Strays

Chapter 25 *New*

"Your little friend is a brat," she said after a long moment.

I almost sprung to Theo's defence, the words leaping to the tip of my tongue, until I remembered how she'd become acquainted with my brother's 'attitude'. My anger climbed higher and I grunted in response, my fingers clenching around the empty bottle.

"Why would you go to all that trouble?" she pressed. "You could have had your pick of packs at the den without him holding you back."

A low, threatening growl escaped my mouth before I could stop it.

My hand tightened around the bottle and when I glanced down in an attempt to control my temper, I noticed a pressure fissure climbing the length of the glass.

And all I could think of was shattering the damn thing over her head. Of me wrapping my fingers around her throat. It'd be easy — easier than killing Theo, even. Without training, Theo was still strong enough to put up a little bit of a struggle because of his blood, but Mia looked like she hadn't thrown a punch in her whole life.

And judging by the puzzled look on her face, would she even want to?

Even for her precious Alpha?

Not my problem, not my problem...

I snatched the bags from the bed, skirting around her and heading for the second door I assumed — correctly — led to the bathroom. "I'm going for a shower," I muttered before slamming the door in her face.

Michael's en suite was in the same condition as his bedroom: messy.

There were towels strewn under the towel rack, like he'd tried to hook them over the bar and didn't bother picking them up when they slipped. The door of the shower was open, dripping water into a pool on the floor, and various bottles of unscented shampoo, body wash, soap and shaving equipment littered every available surface.

I grimaced in disgust, slapping the lid of the toilet down and dumping the bags on top.

When I opened them and peered inside, I wasn't sure what I expected but I didn't expect the clothes to be... well, very me. A few tank tops, a long-sleeved vest and some dark, skinny jeans. At the bottom of the second bag, I found a five-pack of plain cotton underwear and a plain t-shirt bra.

In my size.

Well, he does have access to my apartment, I reminded myself, scowling. Why wouldn't they go through my underwear drawer?

I growled under my breath and started stripping off the clothes I stole, before stepping into the shower.

The second the spray hit me, it was like any remaining grip I'd managed to maintain over my control was washed right down the drain. Anger, panic, humiliation... guilt; it all exploded in the pit of my stomach. The dam split in the back of my head and I was flooded with flashes and glimpses of the last few days, and all I could think about was the way I'd begged him to touch me. The way I'd cried out in relief when he finally did. The way I'd have no choice to trust him, like a fucking idiot, because I thought he was there in that storeroom to help me.

I scrubbed viciously at my skin, tearing and drawing blood with a cloth as I scratched my way down my arms, my chest, down over my stomach. When I grabbed the body wash, it stung like a bitch but I relished the way — relished the punishment in it. My whole body was marked with bruises and healed-over scars from his teeth. I knew if I turned they'd disappear, but I scraped the cloth over them instead, re-opening each one and rubbing in the soap until I felt the sting more than the memory of his mouth.

But he was still there.

Embedded in the back of my brain like a parasite.

My hands were shaking when I eventually flung the cloth at the wall with a growl of frustration. And then I just... lashed out.