crash hits my system, leaving me trembling from head to toe.

I stare out the windshield at the cracked asphalt.

The terrifying reality settles into my bones. I have no job. I have no apartment. I have no family left to rely on. The suburban sanctuary turned into a violent trap. I sit in a running car in an empty lot with a bag of clothes and a dwindling bank account.

A broken sob rips past my lips. I bury my face in my hands and weep. I am homeless, in real danger, and I have nowhere else to run.

Chapter 10

My boots thud against the expensive hardwood floor of the living room. I pace the length of the rug. The rhythmic sound of my footsteps echoes off the vaulted ceiling.

I hate this feeling of losing control of my head. My cold, detached exterior took years to perfect. I built a fortress of arrogance to isolate myself. Now, a tiny woman with a sleek bob and a fierce glare occupies my thoughts.

I cross the room and stare through the bay windows. The manicured lawn offers no distraction.

My mind loops back to Olive. She sits in a cramped, depressing suburban box. The investigator pulled the property records for us. We know she shares a roof with her sister and a Beta brother-in-law. She suffers through the brutal side effects of those suppressants in some tiny spare room. The thought of another man living in the same house and looking at her makes my blood run hot. My teeth grind together with the urge to fight.

I turn back to the room. Malcolm sits on the leather sofa, staring at the muted television. Finn leans against the mantle, chewing on his thumbnail. The tension in the house suffocates us.

Footsteps hit the hardwood in the hallway.

Lawrence walks through the archway. He holds his phone in a tight grip. His charming, relaxed mask vanishes, replaced by a grim scowl.

"We have a problem." Lawrence stops in the middle of the room. "My private investigator sent a text."

Every muscle in my back tenses. Finn drops his hand from his mouth. Malcolm sits forward.

"What happened?" I keep my voice tight, fighting the panic rising in my throat.

"She ran out the front door carrying a duffel bag." Lawrence rubs the back of his neck. "The P.I. said she looked terrified. She got into her sedan and sped down the street. He followed her from a distance."

My hands form fists. "Where is she?"

"She parked in a deserted strip mall lot on the edge of town." Lawrence checks his phone screen. "She looks distressed. She’s sobbing."

My vision tints red.

A fresh, unbonded Omega sitting alone in an empty parking lot paints a target on her back. The city crawls with desperate Alphas looking for an easy mark. She lacks a pack to protect her. She lacks a safe place to hide.

"Send the coordinates to my phone." I march across the living room and grab my keys off the marble console table.

Malcolm stands up from the sofa. "Victor, wait. You piss her off. Showing up right now will make things worse."

"I have to go get her." I look at Malcolm, pleading with my eyes for him to understand. "I refuse to let her sit in a vulnerable car while we wait around for her to change her mind."

"She needs space." Finn steps away from the mantle. "We push too hard. We overwhelm her."

"I refuse to leave her there." I grip my keys. My protective instincts surge. But they bypass my heart and manifest as raw, blinding anger. I thrive on anger. It serves as my armor. I feel furious at the situation.

She acts foolish. She behaves like a stubborn child throwing a tantrum. We offered her a mansion, unlimited funds, and total security. She chose pride over survival. Her ridiculous need for independence pushes her into real danger. She thinks she can outrun her designation. She thinks she can survive on the streets without a pack. Her stubborn pride blinds her to the threat. Every second she sits in that car, a predator Alpha could catch her scent.

"You act reckless." Lawrence follows me to the hallway arch. "You plan to storm a parking lot and play the dictator. She hates that macho routine."