Poison Ivy Ch. 06

ETA: This is the revised version of Chapter 6. A few minor details have been altered, so if you read ahead before the next chapters are revised, just be aware that some small things might not line up. I will post an ETA for each chapter as they get updated. The final chapter is written and will be posted shortly in two parts, as well as a teaser for Aella and Trevino's story. Thanks for your patience!

Hi folks! Thanks for sticking with me! Now that the holidays are all over, I hope to be writing more often. I have some awesome things planned for this story, so I hope you're enjoying it and continue to. As I said before, I'd like to give credit to the songs I listen to while I write these chapters, so below are a few I particularly enjoyed during this one.

Let me know what you think! (Not of the songs, I already know they're awesome. The chapter.)

Loaded Gun, Bella Mar, from album Loaded Gun

ZOO, by Jetta, from album ZOO

Step inside, the Violence, by Red, from album Gone (Deluxe Edition)

Not Human, by elegant slims, from Album Not Human

Turncoat, by Matthew Mayfield, from album Recoil

The Promise, by Window to the Abbey, from album The Promise

Thanks! Enjoy!

......................

Trevor's hands gripped the tablet so tightly, he thought the screen might crack. He sucked in a shaky breath and focused on letting it out slowly, the image in front of him blurring in the red haze clouding his vision.

How the fuck did this happen?

"Sir?" His fucking dumb-as-shit assistant, Parsons, was standing by the door, an uncertain and uneasy look on his blotchy, sallow face. "Is... everything all right?"

No. No, everything was certainly not fucking all right.

He brought his smokey gaze back to the picture General Maverick had sent to him. The man had some personal vendetta against the little Omega staring back at him defiantly, her very existence a threat to his status as the second-in-command of the entire fucking country. How the General had found her, he didn't know and, quite frankly, didn't care. The fact was, the little bitch had to be dealt with, and fast.

There were very few people who knew that he hadn't always been Vice President Ethan Hickson. Even fewer knew about his colorful past. Maverick had some fucking balls, he'd give him that. The perverted, pretty-boy general very well might regret his decision to bring Ivy to his attention, depending on how this conversation went.

Election season was coming up, and the only thing that could possibly put his political career in serious jeopardy was currently stationed in Torrin, pair-bonded to that thorn in his side, Lt. General Hunter.

He shook his head as if to clear it. How was this even fucking possible? He had burned the house down, with both her and her mother in it. He'd paid a shit-ton of money for someone who should have made the whole messy situation disappear. Fuck, he'd even changed his name, paid another someone another shit-ton of money to create a new identity and background for him while Trevor Tivan was buried beneath a pile of smokescreens and dead-ends. He'd climbed to the top, slowly eliminating all competitors, one way or another. Sometimes he'd gotten his hands dirty. Sometimes he paid someone else to get their hands dirty. He'd thought the ugly incident was completely behind him, completely hidden and buried in his shadowed past.

Apparently, he had thought fucking wrong.

"Get Maverick on the line," he barked to the blundering Parsons, inept but loyal to a fault. The idiot was blind to the reality of his truer nature, and Trevor preferred it that way. He enjoyed surrounding himself with nitwits and fools. It made manipulating them so much easier. The tall, stringy man with thick-rimmed glasses would do anything Trevor wanted; fill any role required; without asking a single question.

Before long, the smirking blond General was displayed on the screen in front of him, the mahogany office in the background gleaming with golden trinkets and an obnoxiously large shadow box. The man strutted about like a fucking peacock. It was disgusting, but he was just another tool, easily controlled and manipulated.

"Tell me you've got this under control," the Alpha growled threateningly, a snarl lifting the corner of his thin, cruel lips. Ivy had inherited her emerald eyes from her bitch of a mother, and Trevor's own black glare gleamed with malice.

"She's not going anywhere, sir," Maverick drawled, all but polishing his nails against his chest. Fucking peacock.

"And her mate?" he ground out from behind gritted teeth. The Lt. General had caused him enough trouble as it was, even before he had decided to claim his fucking long lost daughter. God, he hated an incorruptible Officer. The reports of Nelson's death had thrown him into a rage, resulting in more than a few shattered priceless antiques. As if the situation in Torrin hadn't been causing him enough of a headache, now his little Omega bitch of a daughter had come back from the dead.

That motherfucking Beta fuck. Vincent Emmerson had been the one to keep her hidden away, he was sure of it. He was the only one ballsy enough to try to defy him, his pathetic love affair with Aurora likely guilting him into raising the bitch as his own. Then, just as the problem was getting ready to resolve itself, with the girl on the verge of her first estrous in the middle of a base full of Beta grunts, fucking Hunter had swooped in like some tedious superhero and had whisked her back to safety.

It was goddamned disgusting.

Trevor had two options. He could take the Omega back, claiming her as his long-lost daughter. It would take quite a bit of fabrication and would mean shelling out another small fortune for someone to create a plausible backstory, but the press would have a field day with that one. A family reunion of the most tragic type. Nothing beats the shock of a suddenly single father. The popularity points alone might be worth keeping the little deviant alive. Of course, her savior would have to go, adding an even more heartbreaking layer to the sad, sad story.

Or, he could kill the wayward couple and be done with it.

Decisions, decisions.

"Bring her to me," he snapped at the peacock's gleaming, tan face.

"And her mate? Hunter will certainly be a force to be reckoned with. Especially considering the fresh pair-bond. He will fight to his death to protect the little trouble-maker."

"Then fucking kill him!" Trevor roared, disbelief poisoning the sharp edge of his words. Was the man a complete moron? "You have weapons there, I assume? You have an entire fucking army at your disposable, do you not? Or are you really that fucking inept?"

Maverick bristled and cleared his throat. "Most of the Officers on base are... quite loyal to the Lt. General."

"What are you telling me, Maverick? Get to the fucking point," Trevor snapped. He was at the end of his rope with this piece of shit, and he had a long list of corrupt officers on his payroll who would be happy to take his place within days.

"I want the girl."

Surprised, Trevor looked up. "Unless my memory has failed me, I seem to recall that you have an Omega already. A pregnant one. That you insisted on dragging to Torrin with you."

Maverick's mud-brown eyes gleamed greedily. "I never claimed her, sir. And quite frankly, she... bores me." He hesitates. "Ivy has a bit more... fight in her."

Ah. Now he understood. He was aware of the rumors of Maverick's bedroom antics, although he couldn't give two shits about which of his men were sadists and perverts. People often told him things he didn't really care to know. He had a trusting face, apparently. But he had found that information could be as powerful and valuable as currency, and he stored it away in his brain like cash in a bank.

He paused before answering, considering. A pair-bond was an irritatingly mysterious link between an Alpha and Omega. Most pairs were arranged, as Omegas were thought of as rewards for top military officials and political figures. Some, like himself and Maverick, did not always choose to solidify the bond by claiming the Omega gifted to them as mates. Those who did, shared life-long connections, some even strong enough to occasionally pass intense emotions through the bond.

Very rarely, a fated pair-bond would occur. He had heard others refer to these as soul-bonds, although Trevor had always scoffed at the term. As far as he knew, these so-called fated bonds seemed, for whatever reason, to be far stronger than your regular, run-of-the-mill pair-bonds. There was no textbook or scientific literature on this type of thing. No one really knew how a fated mate was recognized, although there was some speculation over especially compatible scents. Nevertheless, when a fated pair-bond lost a mate, the only way the widowed partner could survive was to be mated with another, as a surrogacy of sorts.

From what he had just read on his daughter's file, it seemed Hunter had claimed her as his fated mate. What did it matter to him if Maverick decided to step in as her surrogate Alpha, once Hunter had been disposed of?

Actually, the more he thought about it, the better this option sounded. Maverick would help him control the girl. Break her into submission, even. After their little reunion, he would make a grand show of bestowing a very capablesurrogate upon the poor, grieving thing. He would need to keep her heavily sedated, anyway, to prevent her from disclosing any traumaticexperiences she might recall. Pharmaceuticals these days could do wonders for the understandably severe mental condition brought about by her tragic past. Forced into the army by the overbearing man who had kidnapped her at such a tender age, raised among crass and treacherous Beta soldiers. Then rescued by a fated mate, only to have him torn from her arms before his claiming mark had even fully healed. So sad. She might have developed all manner of debilitating psychological disorders. PTSD, psychosis, traumatic amnesia. Nothing a regular diet of barbiturates and benzodiazepines wouldn't be able to fix.

Nothing his competitor, Senator Byron, could do would even come close to the widely circulated drama that would take place in the wake of her discovery.

"Fine. Anything else?"

Deciding not to wait for an answer, a heavy hand came down on the videoconference control, effectively severing the link between his office and Torrin's commanding General. He leaned back in the luxurious leather seat; a throne built for a king. That's what he was, or soon would be. An elected King, with a plan in motion to secure Lostra's place, and as such, his own, as ruler of the free word. And now the little, foolish girl he had thought long dead would help ensure he reached new, previously unattainable heights.

Lounged comfortably in the massive chair, he let his thoughts drift to that night all those years ago, when he had caught Aurora trying to leave and had come clean about that Beta fuck who had promised to take her away from all the abuse, boo-hoo, who had been planning to give her and their daughter a new life, a life without fear or violence or threats. "I'm leaving," she had told him, her pathetic little suitcase barely clasped with a flowery blouse trailing behind like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. That ungrateful little bitch. And the terrified little girl who would grow up to be an Omega in disguise, who had been glaring at him as she clutched the hard wood of the staircase banister, ready to bolt at any sign of trouble. Her mother had coached her well.

"You're not going fucking anywhere," Trevor had roared, tearing the little grey suede suitcase from her delicate grasp and flinging it across the hallway and into the very banister his daughter clutched so desperately. The girl had yelped and scrambled out of the way, just barely in time to avoid being thrown down two stories.

It had taken only a single, severe hit to the face and her cunt of her mother had collapsed, bleeding and writhing on the floor at his feet. Disobedience would not be tolerated, and daring to leave him for another, a fucking Beta, was a death sentence as far as he was concerned.

The girl behind him was wailing for her mother, and suddenly, he had felt the sting of a sharp blade sink into his side. He staggered into the wall, clutching the handle of a sharpened kitchen knife the little tyke must have grabbed before they had tried to make their escape. Blood seeped from between his fingers as he yanked the blade out and rounded on the little quivering thing, her bravery crumbling now under the violence of the angry Alpha. He still remembered how her delicate little neck had felt in his grip, how she had uselessly clawed at his hands and forearms as her butterfly pulse ever so slowly fluttered to a stop. He'd taken a tank of gasoline around the bottom level of their three-story house and had gleefully thrown a lit match over his shoulder as he walked out the front door.

What a brave little survivor, his daughter.

No bodies were recovered from the ashes of their home, but it was suspected that all three loving family members had perished in the angry flames. Trevor had melted into the cold, winter night, calling up contacts and trading in favors until he had secured a new identity: Ethan Hickson, a private man, a champion of the people, who fought for populist views and gained incredible support in a very short amount of time. And so here he was, on the cusp of ultimate power, a wrench in the form of a tiny, insignificant Omega about to be thrown into the cogs of his carefully laid plans.

He'd take the wrench, and he'd turn her into a pawn. A chess piece, to be played by his masterful hand.

Fucking hell, how he loved to play this game. And he was so. Fucking. Good at it.

.......................................

Ivy stood in front of the full-length, gold framed mirror tucked neatly in the back of the ridiculously large dressing room, staring quizzically at a girl she did not recognize. Weeks without her daily runs had softened her normally boy-ish frame. The two hours she spent every day doing body weight exercises while she was relegated to the gilded cage of her living quarters in the Alpha barracks had mostly balanced the decadent meals she was now eating. Even still, the slightest hint of an hourglass figure now graced the soft lines of her silhouette.

Her hair, normally braided and worn up in a messy bun, held together by about a dozen or so elastic hair ties, now hung in a cascade of gentle waves. Her full lips, no longer chapped and colorless, now pursed in a silken pink pout. Even the severe emerald color of her eyes appeared to have melted into more of a sea-glass green.

He was tenderizing her. Once deceptively small, yet wickedly tough, she now appeared delicate and ethereal. More like the fragile, submissive Omega she was supposed to be. The thought made her put her hands on her hips and roll her eyes.

She glanced down at the simple white dress he had selected for her. He preferred her in white, appreciating the way the tan color of her skin contrasted with bright garments. Strapless, the luxurious material clung to her in all the right places until it hit her hips, where it flowed out into an excess of material that twirled and swirled around her when she moved. Ivy thought it ridiculous, but at least it gave her the freedom to move, unlike the first stupidly tight outfit he had picked out, which she had immediately rejected.

The long-awaited ceremonial dinner, where she was supposed to be presented as Hunter's newly claimed Omega, was unfortunately rapidly approaching. The dreaded affair had been postponed after the disastrously attempted base takeover, and then again for the arrival of that asshole Maverick-dude and his wayward pregnant Omega, Aella. Poor girl. She actually wanted to be pair-bonded to that piece of shit, abusive dickface. And not just that... He had brainwashed her into thinking she wasn't deserving of it! Her eyes were drawn to the hideous, swollen claiming marks Hunter had made during her first estrous, when his teeth had bit through skin and sinew to leave marks that would scar and forever brand her as his.

Her hand flew to the hated place just below her sternum where the pair-bond thrummed pleasantly, reminding her how lucky she was to be mated to such a strong and capable Alpha, one who had gone to such great lengths to make her his own.

Total. Fucking. Bullshit. More than anything, she wished she could go back to her days as an Army medic, back in her little shabby med tent on Chid Forward Operating Base. Back when Kentucky had been her best friend instead of a lying, traitorous little shit, and she had been the reluctant supervisor of her eight unruly, but loyal, Beta boys.

Well, seven, she guessed, if you left out Kentucky.

A pang of guilt inexplicably churned in her gut. She wasn't completely ungrateful, even though she had certainly been acting like it. Sort of. And she wasn't completely stupid, either. If Hunter hadn't been there back in Chid, when those Torrin Alphas had had her surrounded, she would have been a flayed piece of rotting dead meat right about now. And if he hadn't taken her away from her Betas before the heat suppressants she had unknowingly been taking since adolescence had worn off and she had fallen into estrous, she would have, most likely, been torn to shreds by the men and boys she'd considered family. She was begrudgingly indebted to the brute for saving her from certain, horrible destruction.

Still. She now faced a bleak future of subservience, and she wasn't yet convinced that she was any better off.

And yet... If she were being completely honest with herself, Officer Muscles had, despite her greatest efforts, started to grow on her. More like, he was slowly burrowing his way under her skin. She liked the way he looked at her, like she was the most important thing in the entire world. Even though she was sure that, deep down, he must be disappointed that he had claimed her before learning just how difficult she could be. She liked the way he purred for her, liked the way he touched her. Even when she hated him for stealing her away from the life she had loved, for keeping her locked away like some delicate bird, for forcing a pair-bond on her without even allowing her to get to know him, she didn't really hate him, hate him. Just... you know... hated him.

"Ivy." Her Alpha's deep voice resonated from across the room, and resigned, she sighed and spun on her heel to go parade herself in front of his critical, storm-cloud eyes. They gleamed with appreciation as his piercing, lust-filled gaze raked her from head to toe. She could smell his arousal, the scent distinctly masculine, distinctly Alpha, but also completely unique to Hunter and irritatingly irresistible. Without realizing it, she had taken a step closer to him.

The beast sat up from his perch on the side of the massive, four-poster bed that dominated this side of the room, reaching her in two of his giant strides. His hand came up to cup her jaw and lifted her gaze up to his as his thumb grazed her lower lip. She parted them slightly, her tongue darting out to swirl around the thick pad. Heat pooled in her core and her nipples tightened. His arms came around her, lifting her to carry the writhing ball of sex-mush he always turned her into and laying her out beneath him on the comically large bed they now shared.

His forearms framed her head, supporting his weight, as his knees easily parted her thighs and he settled himself between her legs. Ivy's eyes fluttered closed as a thick finger stroked her pantiles pussy, skimming her slick folds, his thumb finding the small, sensitive pearl at the apex of her sex. "Eyes, little Poison," he growled, the dominating sound sending a little thrill through her core. Not for the first time, she cursed her biology as her gaze obediently found the dark pools of his expanding pupils. Not realizing that he had already freed himself from the smooth fabric of his black dress uniform, she gasped as he buried himself completely inside of her in one powerful thrust.