Bad Love: An Alpha's Regret

Chapter 9

“Leah!”

The roar echoes through the house.

Aaron is home.

And he is in a bad mood.

“I have to go, Adam. I’ll call you soon.”

“Wait! There’s something-”

I click off the phone and shove it into the back pocket of my

jeans.

Then I run down the stairs-it’s way easier going down than

up-and follow his hollering to the study.

Aaron is at his computer. He motions for me to sit beside him.

I hold my breath.

Being alone with this man…does something to me.

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black stains.

From my blood, poured on top of each of them.

I’m dying and it’s my blood being used to water the dead.

There is some irony in that, I’m sure.

I feel Aaron behind me before I hear him.

He crowds me which stirs my body to aching awareness. And even that feels like an insult. That I

should crave this man, that 1 should want to mate and celebrate life, even as my body is eroding on the

inside and edging toward death.

Or maybe it is my imminent death that has me clinging so

hard.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so sad all the time? And where the hell did you go the other day?”

He had me locked up to the point of starvation and I wouldn’t tell him. I cast him a rueful smile.

Whyever would he think I’d

tell him now?

Aaron growls. “You’re very frustrating, Leah.”

But at least he isn’t locking me away or resorting to some

other awful tactic.

“Your dad called the main packhouse,” he tells me.

“I had a bunch of missed calls from him.” When I was imprisoned my phone died and I wasn’t able to

charge it.

“Make sure you call him today.”

With that said, Aaron strides back to his computer. He has several spreadsheets up for stocks he’s

been tracking and I go and sit near him so I can see. Because that’s why my father

called.

To demand that I send him $500,000.00.

Aaron’s busy texting and answering emails from his phone. When it rings a few minutes later, he strolls

out of the study.

I have savings and a decent portfolio that I’ve managed to grow over the years, but that’s still a lot of

cash to ask from one’s child.

In all the texts and missed calls that I see on my phone from my dad, not one inquires about me. They

are all about money.

Leah, I need cash.

Leah, send it now.

And on they went for days. His last ones are threatening and just reading them makes my chest ache

and my stomach pitch painfully.

I transfer the entirety of my savings, so he’ll have access to

several million.

The money is gone.

I wait several seconds.

I don’t get a thank you or even a phone call.

Just a single text: received.

I hate that he never asked about me or in my lack of replies thought to worry or come here to check on

me.

“Your father’s a piece of shit,” Aaron tells me.

12