Pack deception part one, p.1
Pack Deception: Part One, page 1
Pack Deception
Part One
Wren White
Copyright © 2023 by Wren White
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Designer: germancreative on Fiverr
Editor: Jenni Gauntt
Formatted by: Jenni Gauntt
Created with Vellum
Dedication
This one goes out to all my bumble matches that ask me what I write, to which I answer ✨ romance ✨ since orgies might scare them off.
Contents
Trigger Warnings
Prologue
Chapter 1
Summer
Chapter 2
Maverick
Chapter 3
Summer
Chapter 4
Brooklyn
Chapter 5
Summer
Chapter 6
Maverick
Chapter 7
Summer
Chapter 8
Summer
Chapter 9
Hudson
Chapter 10
Summer
Chapter 11
Brooklyn
Chapter 12
Summer
Chapter 13
Summer
Chapter 14
Summer
Chapter 15
Jade
Chapter 16
Summer
Chapter 17
Summer
Chapter 18
Brooklyn
Chapter 19
Summer
Chapter 20
Summer
Chapter 21
Mason
Chapter 22
Summer
Chapter 23
Summer
Chapter 24
Maverick
Chapter 25
Hudson
Chapter 26
Summer
Chapter 27
Mason
Chapter 28
Summer
Chapter 29
Jade
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Also by Wren White
About the Author
Trigger Warnings
Some alcohol abuse, miscarriage, mentions of emotional and physical abuse, and sexually explicit scenes.
Prologue
Summer
My heart is beating an erratic rhythm in my chest as I punch my four digit PIN into the ATM down the block from my pack house.
No.
Not my pack house. Not anymore.
My cheek throbs at the reminder. I lift a shaky hand and prod at the tender skin around my eye that has already begun to swell. Never in the two years after we'd bonded had she lifted so much as a finger in anger. None of them had.
Two years of bliss; of love and devotion. I thought I'd found my forever pack. My destined mates. They were supposed to care for me and me for them. It is literally what being destined means. We were fated for each other. Perfect matches.
Or so I thought.
Then I got pregnant. All four of us were over the moon at the news. Connor and Brody had started to treat me like glass, but it was in an adoring way. Never letting me carry anything heavier than ten pounds, making sure I was taking my vitamins, and rubbing my back through the morning sickness. Jade though...she was exultant. She found out a few years ago that she’d have trouble conceiving because of her polycystic ovary syndrome, so this was her chance at being a mother, and you could watch her love for me and the baby grow exponentially when I gave her the good news.
Not even two weeks after finding out about the pregnancy, I lost her. Him. It. My little peanut. We had two weeks of undimmable happiness.
I couldn't tell you who the father was. My pack—my former pack—was made up of me and my three alphas: Connor, Brody, and Jade.
Jade being the head alpha and our pack leader. Don't let the fact that she is the only female alpha in the pack fool you. She is incredibly successful, confident, and strong. My black eye proves that.
Connor and Brody are both successful, too, but they're content in their roles under Jade. To think, less than forty eight hours ago I never would have imagined a day where they were abusive, and now I'm fleeing under the cover of darkness. One hit is all it took. I won't stick around a second longer and wait for their behavior to escalate. Jade may have been the one to land the blow, but Connor and Brody just stood by and watched.
I may be an omega, but I refuse to be some simpering fool. My heart feels like it is breaking in my chest at the thought of leaving my fated mates, but the Goddess herself couldn't keep me here any longer.
I waited for them all to pass out, knowing they're heavy sleepers, and then I left with nothing more than the debit card in my pocket, a backpack with some clothes and toiletries, and my bike. The screen before me lights up—temporarily blinding me since my eyes have already adjusted to the blanket of darkness enveloping the city—and the options to make a deposit or withdrawal burn a hole through my retinas. I'm really doing this.
Pressing the withdrawal button, I take out the maximum amount I can at this ATM and quickly pocket it before hustling over and hefting up the bike I’d laid on its side. Our pack is extremely well-off, but they'll still notice the money is gone by the time they all wake up. With that thought, I swing one leg over the seat, settle on my bike, and pedal as fast as I can to the other four ATMs from here to the bus station. It's a few miles, but I'm not completely out of shape, so I make it in good time.
Each time I take the maximum amount out, and by the time I make it to the train station, I have a little over five thousand dollars cash burning a hole in my pocket. That's my new start. Five thousand dollars. I'm not so shallow that I won't be able to adjust to a more modest living, but I can admit to already missing the luxuries I've been afforded the past two years.
That's okay though. A simple life, free of fear, is better than flinching at the sight of my mates for the rest of my life.
The late hour—or early, I guess since it’s a little after one in the morning—means there isn't a line at the ticket counter. I step up to the glass partition and see the elderly lady working has drifted off on duty. If it were any other night, I'd laugh good-naturedly. But tonight, I'm a big ball of stress, so I tap lightly on the glass, and she jolts awake, looking around frantically while she finds her bearings, and then her eyes meet mine.
A head of curly, completely gray hair that is slightly frizzy and pulled into a haphazard bun at the base of her neck frames a sweet looking face. She's probably in her early 60's if I had to guess.
Sheepish eyes hold mine as she straightens her spine, shakes the mouse, and tinkers with the keyboard in front of her.
"How can I help you, sweetie?" she asks, still sounding slightly embarrassed.
"I need a one-way ticket to wherever the next bus is headed," I respond, my voice sounding pinched with nerves.
Her eyes widen a little, and she's suddenly looking at me with more interest. My backpack—filled to the brim—dark circles under my eyes, and the hood I currently have up over my hair to hide my face all tell a story. But nothing tells a better story than the swollen and purple skin surrounding my eye.
She gasps a little and starts typing on her computer with a determined focus I appreciate.
"Next bus out leaves in 20 minutes," she tells me after a minute.
"I'll take it,” I say, reaching into my pocket and handing over some of the cash I just pulled out.
The older lady shakes her head immediately. "Keep it. Good luck."
I take the ticket she slides through the bottom of the partition and murmur a quiet thank you. Tears prick my eyes at her kindness. I clear my throat, blink my eyes a few times to dry the tears that never fell, and give her one last grateful smile.
Pivoting on my feet, I hike my backpack up a little further, and make my way to the line of mostly empty buses off to the right in the terminal.
The echo of my footsteps ring through the quiet space, but instead of sounding like a death toll, they sound like my first steps toward freedom. My own freedom march.
The front of each bus has an LED screen with a city name lit on it.
I peek at the ticket I'm holding in a crushing grip.
Big breath in.
Slow breath out.
Here goes everything.
One
Summer
"Can I get a vodka cranberry?" a young beta with an indecently short checkered green dress screams at me over the music. The pub I work nights and weekends at as a second job—The Hog's Head—isn't usually as loud as it is right now. But it's St. Patty's Day, and it's a Saturday, so the place is crawling with people. Ava’s bar is one of the stops on today’s pub crawl. It's mostly betas, since sixty percent of the population is beta, but I'm still overwhelmed with the heady scents of alphas and omegas. I've been breathing through my mouth the whole shift to avoid the overwhelming cocktail of designation scents.
A job as a bartender isn't typically what an omega would choose for themself since being so sought after can be dangerous when mixed with alcohol, but I didn't have a ton of options. Three months ago, I hopped on a bus headed for Minneapolis. Then I hopped on three more buses, just to be safe, and landed in Chicago.
I had zero profe
It never used to bother me. I was happy to play the dutiful omega. That's what I am, after all. It's all I was raised to be.
Then I ran and realized I have no credentials. No qualifications for anything. Not only that, but I can't even use my real name in case they care enough to come looking, so I had to find jobs that would take me on without a birth certificate or social security card. It took a month of interviews and pleading. I had to have taken interviews for dozens of different jobs, begging someone to accept an omega with no verification, no questions asked.
I got this bar job first, and my boss is amazing. A female omega entrepreneur that is an advocate for omega and beta rights. Ava hired me almost immediately once I told her I couldn't provide her any documentation. She loves a good charity case. Though, if I called myself a charity case in front of her, she'd kick my ass.
I swear it wasn't even twenty-four hours after Ava gave me this job that I got a call about my current nine to five.
Pen2Paper Press is the publishing house I work for as an administrative assistant to my boss, Jerrick Price. At first, I was confused why a publishing house, literally my dream company, would hire a packless omega with no qualifications. Then I realized they're getting the deal here. I'm paid in cash by the hour. Which is perfect for my situation. Until it hit me that I had no PTO, no benefits or insurance, and I get paid just barely above minimum wage.
Meaning I had to keep my job at the pub, too, in order to be able to pay the ridiculous rent at my shitty, four hundred square foot, studio apartment and still be able to eat. Ava was incredibly understanding and willing to work around my new schedule. She’s become a really good friend since taking a chance on me.
Which is why I'm breathing through my mouth working as a bartender and flirting with patrons for better tips. I don’t usually mind it, necessarily. I'd spent several years being a glorified housewife, but now that I'm working myself to exhaustion at two different jobs, I realize I was complacent in my role as house omega.
Now I go home every night, worked to the ground, and with a bone-deep tiredness that never seems to go away, and I love it.
The freedom and independence. Two things I've never felt before.
"Excuse me?" A deep timbre breaks me out of my thoughts, and I look around the bar top to see where the sound came from. There are at least a dozen people crowded around the bar, almost all of them already have drinks in their hand and are talking to friends instead of trying to flag me down. Then my eyes snag on a man leaning into the bar slightly with his hand half raised.
I start walking the few steps down the bar to take his order, and my heart races a little faster as I take him in. He looks like the physical embodiment of sex. Like if you looked up the word sex in the dictionary, it would just be a picture of this man. His short brown hair is slightly longer on the top and expertly styled. His beard is neatly trimmed, but thick and dark, and he's got golden brown eyes that draw me right in. He's dressed in black, head-to-toe, but is wearing a green pin buttoned to his black Henley t-shirt that says, "Kiss me, I'm Irish."
I manage not to roll my eyes at it and instead address the sinfully sexy man. "What can I get you, handsome?" I put a little purr behind my words and grin as seductively as I can like I’ve done all day to try to help my tips out.
He stares at me with so much intensity that I resist the urge to squirm, but he doesn't say anything. He just stares at me. What is his deal? I'd swear I see hunger in his eyes, but then he's looking at me like he's confused about something.
"Erm... Uh, I'll just take three more of your green beers," he stutters. Our 'green beers' are just a cheap draft that Ava put green dye in to make it more festive. They are a crowd pleaser though. This man, however, seems to say his order like a question.
"You sure?" I shoot back, squinting at him and wondering why he looks pained all of a sudden. He nods his head, and I turn around to start making his order. Weird.
Certainly not the weirdest patron I've served though. Last weekend, I had a guy ask if he could pay for a pedicure and then take pictures of my feet. There is no limit to the weirdos that come into a bar and have a little liquid courage to loosen their tongues.
I carry all three over at once, balancing them in a triangle between my two hands, not spilling a drop.
"That'll be fifteen," I say as he hands me a black card. My brows shoot up, not expecting someone rich enough to carry a black amex to be at this shitty little dive bar on St. Patty's Day.
"You can keep it open," his deep rumble travels through my body, making me shiver. Even if he's acting strange, he's got the sexiest voice I've ever heard. Soothing and deep that sends flutters through my core.
I nod, enter his information, and hand the card back. He gives me one last lingering look before he turns away, carrying the three drinks back to his table. I admit, I watch him walk the whole way, still staring as he reaches his destination, sets the beers down, and whispers something to the two other men standing at the circular high top table before his hands darts out, and he grabs the face of a beautiful man with shoulder length blonde hair. My sinful stranger yanks the other man toward him, and their mouths collide in a passionate embrace. My whole body heats at the erotic sight.
I curse to myself as a small hit of my perfume bursts out of me. A handful of people within five feet of me turn and flare their nostrils.
An omega's perfume affects an alpha the hardest. It's in their biology to gravitate toward it. An omega, with our heightened senses, is still affected, but it doesn’t make us feral with the need to soothe, protect, fuck the other omega. Betas have almost no heightened senses. They can smell a strong gust of omega perfume, like if we're close to heat, but for the most part, they remain unaffected. Unless the omega in question is their fated mate. Then the omega’s perfume would be like catnip to a person, regardless of designation.
Which is why all the betas nearby don't even flinch at my small slip-up. The omegas turn away quickly, too. But there are one or two still staring intently at me. Alphas.
Their attention cools any lingering arousal I felt watching my weird stranger attack the gorgeous blonde man.
With the reminder, my eyes snap back to the table, and now all three of the men are staring at me. I glance at the last man at the table and gasp at the burning need in his eyes as he stares at me from across the crowded bar.
Fuck. My perfume leaks out a little more, but before it can get to an unmanageable level, a sharp pain assaults my stomach, and my body bows under the pressure.
Just as quickly as the pain comes, it disappears. I stand up straight again, wipe the beads of sweat on my upper lip off with the back of my hand, and take a deep, slow breath to test for any lingering pain.
There is none. I let out a grateful sigh and get back to work, wiping countertops down and waiting for someone to want another drink.
Against my will, my eyes dart back to the table where the three guys were, but they are nowhere to be seen. My brows furrow in confusion.
Why does that make a stab of disappointment hit me square in the chest?
Two
Maverick
Hudson and I are standing in a house for sale in Naperville, one of the Chicago suburbs. I'm a real estate agent located in Chicago, but I look at and sell places in all the surrounding suburbs as well.
This house is a shithole. Our specialty. While I'm the licensed real estate agent, Hudson is a contractor, and we work together to flip houses when we find the right one. Like the one we're in now.
