The Exchange

Chapter One

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!"

Well, poop.

"I TOLD YOU I WANTED REGULAR BACON! NOT. TURKEY. CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT?!"

You see, this is the kind of stupid crap that gets blamed on me.

I haven't even gotten out of bed yet, which is a problem in itself, and it seems that someone made breakfast for the Alpha. And now, he just assuming that I telepathically knew what he told whoever cooked breakfast for him what he wanted and, somehow, I managed to screw it all up.

Should I back up a little?

I'm Marlee Talbot. Have been for 18 years. But, for the last four years, I've been putting up with this idiot.

My family consisted of my parents, my older brother Wyatt, and me. We weren't a perfect family, I'll admit, but we were normal. My parents were happily married, my brother and I got really good grades in school, and we never really argued. Over anything.

Then, my brother went and disappeared, leaving behind 'evidence' (that was never shared with me, by the way, because apparently it was too gruesome for me to see) that suggested that he was dead.

A week later, a tall, fit man in his late twenties came to our house. He held an aura of power and was dressed in high end clothing. When he spoke, his voice rang out with sophistication and determination.

In other words, he seemed to be a pretty important guy.

Upon arriving, he asked immediately to see Wyatt Talbot, my brother. My mom had told him that he had died, and suddenly, his whole demeanor changed.

His eyes had shifted from caramel brown to pitch black. His calm, collected facade dropped and his face filled with rage.

~Flashback~

"DEAD? WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S DEAD!" The stranger in our living room shouted, his face contorted with anger and fury.

"He died a week ago." I say quietly, since my mother had begun crying in my father's arms, feeling a new wave of pain at the loss of her son, and I didn't think she was in the mood for answering.

"THAT COWARDLY LITTLE BASTARD!" The man shouted. He threw his fist at the wall, creating a gaping hole and sending a shower of dust and debris on the floor around him.

"PAY UP!". He continued, focusing his attention on my parents. My mother stopped her sniffling and turned towards him.

"P-pay. . .what?" She asks.

"PAY UP, GOD DAMNIT!" He demands. "YOUR SON OWES ME TWO MILLION DOLLARS, AND I AM GOING TO GET IT BACK!"

I stared in astonishment. Wyatt owes this guy two million dollars? He was always too busy studying or playing video games to be doing anything. . .dirty. How the hell did he manage to get indebted to this guy?

"Sir," My father began. "We don't have two million dollars to give you." His voice is calm, but I can see a flash of worry in his eyes. He was always kind of a direct guy, I knew, but I didn't think he would just say it. Not before we could call the cops.

The following hour was a composition of yelling, cursing, screaming, the shattering of our possessions, my mom's crying, my dad's attempts to calm the guy down, and me hiding in a corner with my hands covering my ears.

In other words, chaos.

"Oh, that's just GREAT!" The man suddenly said, after several moments of complete disarray, where the only words spoken were curses or thinly-veiled threats.