Rogue Wolf

Ch 55 the apartment

I looked down from a rooftop on the far side of the city, catching my breath. I had spent most of the night consolidating my various caches, combining my cash, selling most of what drugs remained. My mind wouldn't focus on anything. I had played the actor, greeting people I hadn't seen in a long time, telling them I was operating mostly out of town now.

I had, for the first time, paid for a hooker, an older one who knew the score, careful to use protection. For the first time, running out my frustrations across the city hadn't been enough. The hooker hadn't been enough either, but it had helped. I was not going to use the omegas or hump against Michael. Anger rode in the back of my mind, sitting like a lid on my bottle of rage.

I thought of home, my old home. I couldn't bring myself to go to my mom. Too much of my past had become unburied and I didn't know how to deal with it all. I couldn't bear the thought that I might go into a rage with my mom.

I moved, finally ready to head to where my heart called home, with my Max. The memory of the bloody room from my fight with the guard was enough to make me turn my back, for now, on the home of the pimp who had so abused my childhood. My rage against Alpha was a mere tickle compared to the rage I had against the man who was sleeping somewhere below me. It was something I had a feeling the werewolves I lived with wouldn't understand, even after I'd told them my story.

I passed Mister G's silent and dark restaurant, making me think of better times. Tears thought about spilling as I wondered why my head had to be filled with the pain from my life instead of those wonderful times. I didn't understand why I'd buried those memories. My feet moved of their own accord and I found myself outside old Missus G's window.

Odd bits and pieces began to connect. I was near the top of the Wallingford Apartments. Missus G's window was close to the top. She had spoken of her father paying the price so the apartment would be theirs forever. "My sons don't need it, and I'm the last survivor. I'm going to bequeath it to you," she had told me. "Use the window. Keep the door locked."

She had me rub my hands together until they got warm, then press them onto the back of a piece of paper that looked like a contract. She had me do this three times, three copies of the same contract, along with a few drops of my blood next to where she told me to sign my name. She had only smiled at me when I signed it Jax Giovanni, hugging me tight. One she had put in an envelope and set on the small table by the door. The other she had put in a frame and hung on the wall above her desk. The third she had given to me.

Missus G had to have lived on the other side of the worker doors, the doors we hadn't opened yet. My fingers opened the window before I could even think. I slid in, like I had hundreds of times before.

The apartment was dark, but I knew my way around. Nothing had changed. I could smell, such old smells. The remnants of her musty, flowery perfume began taking me back in time. I half shifted, tracing the edges of the furniture with a claw tip, letting my memories take me where they would. I had learned about poetry here, and classical music. I learned to make cannolis in her kitchen. I had even sat in her lap upon occasion while she rocked, always worried I was too heavy for her, making sure at least some of my weight was on the arms of the chair. I had my first cup of coffee here, and my first sip of wine.

There had been a knock, a pounding really, on her door. "Get down," she had told me, giving me a push toward the far side of the couch. I had curled myself tight underneath the end table, sliding my young self under the couch as much as I could. Two men had come in, staying by the door. There had been harsh voices.

I found myself now on four paws in front of the door, wriggling slightly in my clothes, sniffing deep. Steven, the old omega from the office, had come often. His scent overlapped the area around the door and toward the kitchen. Old Missus G has mentioned how the manager made sure her groceries got to her, and how he would check in on her now and again.

It was hard, the scents were old, but my vision narrowed when I finally recognized the scent of Alpha along the door. I stood, adjusting my clothes without thought. I had my face right against the door where his hand had grabbed.

"You dare bring an unknown in!"

"He will not go outside of the apartment. The papers are set, according to the Law. It is done."

"Then so are you."

The men had left. Missus G had reassured me, sending me out the window with the third paper in an envelope, which she told me to hide somewhere safe. It was still taped to the bottom of my desk, the place I had made my boyhood den. The following week when I visited, I had found her dead in her bed, her teacup on the nightstand. She never drank her tea anywhere other than the small sitting area where she enjoyed reading.

I came to the same conclusion now that I had then, that the man at the door, which I now knew was Alpha, had killed her with poison for giving me the apartment. I stood, eyes closed, regaining control of myself. I didn't know for sure. Missus G had been old, and might have bequeathed me her apartment knowing she was about to die. Alpha was always making threats. I had been afraid then that if I used the apartment, her sons might get killed too.

I turned on the lights, blinking as my eyes adjusted. I went over to her small roll-top desk, looking at the paper framed behind glass. My scent would still be there; my drop of blood now brown. My fingers brushed a paper on the open desktop, and I picked it up, fingering the key that was on top of it. I sunk into her chair as I read the letter she had left me.

My dearest boy, know that you have worked your way into my heart as if your were one of my own sons. Never doubt the joy you brought to my old age, making me feel young and needed once more. All that is left here I leave to you. Do not worry yourself about my sons, they had received their inheritance long ago. I spoke to them and they agree that all that is here is yours. Do not be afraid to sell what you need to support yourself. Many of the pieces of furniture here are antiques and worth a fair bit.  Live well, and keep love in your heart, Grandma Mildred Giovanni.

The tears fell then, the anger that had been riding me all night wisping away like early morning fog under a strengthening sun. The rage was no longer echoing within me. It was with a lighter heart that I opened the apartment door. I stepped out into a deserted hall, filled with fresh scents of all kinds. I pulled the door closed quietly, locking it behind me.

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