Mated To The King’s Gamma Chapter 51: Gannon

Liam came with me. I had to make sure whoever I brought with me had a strong stomach to handle what I had planned for the bastard that touched my Abbie.

Liam was part of the guard, and the man had an iron gut, but half the time, you never realized he was there. The man was silent as the night when he wanted to be. He was also just as fucked up in the head as me, it’s probably why we got along so well. He was also the only person who knew my mate before I came to work as Kyson’s personal guard.

I never spoke about my past. It haunted me, but out of everyone, Liam and I had no secrets, he even helped me cover up what I did. Kyson was aware something had happened, yet I don’t think he truly knows what or who she was to me.

Kyson, Damian and Liam were my best friends, but I knew some things Kyson and Damian would look at me poorly for, especially after what I did to her, so I never told them. However, I was pretty sure they suspected something was up because I never showed interest in looking for my mate, and that was because I had already found her.

I met Sia twenty years ago, and she was a normal she-wolf. She rejected me the same day I met her. The only issue was that Lycans can’t be rejected. The bond doesn’t just go away for us. The bond doesn’t end until one is dead. Werewolves could reject each other, it was painful for them but the bond would sever.

Even so, it took twenty years after her death for the bond to die out completely, something I never thought would happen. I assumed I was stuck with longing for a bond that didn’t want me and was dead and buried for her betrayal. A betrayal I couldn’t look past. I held out hope she would come to her senses. That was when I learned werewolves could reject their mates. One difference between our species became so obvious to me the day she did it.

Ironically, she could reject me and feel nothing toward me while I would be left pining for her and feeling her betrayal, and in some cases, it could kill us. After two years of of feeling her betrayal, I killed her. Liam here helped me destroy the evidence. I knew Kyson and Damian would have forgiven me for it or convinced me to hold off longer, but I didn’t want their pity. I didn’t want their concem when it wasn’t needed; I had it handled.

At least I thought I did. It made me cold and unfeeling, and I detached from everyone. The only time I felt anything was when Kyson would send me to do the jobs nobody wanted, and usually, Liam came with me for those jobs. I relished in it, relished their screams, and eventually grew an appetite for it.

Then Abbie came along. I didn’t want her screams. However, I wanted her. I wanted her love, and I had never wanted another woman since Sia and was content forever to be alone. Yet, she stirred up feelings I thought I was no longer capable of from the moment she came into my quarters by mistake. An obsession which I wasn’t sure was healthy but still better than the void I have felt for the last twenty-plus years.

“So we are going back for that headmistress?” Liam asks finally, something he didn’t do very often. I look over at the man, surprised that he asked anything at all. He had a massive scar down one side of his face that went from his hairline to his chin. Liam was almost blind in that eye, which is funny considering he was our best gunman. Not that we had much use for guns, but they made things easier than risking the King when he traveled.

Like the rest of us Lycan men, he appeared to be in his mid-thirties, but he was nearly 90 years older, still young considering how Lycan’s age

“Her and another, I answer him as he unrolled his knife pouch to make sure he brought them all.

“Who else?” he asks as he ran his thumb down the blade and let it slice his thumb as he tested how sharp it was.

“The butcher, when we find out who he is.”

“A butcher?” he chuckles. “Well, that is interesting. I wonder how he will feel when he realizes it will be his meat you’re cutting into?’ Liam says, glancing at me and smirking.

“So the Alpha and his mutt son know we are coming?” Liam asks.

“Nope. But I have the paperwork if they kick up a fuss.”

“To bring him in?” he asks, and I snort and smile.

“Well, I suppose they wouldn’t have sent you if it was as simple as taking them in,” he says, rolling the pouch back up.

“So what did he do to the King?” Liam asks.

“Not to the King, to Abbie,” I explain, and he exhales before pushing his fringe from his eyes. Liam falls quiet, his lips pressing in a line.

I knew he would have to, for Ivy. I heard the call go out earlier in the night about her title change, yet I was used to calling her Ivy. I nearly choked on my spit that he would allow it, but I think he would allow anything she requested if she batted her eyelashes at him. She would learn he was putty in her hands. She just needed to recognize that.

Going at Kyson headstrong wouldn’t get her anywhere, but she had other ways to get what she wanted. She just needed to come out of her shell and play on that which I know Kyson was dreading when she figured that out.

He knows he is screwed when she does, especially with her bloodline. Landeenas were known to have certain gifts, so it would be interesting to see if she inherited any of those traits. She had her mother’s eyes, so it would be interesting to see if she received her mother’s abilities. Or would she inherit her father’s? Or both? Only time would tell.

“Enough said,” he says. We spend the rest of the drive in silence. The long windy roads were boring, and I pull over and swap with Liam when I feel myself nodding off. By the time we arrived, it was the early morning hours, the sun just creeping above the trees of the sleepy town.

Liam smacks my chest, which is what woke me, and I was instantly alert as I saw the town limits as he drove in.

*Orphanage first.” I tell him, and he nods, heading straight for it. I leaned over into the back, tugging my jacket out of the bag. The morning air was a little chilly this morning. We pulled up out of the front of the building.

The place needed to be condemned, though someone had built a ramp for the old bitch to get in now that she would spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair. However, she wouldn’t have to worry about the future because hers ends today.

He pulls over to the curb, and I climb out of the car, shutting the door gently. No children were awake; I could tell because no noise came from the place. So, I knew that everyone was still tucked into their beds. I step over the small brick fence out the front and hear Liam open the trunk

“Not needed here, there are children here,” I tell him.

“So, what are we doing here, then?” he asks.

“Grabbing the old bat, getting a name and leaving,” I tell him, and he sighs but shuts the trunk. I continue to the door and knock, waiting to the back of the building, however, I find the back door unlocked and shake my head. Stepping inside, it was colder inside the orphanage than it was outside.

“Fuck! It’s like the arctic in here!” Liam snarls.

“I’m assuming she would no longer live upstairs,” I tell him, looking at the beaten spiral staircase.

“Not unless the old bat grew wings and can now fly,” Liam laughs.

“Oh, she will fly alright,” I tell him, walking through the bottom level, looking for where she may have had her room moved to. It was the sounds of banging around that alerted me to which one. It sounds like she fell out of bed, and her annoying screeching voice as she cursed made my upper lip pull back over my teeth as I pushed open the door. The room stunk of piss and shit.

“Fuck me. We haven’t even touched her, and she already shit herself,” Liam chuckles, and her head snaps up to look at us from where she was trapped beside her bed, her wheelchair overturned. Her eyes go wide, and she cowers away.

“Haven’t you done enough?” she says, visibly shaking.

“Nope, but I will make it quick. All I need is a name,” I tell her, gripping her shoulders while Liam turns the wheelchair upright. I lift her, dropping her into the seat, and she clutches the armrests.

“How about a nice cup of tea, love? You look rather parched. I make an outstanding brew,” Liam says, grabbing the handles and steering her out.

“There are children here!” she says, flinching as she passes me when I hold the door open for him to push her out.

“Well, it wouldn’t be an orphanage without children?” I tell her, following behind as he took her to the kitchen. Liam zips around the kitchen, and I shake my head. He liked the theatrics, and I know he was just easing her into her death.

“What have I done this time? What did the King order you to do to me?” she asks, her lips quivering.

Liam chuckles, finding an apron and putting it on before flicking the kettle on. “The children will be up any minute. I have to start making their breakfast soon,” she claims and Liam snorts.

“You? You can’t even reach the bench. What use would you be in a kitchen?” Liam asks her and her eyes prick with tears.

“Either way, today you will be put out of your misery. So you answer honestly I will make it quick. You don’t and,” Liam turns quickly, plunging a knife into her hand, his other hand clamping over her mouth as her eyes widen and she screams.

her hand, the knife all the way through to the handle and stabbing through the wooden armrest.

“Oh right forgot” Liam says, ripping it out.

“Ah, none of that. You’re a big girl” Liam scolds when her mouth opens to scream, the sound shrill, as it quickly dies out when he waves the knife in front of her face. He then cleans it on the apron around his waist. “Need to get me one of these,” he says, admiring the floral apron.

“Do you have one with skulls instead of flowers? I am not complaining, though.”

Mrs. Daley shakes her head, tears falling down her cheeks and her mouth wide open. She reminds me of one of those clowns at the carnival where you pop the balls into their mouth.

“Never mind, I will just keep this one. Suits me right?” Liam taunts, wiggling his jean-clad ass at the withered woman. “Does it make my ass look big?” he asks, and I shake my head, trying not to laugh as he parades around the kitchen. She shakes her head.

“Now that was a lie, wasn’t it? It’s alright. I will let that one slide. One sugar or two?” he asks as she just stares at him wide-eyed.

“You look like two. Let’s make it three, though. You seem like a bitter bitch,” he says, turning back to make coffee.

Liam hands me mine when he is done making them, and I sip it, watching Mrs. Daley hiss when he forces the cup into her injured hand.

“Bottoms up! It is nice and hot. Don’t want it to go cold,” he says, sipping his own. “Ah, now that’s a nice brand. What is that?” he asks, looking back at the counter. It was some expensive coffee, from the looks of it.

“Hmm, where did you order this?” he asks.

“Online,” she stutters out.

“Good. You can write down the site before I kill you,” he says. Mrs. Daley whimpers and points to the fridge where a card was stuck to the board up top. Liam walks over and plucks it off.

“Well, that was easy,” he says before pocketing the card with the same name-branded label as the coffee jar. Mrs. Daley sips her coffee like it would delay the inevitable, and we decide to entertain her. Liam keeps making small talk with her until I finish mine, and I place my mug in the sink and wash it before putting it to dry. Turning around, I lean on the counter and watch the woman shake like a leaf as she watches Liam.

“So, I hear you have a mighty fine butcher in town,” Liam tells her, and her hand freezes as she goes to tip the cup to her lips and I watch her gulp.

“Now that looks like a guilty face, now doesn’t it, brother?” Liam says, nudging me.

“Very guilty. Do you have something to confess, love? Want to get it off your chest before you meet your maker?” Liam taunts.

“What do you mean?” she says, and I click my tongue.

“I was hoping to do this the easy way. I am not here for you, but if you want to be difficult, I need a little practice anyway. I haven’t sliced and diced for a while,” I tell her, holding my hand out for Liam’s knives.

He pulls the rolled-up leather pouch from inside his leather jacket pocket, handing it to me. I roll it out along the bench, picking them up and showing her each one, and Mrs. Daley begins to sweat, her eyes flickering between us and Liam Smiles sadistically, as I turn to her.

“Which one?” I ask her. She shakes her head, clutching her mug, but Liam takes it from her.

“I never I had to feed the children. It was only the one time… she probably doesn’t even remember” she starts stuttering.

“I want a name,” I tell her, picking up the boning knife. I turn it between my fingers before moving toward her. Her blood pools around her feet from her hand. Her lip quivers as I stop infront of her. I touch the back of the blade to her cheek and slide it down to her chin before tilting her head up to look at me with it.

“Name or the ear goes first. Then the toes, then I will deglove your hand,” I tell her calmly. I had every intention of doing just that if she didn’t answer. Her horrified gaze meets my cold, grey eyes. She knows I’m not lying.

“Doyle Mathews,” she blurts out.

“Address?” | ask. “3 Lincoln Way” “Wife, children anything we should know about?” I ask, but she shakes her head.

“Figures a pig like that would have no family,” Liam sneers.

“Go check it out and load him up,” I tell Liam, who ducks out quickly. When he leaves, I clean up the blood on the floor and wrap Mrs. Daley’s hand in case any of the children wake up.

Liam was gone for about twenty minutes when my phone rang. I pull it from my pocket just as a little girl comes down the steps, rubbing her eyes. Reaching for a tea towel. I cover Mrs. Daley’s wrapped hand.

“Yep?” I answer the call, watching the child as she walks down the stairs. She looked up, hearing my voice, and I waved to her before kicking the wheelchair. Mrs. Daley smiles fakely and waves to her, earning a strange look from the child who waved briefly as she stepped off the last step.

“Got him and I’m on my way back,” Liam informs me.

“The trunk?”

“Nope. He showed me to his store, he is tied to a chair in the cold room,” Liam laughs.

“Even better,” I tell him, hanging up.

“And what is your name?” I ask the little girl when she remains frozen on the step. I could hear more kids moving around upstairs.

“Kimmy, sir,” she says, and I bend down, scooping her up.

“Are you hungry? What do you usually have for breakfast?” I ask her, and her brows furrow, and she yawns again, her tummy rumbling.

“We haven’t had breakfast since Abbie and Ivy left, Sir. You came with the King?” she whispers into my ear. I nod and look at Mrs. Daley, who drops her head. I growled before turning my attention to the girl, her hair looked like a haystack on her head, some parts matted like it hadn’t been brushed for a long time.

“What did they usually make?” I ask her.

“Pancakes, but Mrs. Daley can’t get the flour from the basement, and the bag is too heavy.”

“Right, I will get the flour. You go do whatever it is you kids do in the morning.”

“Can we watch cartoons?” she asks before her eyes go to Mrs. Daley, who purses her lips.

“Yep, and make sure you turn the volume all the way up,” I tell her, setting her on her feet just as a few more kids start rushing down.

It took minutes before the place was filled with chatter, and I duck down to the basement and find the flour. No wonder none of them could carry it. I could tell they had tried because flour was poured on the floor like they had been scooping it out of the bag with cups. I shake my head, grab a fresh 50-pound bag, and head up the steps.

Liam walks in just as I drop the bag on the bench. “What’s with the flour? You gonna batter the old hag?” Liam laughs.

“The kids are hungry,” I tell him, turning my attention to Mrs. Daley.

“When does the staff come in?” I ask Mrs. Daley.

“Katrina comes in at lunch,” she says.

“Call her in early.” I tell her, and Liam hands her his phone. She dials the number and does as she is told while Liam goes out to count heads to know how many pancakes to make.

“Who wants pancakes?” I hear him scream out and all the kids cheer.

“Alright, alright, settle down. Uncle Liam is going to make them, so settle down and watch your dancing puppet show,” I hear him say just as a little boy stumbles down the steps with a blanket dragging behind him.

“103! Fuck me, that’s a lot of pancakes,” Liam says, coming back in before his eyes go to the boy. I sniff the air, realizing he is a rogue, and Mrs. Daley growls before realizing who is standing next to her, and I glare at her, making her drop her head and flinch away.

The boy cowers, whimpers, and runs from her, heading back up the stairs, but I grab the back of his pants, plucking him off the steps. He is only about three years old and wore holey pajama pants and had no shirt. He is covered in goosebumps and holding a filthy blanket.

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