Page 26 of Wild Omega

“I can’t wear this half-finished dress.”

I shake my head. This cannot be happening. “But I signed for a preview gown on the condition that you announce you’re wearing a Sorentito’s.”

She glares at me like I’m the problem in this equation. “Then you shouldn’t have signed for this monstrosity.”

I stare at her, my mouth falling open. It’s a preview gown that’ll look stunning on her. She’d be the talk of the town, which is something Lyra loves.

“You won’t fall out,” I promise. It’s not my first rodeo for taping a woman’s breasts into couture evening wear.

Lyra turns back to the dress and eyes it over, and her brow furrows. Could it be she’s not confident enough to pull it off? I’d never in a million years dream she’d back away from an opportunity like this.

I clear my throat, scrambling for answers. “We have time. I’ll sew in a sheer panel, or a band under the arm.” Not that an actress of her caliber needs to shy away from making a big statement, but right now I need to remove any obstacles.

She spins away, and a shiver runs through me as I recognize that determined body language. “No. I’m done here. I’ve got better things to do than sit around waiting for you to sew.”

The shock of digesting her reaction means it takes a moment for the real problem to sink in. Panic claws up my throat. “You’ll reimburse me for the cost, though?” I step closer, reaching for her in desperation. “You specifically asked me to pick a Sorentito’s dress.”

She tugs her sleeve out of my frozen fingers. “We’ll discuss it after the wind-up. I have an appointment to get to now.”

That’s not an outright no, which is good news, right? Sorentito’s is not some run-of-the-mill boutique where I can return a dress for a refund, and Hannah would never give me another chance like this. My reputation’s on the line as well.

“Are you sure—?”

She snaps her fingers at me. “Enough about it! Go home.” She flounces out, leaving me with a nose-ful of her synthetic perfume and the breath knocked out of me as surely as if I’d been punched.

Chapter eleven

O-11

The difference between the House of Bitches and the Omega Center where the bus takes us is as stark as night and day. It’s obvious in the way we’re treated courteously, and our rooms aren’t locked from the outside, but also something more, as if someone has ingrained vitality into the walls.

Or maybe that’s the natural light pouring through windows and skylights talking, or the no-expense-spared ventilation system which neutralizes even our strong omega scents.

At the first opportunity, I soak for an hour in a hot tub full of lavender soap until I’m as wrinkly as a pug. Just when I’m contemplating dragging myself out, someone knocks enthusiastically on my bathroom door and O-18 calls through the wall.

“Eleven, come out here! We’re getting on the phone with O-4, but she has a new name now. It’s Rose.”

My new beta nurse, Samantha, laughs in the background. “Calm down, kiddo! No need to rush.” Her voice comes from a little closer to the door as she tells me, “Take your time. The call’s in half an hour.”

I scramble out of the water, my pulse fluttering wildly. I can’t tell if the scarred omega’s excitement is catching or if I’m just desperate to see if O-4 is okay. Rose. I smile; the name suits the gentle omega.

One foot slips on the tiles, and I catch myself on the edge of the tub with a squeak. It’d be tragic to survive years at an illegal omega center only to slip and drown or split my skull open my first day after rescue.

I towel dry my long red hair and select a silky white blouse and comfortable pink sweatpants with pockets. The wardrobe isn’t quite up to a film star’s requirements, but I can’t fault them for comfort and choice. Sure beats hospital-style gowns.

I take a minute to dab on some lipstick, using the moment to steady my nerves. I shouldn’t be so fluttery, but if O-4 has a proper name, does that mean she also has a pack? Nature wired the craving for a pack to call our own into our omega DNA. I know my alphas are out there somewhere, and I don’t want to spend any more days without them.

O-9 welcomes me with a smile and holds up a deck of Uno cards as I sit down at the table in the common room. “Look what we found in the games cupboard.”

This one little piece of normality makes a lump lodge in my throat, and it only gets thicker when Samantha turns her tablet our way, revealing O-4, now Rose, on the other end of the line. She presses her fingers to her trembling lips and tears swim in her eyes. That sets everyone off, talking and crying. I stare, and then reach toward the screen, forgetting I can’t actually touch her in my desire to connect this tall, beautiful omega with the hesitant woman I knew before.

She looks healthy, like she’s glowing with happiness. The room behind her looks like mine, and I can catch the hem of a blue uniform hovering near her elbow. I tap my chin as I stare at her. Is she truly free?

“Tell us what happened to you?” O-9 asks.

Rose glances away from the phone, then clears her voice. “When I left that illegal center, I was sold into an underground fighting ring.” She sucks her lower lip between her teeth, and then continues. “They had wild alphas trained to fight each other, and the owners triggered my heats in order to make the alphas more aggressive.”

Her story sends chills down my spine. I should’ve warned her how cruel the world is. Should have told her the medical treatments were the reason she couldn’t go into heat. I never understood why they didn’t set the others on a heat schedule and extract as much haze as possible, like they did to me. But it seems more creative markets exist out there for haze than just by the vial.

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