39: A Broken Filter

Quincy St. Martin

Old Mr. Maddox opens the door wider, and a small woman timidly walks in, bearing a tray of food.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” he says, approaching the bed as his eyes rake my face and my body. “Or you’ve grown even more beautiful since the last time I saw you.”

The woman lowers her head and places the tray on the nightstand. Her movements are stilted and fearful.

She takes the cover off a plate, and the mouthwatering smell of food wafts through the air.

I can’t shake the drowsiness, but I lift my head to look at the tray with one eye open.

Meatloaf with potatoes and vegetables. My stomach grumbles. The last time I ate was a handful of Cheetos those men spared me during the car ride yesterday.

Old Mr. Maddox laughs. “You must be hungry,” he says.

“Famished,” I tell him. My voice comes out very loud and strangely cheerful despite the strong revulsion that I feel toward the old man.

Then I remember that Luna Bianca, his daughter-in-law, was heavily pregnant when I took off a few months ago. So I can’t help adding, “How is it going, Grandpa? Congratulations! You must be busy playing with the grandkid?”

His face twists in distaste at the word ~Grandpa~. Hey, other sane people would be happy, but I know the former alpha is anything but. So, maybe I’m intentionally being insolent or maybe I’m still high from whatever drug they gave me.

“Go, Grandpa. Woot! Woot!” I raise my fist in the air before I drop my head back on the pillow. I’m still feeling dopey.

His bushy eyebrows slant down, and his lips purse further in displeasure. That is ~not~ a good look on him. Oh, dear. I hope the poor kid doesn’t inherit those.

This time his face turns red. Oops. Did I say that out loud? My brain-to-mouth filter was just a bit damaged before, but it’s truly broken now. Actually, inheriting anything from Grandpa is bad luck for the kid. Where did all his hair go? I mean, some men look great bald, but him?

Let’s just say he’s very unfortunate in the looks department despite being a werewolf. Some of those eyebrows should grow on his head.

Oh, no. Did I just say that out loud too?

“Insolent brat!” he roars. “I was being nice by bringing food up for you. You don’t deserve to be treated kindly if this is how you’re going to repay me.”

He then turns to the tiny woman who’s still standing by the nightstand. “You,” he yells. The cup and saucer rattle in her hands. “Take the food away.”

She almost drops everything in her haste to get out of there. She must be one of the omegas.

Not all packs treat their omegas badly, but in this pack they did, and abhorrently, basically like slaves with no prospects and no future.

Much like they treated me after my Nana died.

The difference between them and me is that I fought back. Nana made sure I knew my self-worth. Omegas here have no chance. Their spirits are destroyed before they have the chance to sprout and flourish. A lifetime of conditioning can do that to a person.

Old Mr. Maddox grabs my face roughly. His eyes are dark, and his fingers dig into my cheeks.

“You!” he barks, spittle flying everywhere. “You’ll learn your place very soon,” he threatens as he pushes my face away and storms out. The house rattles from the sound of the door that he slams behind him.

I wipe his spit off my face. ~Ewwww~!!!

The drug they gave me, whatever it is, is very peculiar. It makes me very sleepy, but I can think with extreme clarity in short bursts. However, I can’t stop saying whatever I’m thinking, out loud.

I’m about to doze off again when I hear a hushed voice coming from behind the closed door.

“Quincy?” The voice sounds familiar. “Quincy? Can I come in?”

“Jorden?” I call out. My voice comes out very loud. I can’t seem to control it. “Is that you?”

The door slowly opens, and Jorden’s familiar dark curls appear first before the rest of his face. He needs a haircut.

“You need a haircut,” I tell him.

He closes the door and enters the room, but his shoulders slump when he sees me. The mattress dips as he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Q,” he whispers sadly. He looks tired. “Why are you back here? Where’s Jonah? He was supposed to keep you safe.”

“Jonah’s gone,” I tell him.

“Gone?” he almost shouts. Then he catches himself and lowers his voice. “What do you mean gone? Gone where?”

“My dear, dear J. I’ve missed you. I love you, you know? I loved Nana.” Suddenly I feel tearful. “I want Nana back. I want Caspian back. I want Jonah back. I want—”

“Where ~is~ Jonah, Q?”

Where is Jonah? “Now that is the question, isn’t it?” I furrow my brow, thinking hard. Nope, still don’t know.

“Wait, who’s Caspian?” asks Jorden.

His face looks comical like that. So I laugh.

Jorden doesn’t think it’s funny. He rubs his face and watches me warily. “They’ve drugged you.”

“They couldn’t deal with me. Enzo called me ‘a little girl-devil from hell,’” I complain with a pout.

Jorden sighs. He looks older than nineteen. Life must be stressful. Poor Jorden.

“You didn’t happen to bring food with you, did you?” I say.

“No, Q. Why did you go and make old Maddox mad like that?”

“Filter broken,” I tell him, pointing to my head and my mouth.

Jorden shakes his head. “Listen, Quincy,” he says, holding my shoulders.

When he calls me Quincy, he’s being serious. So I pay attention.

“I know you’re all doped up, but I don’t have that much time to talk to you alone, and this is important, so listen.”

Right. Listen.

“I think they suspect that I helped you escape. The only reason I’m still alive is because I’m the beta’s son and they think that they can still use me.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“Now they put me on duty to guard you. If you escape again, they will pin it on me. Do you get what I’m saying, Quincy?”

“So I’ll stay,” I tell him. I will not get Jorden killed.

“I don’t know,” he says, running his hand through his long curls. “They announced to everyone in the pack last night that you’re old Maddox’s second mate.”

I scrunch my face up, not happy with that.

“Once he marks you, you’re stuck here forever. I have a feeling he’s going to do that very soon. He’s not going to let you get away again, Q.”

“Run away with me,” I tell him.

He just nods his head like he’s already thinking of it, but there is uncertainty and fear in his eyes. Something niggles at the back of my mind.

“What is it?” I ask.

He just shakes his head again. “Nothing, Q. We’ll figure it out.” His expression looks defeated. My heart is crushed. He doesn’t believe that we can make it out alive this time.

No, if there’s not much chance that we’re going to make it out of here alive, then I don’t want to take that chance. I don’t want my cousin to die.

I’ll take my chances, but there’s no reason for him to do so.

Caspian. His vivid green eyes, his scent, his touch, the expression on his face as he stared at me in my tiny bed flash in my mind. That can’t be the last time I see him.

It takes a while for me to realize it, but our connection runs deep. It seeps through my bones. It flows in my veins like blood.

It twines and weaves around my soul so tightly that, without him, I’m broken. It gets harder for me to ignore this emptiness.

The more we spend time apart, the harder it is for me to breathe.

I want to tell Jorden about him. If I don’t make it, I want him to know about my obnoxious, cocky, annoying, thoughtful, sweet, and charming golden prince.

We are interrupted by Don and Enzo, who open the door and enter the room without knocking. They both watch us suspiciously. Yes, they probably know that we’re talking about escaping. Setting Jorden up as my guard feels very much like a setup to me.

“Did you bring food?” I ask them.

The two men scowl at me.

Jorden’s lips twitch. This is the closest he’s come to a smile since he came in here. “It’s after two in the afternoon. She’s been asleep since you brought her here this morning. So, she must be hungry,” says Jorden, defending me.

“We don’t care if she starves to death!” snaps Enzo.

“Alpha Maddox wants to see you,” says Don to Jorden.

I don’t think Jorden is happy about leaving me with two hostile-looking brutes, but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. He gives them a warning glare but leaves the room.

Enzo mutters something about me being a handful and calls me a ‘nightmare,’ ‘devil,’ and ‘annoying bitch.’ Those are the nicest things in a long list of names he calls me. Don seems to agree with him wholeheartedly.

“Wow, that really hurts my feelings, Enzo.” ~Not~! “Bastard,” I mutter. What are they doing, standing there just watching me and talking shit about me anyway? “Perverts,” I add.

I start thinking of how much I owe the swear jar I left in California and how to escape. I’m so sleepy. I hope the drug will wear off soon so I can run.

I don’t know if I said that out loud. Whatever.

I give them the finger then roll on to my side.

My heart weeps with painful emptiness even as I drift off. Something inside me needs him so desperately.

I dream of a golden god with electric green eyes and a wicked smile.