The Loneliest Alpha (The MacKellen Alphas) (35 page)

After
a while she went back and finished dressing, her body numb. Her feet didn’t
even feel the cold floor. She went into the kitchen and knew she should eat yet
had no appetite.

The
house was quiet and she was all alone. She just stood in the kitchen, numb with
pain. Eventually she found herself in the basement staring at her feathered bra
and panty set. Her crowning jewel. Her best work yet.

It
looked like shit. Ugly and stupid. She’d wanted to wear it for him. He actually
understood her work and appreciated it so he’d see all the hard work she’d put
into laying each feather just right. She fingered the soft feathers of the bra.
Back and forth her hand waved over the feathers, letting them tickle her
fingertips.

He
called her words a low blow. Of course, he was right. She had said what she
said to make him hurt and it’d worked. He’d hurt. That meant he cared, right?
Jo had said Gavin must love her. He must, right? She hurt and she wanted to
make it worse. Some sick kind of gluttony.

Her
chest trembled and she sucked in an unsteady breath as her fingers still trailed
back and forth, back and forth over the bra.

His
parting words made her think back to what she’d said last night and then this
morning. He couldn’t be right. She’d meant what she said. That’s why she said
it. But when pressured by him, why couldn’t she just say it again. It should be
easy, right?
I don’t want to go home. This is my home and I possibly want to
mate with you
. A spike of fear shot down her spine.

She
didn’t see herself going back to her pack. Although right now she wanted
nothing more than to be far, far away from here and the MacKellen pack. If she
did leave now at the first sign of a fight between them, then that would make
her weak. She was stronger than that, dammit. Wasn’t she?

She
thought back to her fights with Robert. He’d always made her feel defensive of
everything, maybe even when it wasn’t necessary. But, as she thought back on
their six months together, she began to recall other things. Things about
herself maybe she hadn’t wanted to see. Like the way she’d push him away or left
after a fight and not talked to him for a day or two. Sometimes she’d even lash
out verbally saying mean things meant to make him hurt. Thinking back on it
made her stomach clench with disgust. Even if he had been a jerk, that didn’t
mean she had to be so mean.

Slowly
her fingers curled into the bra forming a tight grip. She grabbed the other
half of and pulled until her muscles strained. Seams popped and tore. Material
ripped. The bra snapped in half in a brutal tear. One cup separated from the
other. Feathers floated to the workbench in crumpled piles of trash.

Why
did he have to be like that? How could he be so mean and just leave like they
didn’t matter? Like she didn’t matter. Was that how Robert had felt when she’d
done it? She had to admit, being on the other side of it was sickening.

But
there were no logical thoughts about how she knew deep inside he cared for her.
That he’d been angry and lashing out just as she’d been. That maybe he deserved
to hear her hesitance, about her uncertainty. None of that seemed real just
then. Only the heartache and anger.

Breathing
hard, she grabbed her scissors and started cutting. First the cups of the bra,
decimating the beautiful contraption into something unrecognizable. She tore
the straps off, snipped feathers away, ripped open her perfectly sewn seams.
And only after the bra lay in dozens of broken pieces did she grab the matching
underwear and do the same. Her vision blurred as she cut, cut, cut. Tears
spilled silently down her face and over her clenched jaw.

Finally,
after the damage was done, she stepped back and stared at it. All her work.
Done. She’d never be able to repair it. It would never look the same, even if
she wanted to fix it. The beautiful work of art was now trash.

On
heavy feet that dragged, she started backing away from the damage. The scissors
clattered to the floor.

I
love him. That’s why this hurts so bad. I fucking love him
.

Alicia
fell to her knees, her head sinking into her hands. Why couldn’t he be here
right now so she could tell him? She wanted his arms wrapped around her showing
her he’d keep her safe and sound. She needed that raspy voice calling her sweetheart,
not Alicia.

Yes,
it would be a challenge to be the mate of someone who was an alpha, but she
could do it. She had the strength. Maybe she could be strong enough to not lash
out with petty insults. It was something she could work on. But that was only
if he still wanted her. She’d never unsee the look in his eyes, or unhear the
way he’d said her name—hollow and deadpanned.

How
did she go about telling him that she loved him? Would he even believe her
after this morning? He might just think it some ploy to get back in his good
graces.

An
hour went by and then another. She struggled between wanting to go back
upstairs to bed to cry and staying in the basement to work. Every time she even
thought about lying back down in that bed after this morning though her stomach
clenched painfully. And when she looked over at the mess of her workbench her
eyes watered again.

Walking
back to the mess she’d made, she touched the crooked feathers and torn threads.
Her eyes watered and she forced back the tears.

“I’m
such an idiot.”

There
were two things she had to do. She had to track down Gavin and apologize. And
two, she had to start all over on her design.

Neither
of which would be easy to do but it had to be done. Beginning with talking to
Gavin. She loved him. She could see that clearly now. And she had to find him
and tell him.

Upstairs,
she slipped on her shoes and opened the front door. A startled scream tore from
her throat. Jo stood there, fist poised in the air to knock.

A
frown pulled at his mouth as he eyed her up and down. “You look like hell.
Someone dying or you just havin’ a shitty day?”

She
wiped at her face self-consciously. “You could say that. Do I look that bad?”

He
grinned. The bastard. “Your eyes are red, the skin underneath is puffy, and
your hair’s a mess. You look like a lady who’s just been in a big fight.”

“You
know all about them then.”

His
grin faded. “Yeah, well, I came by to check in before I switch shifts. How is
everything?”

She
crossed her arms and sniffled. “Been better. Have you seen Gavin? I really need
to talk to him.”

“I
did. If it makes you feel any better he looked like absolute hell too.”

Her
lips twitched. “Actually, that does. Can you ask him to come home…please?”

He
glanced away. “Yeah, if I see him again. Security’s been amped up so things are
busy. Hey, don’t worry about it too much. I told you…he cares about you. I
gotta get goin’, but you need stay in today.”

“Yay,”
she said lamely.

Chuckling,
he gave her a flirty wink taking her completely surprise. She didn’t think Jo
had a flippant bone in his body.

“Stay
inside and I’ll try to track down Gavin for you.”

“He
said he was going to talk to Marcus and Harry.”

His
eyes flared with hate. “Yeah, I’ll start there. Try not to drive yourself stir
crazy in there, ’kay?”

“Got
it.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile as he left.

And
again she was alone in an empty, quiet house. Needing something to do until Jo
could get Gavin for her, she headed back into the basement. At the sight of her
wasted work she started to cry again. The tears fell but she didn’t bawl like
she wanted to when she shoved the wasted bra and underwear into the trash bin.

Just
seeing those feathers flutter in the bin felt like someone squeezed the life
right out of her.

“You
can fix this, girl. Just start over. Now that you know what it looks like
completed, you already know all the steps to make this. You can do it even
faster than before.”

This
was the first time she’d ever destroyed a piece of her work out of emotional
anger. Right, she thought, letting out an unsteady breath. Music first.
Grabbing her headphones, she popped in ear buds and cranked up some classic
rock.

She
got to work gathering materials out of her big box. More feathers, ebony
thread, the satin she used that the feathers covered so the underwear would fit
smoothly against the skin.

Time
flew by as she lost herself in music. She cut the lengths of material to size.
Her hands picked up memorized patterns of sewing as she started the basic
layout of the bra.

One
song ended and there was a moment of silence before the next came on. In that
moment she heard something.

Stilling,
she pulled the ear buds out, head canted toward the stairs. She swore she’d
heard a floor board creak. “Gavin?” she called out.

No
response.

Moving
slowly, she walked toward the basement stairs and looked up. A tingling
awareness moved down her spine making her tremble. The basement door was shut,
but she couldn’t remember shutting it when she came down here.

“Gavin?”
she tried again.

It
happened so quickly her mind couldn’t keep up. A man burst from the laundry
room wearing a black ski-mask, leather gloves, and black clothes.

A
terrified scream burst from her and she raced up the steps at a frantic pace,
her heart booming. The man grabbed her ankle and she slammed down, her chin busting
against the edge of the step. Screaming, she kicked back with both legs and
heard a grunt as her foot connected with his face. The man must have closed her
in down here. It took that one moment extra to open the door and slow her down,
for him to catch up to her.

He
yanked her back against him and she roared in ungodly terror. Reaching up she
grabbed at his mask, trying to find hair to pull or gouge his eyes, but the
soft, elastic material made her movements clumsy.

Strong
arms banded around her waist dragging her up the stairs to the basement door.
Grunting, he opened it and started to drag her out. She let her scream go. A
moment later, his leather hand slapped over her face—hard.

“Shut
the fuck up!”

She
stilled as she tried to recognize that voice. Something about it sounded
familiar but he spoke softly, disguising his voice. Why weren’t the guards
rushing in to help her? She was supposed to have extra security.

He
started sidling down the hallway, walking them sideways toward the backdoor.
Fortunately her weight seemed to slow him down. Breathing hard through her
nose, nostrils flaring, her eyes watered from his crushing grip. She tried to
push away,
do
something
, but her feet only squeaked across the
kitchen linoleum. Then her eyes spotted the butcher’s knife sitting in the
sink.

 
The sound of her heartbeat thrashed in her ears like a percussion symphony.
Sweat made her hands clammy and dripped down her flanks.

She
struck. It wasn’t a coordinated attack because she knew nothing of fighting.
She attacked on plain instinct. She jumped in his arms, jerking against his
hold. She kicked out at the kitchen table and found enough leverage to push
back against her attacker.

It
worked. He went stumbling back, his bruising grip around her ribs loosening. She
reached behind her, finding his mask and dug her nails in until his gargled
scream nearly shattered her eardrums.

He
dropped her. Feet sliding on the floor in panic, she raced across the kitchen
and grabbed the knife. She spun around but he was only just now stalking toward
her. Why couldn’t she stop shaking?

She
held the knife two-handed pointed out in front of her. With her arms trembling,
the blade wobbled unsteadily.

“Don’t
come any closer,” she said, fear making her voice high and erratic.

He
kept coming closer and she kept her back pressed against the counter, moving
sideways toward the backdoor. Still, he kept coming, moving with slow,
purposeful steps.

“I
mean it. Stay back!”

“Put
the knife down. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tears
spilled down her cheeks. “Stay back! I will kill you!”

He
stopped coming after her, cocked his head to watch her from beneath that mask. “Just
put it down,” he whispered.

“N-no.”
Moving the blade to one hand, she reached out for the door handle. Her fingers
brushed against chipped paint and splintered wood of the aged door and then
finally across the cold metal of the deadbolt. Swallowing over the lump in her
throat, she found the door handle and turned it.

It
all happened so quickly, though her mind slowed everything down to excruciating
detail. Whether she wanted to or not, she absorbed every moment of what was
happening. Down to the sound of the doorknob jiggling, all the way to noticing
the golden brown of his eyes.

So
when he launched himself at her, she reacted in panic as a scared animal does toward
an attacker. He lurched forward and kicked one long leg out. She hadn’t been
expecting that. Caught by surprise, she reached much too slow. She slashed with
the blade, nicked his leg, but it didn’t matter. Their blows were not equal in
measure. His kick punched her gut, slamming her up against the door and
knocking the wind and knife out of her hand.