Omega House Books 1-5: Alpha Omega MPreg Romance Box Set

by Grace, Aria

  I’d managed to put all that pain behind me, leaving it in the past where it belonged. But after just a few minutes in a secluded warehouse with some psychos, it all came flooding back. All I see when I close my eyes is the evil smile of a monster who hurt me for so many years. He took something from me that I can never get back, and I’m afraid of what I know must happen next.

  As much as I hate the idea of ever looking him in the eyes again, I have to. I need to confront my demons, so I can be released from the hold they’ve had on me for so many years.

  I need to go home.

  * * *

  I’ve never been good at saying goodbye. When other people leave, I usually find an excuse not to be around for the awkward promises to stay in touch. The lies about calling and visiting are just a waste of time. So, I spare my friends and slip away before anyone wakes up.

  I have a few hundred bucks in my checking account and sixty-five in cash from helping the old man across the street clean out his attic. If I take buses, I should be able to get to Boise for less than a hundred dollars. It’ll be an all-day ride, but I need that much time to process what I’m about to do.

  I never believed this day would come.

  I never wanted this day to come.

  But before I go to sleep tonight, I’ll be back in the house where all my worst nightmares were staged. I’ll have to face the woman who never believed me when I told her what was happening, and I’ll finally confront the monster who hurt me.

  I don’t expect this reunion to go well, but it’s the only way I can move on from my past. At least, that’s what the talk shows and self-help books always say. Face your demons. I don’t know if that applies to the kind of demon who could pin me down with one arm and fulfill his sickest fantasies until I was bloodied and unconscious.

  But that’s what I’m going to do.

  Get ready, Joseph. Your demon is coming back for you too.

  69

  Dodge

  “Dammit.” I pull the thorn out of the tip of my finger and suck the drop of blood off. This is why I don’t visit people who are sick. You can’t arrive empty-handed when a person is ill, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna bake a casserole. So here I am, snipping roses off the bushes under my front window so I can take them to the lady across the street.

  She just started another round of chemo, and it seems to be hitting her harder than it has in the past. When she was first diagnosed with breast cancer three years ago, she walked a little slower and kept a scarf over her thinning hair, but she was as active and feisty as she was when I was a kid.

  But this time is different.

  This time, I’ve only seen her leave the house to go to the hospital, and every step she takes seems to hurt. It’s sad how great a toll the cancer has taken on her body in just a few years. Especially since the only person around to help her is her loser son who seems to cause her more drama than anything else.

  I’m only a year older than Joseph, but we were never friends in school. He was a jock, and I was more studious, spending time in the library instead of on the football field. Her younger son, Nathan, was a quiet kid who rarely played outside. I didn’t know him before he moved away, but I wasn’t surprised when he disappeared. I could only guess the reasons why he left home before finishing high school. I wouldn’t have wanted to live with that piece of shit brother either.

  The sound of a car door slamming gets my attention, and when I look up, I see the asshole tearing out of his mother’s driveway and racing down the street like his balls are on fire. Thank god there aren’t any kids on this street.

  As soon as I have enough flowers to constitute a decent bouquet, I wrap them all in a wet paper towel and cross the street. I’m not here because I’m such a caring person or anything. I’m here because my old man had a thing for Mrs. Greenly, and when she was sick the first time, he brought her flowers every few days. So, now that he’s gone, I feel some kind of responsibility to maintain the tradition.

  After I knock, I feel a little guilty for bothering her. She might be sleeping or unable to come to the door. I’m just about to turn around and head home when I hear her calling from inside that she’s coming.

  I try the knob and it’s unlocked, so I crack the door just an inch. “Mrs. Greenly, it’s Dodge from across the street. I’m just dropping off some flowers.”

  “Oh, how sweet.” She’s at the top of the stairs and slowly working her way down when I peek my head inside. “Come in, come in.”

  “Don’t come down, Mrs. Greenly.” I step inside the entryway and close the door behind me. “If you tell me where I can find a vase, I’ll just put these in some water and leave them on the table.”

  She hesitates on the third step from the top and then finally nods her head. “Yes, that would be wonderful. There are a few different vases in the dining room hutch. Just use whichever one you like.”

  “You go rest.” I turn toward the dining room and take a few steps before realizing she’s still standing on the stairs. “Is there anything I can bring you from down here? Something to drink or eat?”

  Mrs. Greenly gives me a sad smile. “You look so much like your father.”

  “I know.” I lost my dad a year ago, and it still hurts to think about him.

  “Would you mind bringing me a glass of water when you’re done?” She slowly turns and takes a step up on the stairs. “And bring the flowers with you.”

  After grabbing a crystal vase from the hutch and a glass from the kitchen, I fill them both with water and take a look around. The state of the kitchen pisses me off. I’ve only been in her house a few times in my life, mostly with Dad for some plumbing or painting project or another, but the place has always been spotless. Mrs. Greenly started her own cleaning service and worked long hours almost every day. She also worked late nights as a waitress until she got sick the first time.

  Dad said she was worried about taking care of her boys, so she socked away every penny she earned to make sure they’d always have what they needed. Unfortunately, what they needed more than their mom’s money in the bank was a mother at home. And when she got sick again last month, she stopped working altogether because she needed a more aggressive treatment this time.

  That’s when Joseph started coming around.

  I’m not sure if he actually gives a shit about his mom’s health and well-being, but he has taken her to the doctor a few times. At least that’s where I assume they’re going when he screeches to a halt in front of her house and honks until she shuffles out the door. Every time I see him treat her like that, I want to kick his ass. He has no idea how lucky he is to still have a mom. Mine died when I was young, and even now, I’d give anything to have just an hour or two with her.

  Which is why seeing what he’s done to her kitchen is infuriating. There are empty beer cans and takeout containers on the counters, and the sink is full of dirty dishes. Obviously, he’s coming around more than I realized, which has me both surprised and concerned.

  At the top of the stairs, I’m not sure where to go. “Mrs. Greenly,” I call out. “I have your water.”

  “Bring it in, dear.”

  Her voice is soft, but it’s easy to distinguish where it’s coming from in the silent house. Her bedroom is on the right side of the small hallway. Standing in the doorway, I do a quick inspection of her room while waiting for her to invite me in. The queen-size bed is neatly made, and Mrs. Greenly is curled up in a recliner by the window that overlooks the backyard.

  “Come in, Dodge. Have a seat.”

  After placing the vase on a doily on the dresser, I drag the wooden chair on the other side of the room closer to her recliner then have a seat.

  I didn’t intend to stay and chat. But she seems so lonely, I just can’t leave her yet. “I hope the smell from the roses isn’t too overpowering.”

  “Nonsense.” She looks lovingly at the bouquet. “They’re beautiful. Your father would be proud of you for coming.”

  I merely nod. Dad had a
heart attack while driving home from work. He died instantly before weaving onto the shoulder, so I never got to say goodbye. Neither did Mrs. Greenly.

  “So, Joseph has been helping you out?” I give her a side glance, hoping I haven’t overstepped any boundaries by bringing him up.

  Mrs. Greenly sighs heavily. “He’s trying. He’s just so busy that it’s hard for him to get over here. But he’s taking me to my appointments when he can and stopping by to have dinner with me.”

  Yeah, I’m sure he is busy being an asshole on the streets downtown. He used to be a parking enforcement officer and seemed to revel in writing parking tickets. I once saw him stand next to a meter that still had a few minutes left on it, leaning against it with a cigarette in his hand, just waiting until it hit zero so he could write a ticket.

  I’ve never understood why he was such a dick to everybody, and I never cared. But it pisses me off that he can barely make time for his mother even though he might be about to lose her.

  “Well, if you ever need a ride or something from the store, you just let me know.” I pull out my wallet and find a business card for her. “You can call my cell phone anytime if you need anything.”

  Mrs. Greenly reaches a frail arm out to me, and I take her hand.

  “You’re such a good boy, Dodge. Your father did right by you. I hope you know how lucky you were to have him in your life.”

  I nod and clear my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I only wish my boys had a father like yours. Things could have been so different for them.” She coughs and suddenly looks exhausted.

  “Maybe you should get some rest. I can come by later tonight or tomorrow to check on you.”

  “Thank you, Dodge.” She closes her eyes and shifts her meager weight in the chair. “That would be nice.”

  70

  Nathan

  There isn’t a direct bus to Boise, so I head to the nearest hub, hoping it will be easier to get home from a big city. I’ve heard Denver is a nice town, but by the time I get off the first bus after a nine-hour ride, all I want is to stretch my legs and find something to eat. Unfortunately, the thin coat I’m wearing isn’t thick enough to fend off the bite of the brisk evening air, so I’m faced with the difficult decision of choosing dinner from a vending machine or a hot dog cart.

  Fortunately, I love hot dogs.

  I order three with all the fixings and then check the ticket window to find out what my options are. The color-coded map looks like a maze at first glance, but after staring at it for a few seconds, the routes that will get me home seem to jump out at me. It’s almost six in the evening, and there is a bus to Las Vegas that leaves at seven and will get me to Boise by tomorrow night, or I can wait until six in the morning and take a bus straight up. I’ll arrive at around the same time but ten hours less on a bus sounds pretty good. Even if it means I’m spending the night in a bus station.

  The first few hours pass quickly. Hundreds of people pass through the station, giving me plenty of opportunity to people watch. There are tired people who look like they’ve been on the road for days and families who look like they’re on an adventure. And then there are the people like me. Those who seem a bit scared and a lot lost as they wander through the station. Sometimes, they stop and buy a ticket to somewhere else. Other times, they just stumble to the exit as if this is as good a place as any to stop for a while.

  That’s kind of how I’ve been living for the past few years. I left home without a real destination in mind. I just ran and hitched and eventually stumbled to a stop in front of an Omega House. They provided the shelter and security I needed, but until I face my fears, I’ll never be one of those smiling faces on an adventure. I’ll always be one of the lost boys just stumbling to a stop now and then.

  I pound another cup of coffee to stay awake then head to the men’s room for the tenth time. Traffic in the station has finally started to die down. Buses still pull in every twenty or thirty minutes, but only a few people get off, and even fewer linger inside. They all seem to disappear as suddenly as they appear.

  The bathroom is long and dingy with small tiles covering every surface except the toilets. I go to the last urinal on the wall and unzip my pants, uncomfortable with the way every sound vibrates off the wall, causing an echo. Before I finish pissing, someone walks inside. I don’t bother looking at whoever has entered. They’re there for the same reason I am, so I shake twice and tuck back into my pants.

  I’m just about to zip up my pants when a deep voice startles me. “What’s the big hurry? I know you’re stuck here for a while too. We might as well have some fun while we wait.”

  I slowly glance over my shoulder and see an older man with a thick beard and a leather jacket coming at me. I noticed him out in the main lobby earlier. He was also waiting in one of the hard-plastic chairs. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.” I step away from the urinal and try to bypass him, not even bothering to stop at the sink.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me just a few feet short of the door. “I’m sure we can work something out. We’re both men with needs. And I’ve got a couple bucks I can throw your way if that will sweeten the pot.”

  I have to swallow back the bile rising in my throat. If he thinks there’s anything sweet about his pot, he is highly delusional. I shake my head and try to get out of his grip, even though he’s much stronger than me. “I have an alpha. He’s picking me up soon.”

  The guy laughs, sending a shiver to run down my spine. “I don’t think so, kid.” He takes a few steps, dragging me toward one of the stalls. I’m about to scream when the door opens, and a janitor with a cleaning cart pushes through it.

  We all look at each other for a second as the janitor pieces together what he’s seeing. It only takes a moment for him to figure out exactly what he’s walked in on. I’m terrified he’s going to back away silently and leave us alone, but he surprises me when he pulls out a mop handle and holds it up like a staff. “Whatever’s going on in here needs to stop. Both of you, get on out of here.”

  I yank out of the man’s grip and run out the door, wishing I had a group of friends to blend in with for safety. But I’m all alone here. The best I can do is sit in one of the empty seats in clear view of the ticket booth and directly beneath one of the surveillance cameras. It’s not exactly safe, but it’ll have to do for a few hours. As soon as morning comes, the station will be full again, and I’ll be just another lonely stranger trying to get from one place to another.

  I’ll be away from the predator who is probably still watching me from afar, waiting for his chance to pounce again. Although, even then I won’t be in a safe place. I’ll be heading toward a different predator at sixty miles per hour. I’ll be escaping an unknown threat to face the one I’ve been hiding from for years. The one who I’ve felt as deeply on the outside of my skin as on the inside of my body.

  The monster who lived under my roof, always ready to pounce without fear of interruption.

  The monster who shares my DNA.

  71

  Dodge

  “Maryam!” I read the memo on my desk for the third time while I wait for my incompetent assistant to come in. “What is this?”

  “It’s a memo, sir. The proposal meeting has been moved to tomorrow.”

  I hold up the sheet of paper then crumple it in my fists. “I know what it says, but why is it on a piece of paper on my desk? When did we start sending paper memos?”

  She shrugs. “Well, I thought it would be neat. I’ve been watching this TV show about an ad agency from the fifties, and they typed everything…with typewriters. I just thought it would be a fun change.”

  I toss my head back and pinch the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache I can already feel building in my brain. “Mad Men? That’s what you’re doing? You’re trying to throw back to the fifties by ignoring our technology?”

  “Is that okay?” Her voice is quivering, and I know she’s about to break down in tears.
I really don’t want her to cry, but this kind of ignorance can’t be overlooked.

  “Not really.” I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to find a calm tone to speak to her in. “I work at home at least half the week. I can’t actually see a memo that’s printed on paper and sitting on my desk. That’s why we have email…and online calendars. If you want to feel like you’re back in the fifties, wear a dress every day and set up a wet bar in my office. But no more paper. Everything must be online, so it’s not only documented and saved, but so it’s accessible to everyone…not just the people who happen to walk past it.”

  “Yes, sir.” She flicks a tear off her cheek and looks at the ground. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “It’s okay, Maryam. Just make sure my calendar is up to date and get Victor in here. We’ll need to finalize the proposal today, so I can finish my drawings tonight at home.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  For the rest of the day, I pore over numbers and competitive projects to build the perfect proposal that our client can’t turn down. The university is building a new genetics lab, and my firm specializes in science and medical architecture. I’ve won several awards for innovative design, but every project is unique and requires a pitch that pulls at both their heart and their purse strings. Our clients usually have millions in grant dollars to spend on facilities, so the bidding process isn’t about coming in cheapest or even fastest. It’s all about offering a laboratory they can show off and use to recruit the most talented researchers and scientists in the world.

  So Victor, my best account manager, and I give them what they want. The promise of a beautiful space with all the most modern amenities with plenty of room to grow as science changes. I just have to finish drawing the mock-up we’re pitching before my meeting at ten a.m.