Enemy of My Pack ✔️

Chapter 2: My Father, The Tyrant

Just to let you guys know, whenever the words are in italics like this, "Insert some words here." That means they are mind linking! ☺️

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JEN

"Yes, Father." I replied in my most calm voice.

"Breathe in, breathe out." I said to myself. I was hyperventilating because of the amount of fear and stress I was feeling.

I walked into my bathroom and grabbed my sink trying to take my advice in breathing in and out.

I looked in the mirror to see my light brown hair straighten to perfection but my brown eyes seemed too dull with dark circles under them.

At least my body hasn't gained a pound ever since I started to exercise. I wasn't a fighter or anything, in fact, my father never really let me train but that didn't mean I would give up on being fit. I was actually pretty muscled for a women, but not too muscled. I still didn't understand why my father never let me fight. I was going to be an Alpha and I needed to protect myself and my pack members. Sometimes, that man made no sense at all.

I fixed my already fixed hair and straightened my shirt.

Time to face the devil!

We lived in a house that was just for the Alpha and his family but we did have a pack house that my father spent most of his time, "tending" to his pack mates.

I closed the house door and started my 5 minute walk to the pack house, fidgeting the whole way until I reached the pack house's door.

Many people were outside with their children, playing and laughing and having fun but not too loudly, they did not want to upset my father any further.

Some of them actually gave me the evil eye. Awe man! I was hoping my father didn't take his anger out at any pack members! That asshole! I was the one, correction, my brother was the one who crashed his stupid expensive car, not them.

I contorted my face into an apology hoping they would understand how sorry I was.

Pushing the door open, I made my way into the house and up into his office.

I knocked on the door, my heart beating louder than the knocks.

"Come in." Said the deep voice from behind the door.

I think I was going to have a heart attack.

I opened the door to see my father's face in his hands.

He looked up when I cleared my throat.

"Come in, come in, sweetie." He said in a sugarcoated sweet voice.

What the hell! BULLSHIT! Where's the gun! Somebody has got to have a gun at this man's head for him to say 'sweetie'.

Clearly, I was shocked when I stumbled into the chair and knocked it over.

The father that I knew would probably use that chair to smack my face, but now...

"Oh no! Here, let me get that!" He got up from his seat and actually picked up the chair. He just picked it up. Without anyone having to force him. I am so confused.

"Um..." I had no idea what to say.

He put the chair back into its place and motioned for me to sit.

I slowly sat down narrowing my eyes at his beaming face. I looked down at his hands to see them fisted to the point that his knuckles were white.

He's restraining himself. From what? Pounding my face in? Why couldn't he have restrained himself for 20 years?