Page 103 of Your Wild Omega

I ride down the elevator and fly through the front door, heading out onto the street level instead of the parking garage, while softly chatting to Zack on my phone the whole time. Catching a cab proves to be easy, and although it takes a few tries, I get the AlphaCash app working to pay the driver. Feels great to be paying with my own money.

I swallow nerves at the size of the crowd outside the gate and ask the driver to go around the block. “Any chance I could buy your cap off you?” I ask, tapping my head to indicate his hat.

I don’t think the press will hurt me, but I’m sure the court case is hot news, especially after Rickon’s outburst and collapse. And I don’t need any complications right now.

Zack goes quiet on the phone and I think he’s fallen asleep as I twist my hair up into a knot and stuff it under my new hat, slipping through the crowds like I’m not aiming for the guarded gateway. One of the security guards spots me, jerking his chin in acknowledgment. When an opening appears between the reporters, I dart through, and he has the gate ready for me.

But that doesn’t stop the reporters from getting excited. “Red Jones! Any comment on what happened at the courthouse yesterday?”

I duck my head and keep walking as the gate clangs shut. I don’t have time for press today, and besides, Rickon will probably make a statement once he’s awake. The picture of him with his legs wrapped in Zack’s arms comes to mind, and I grin. It’s just as likely he won’t be able to do a thing today.

The filming routine is familiar now, and I coast through costuming and makeup, chatting easily with Callie and the other staff before heading to the set.

Director Yun glances around. “Is everything okay? Where’s your team?”

I grin. “Something came up so I’m flying solo today.”

He nods once, looking troubled. “Um, I saw the news. Is Rickon okay?”

I slap my forehead. “Darn, I haven’t seen what they’re reporting, but if you mean what happened at the courthouse, he’ll be okay. Let’s get rolling, shall we?” I’m confident that having an unrestrained feral alpha up in his emotions will distract Rickon from his parent’s fucked-up stunt.

“All right, business as usual, then.” The director plants his hands on his hips and scans the busy team. “But I’ll ask someone to keep an eye on you for today.”

I don’t argue. I’ve been through enough as an omega to know I can’t be too reckless.

As they do the lighting checks, a pang runs through my chest. I dig out my phone, which I put on mute earlier. “Everything okay, Zack?” I murmur softly, not wanting to wake him if he’s asleep.

“Red?” Rickon calls.

“I’m on the phone, alpha. I went into work.”

He swears and the line crackles as he grabs for his phone. “By yourself? I’m so sorry. I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m fine, and you need to stay where you are. A bond mark’s no joke, and I doubt Zack will release you for another day, at least.”

“Oh.”

A faint thrill seeps through our shared bond, and I grin as I picture him looking down at the brawny alpha wrapped around his legs. Even in my imagination, they’re too cute to handle. “You did good, love,” I murmur, covering the phone so no one can overhear me. “I’m so happy for us. I can sense you in my heart now.”

His voice lifts with a smile as he replies. “Red, I had no idea it would feel this good. I couldn’t even imagine.” His voice breaks and he clears his throat. “I can feel you too, Biscuit. And you orgasmed last night, didn’t you? It was so good, I thought I might die from pleasure.”

“Yes, alpha.” Warmth explodes through my chest. “I can feel how happy you are. It’s a dream come true.” I chuckle. “Even better, Zack found a way to screw over the Omega Center’s rules.”

Rickon laughs.

The director calls for the scene to be set. “Gotta go, Rickon. I’ll ring back when I have time, ’kay? Enjoy your day with Zack, and don’t worry about me.”

I hang up the phone and ask my temporary assistant to hold on to it for me.

Today we’re filming a scene where the racehorses load into the starting gate and the other jockeys heckle Ashana. Horses mill everywhere and dust rises from the dirt track. I turn Chuckles, affectionately nicknamed for the way he blows out his nostrils, in a circle around the back of the starting gates.

My heartbeat clip-clops along with the excited horses’ hoofbeats as we enter the third take after some of the hotheaded horses spoil the first two tries. I wind one fist into my horse’smane as the handler sends us into the gates. It’s such a cramped space; I can’t blame the animals for not liking it. I drag my goggles down over the helmet and settle them in place.

“Don’t go into heat halfway round,” a jockey heckles as per the script.

“Careful, or your face will set like an asshole,” I counter, hunching down and looking straight ahead like I’m supposed to. With a smirk, I add, “Oh, wait, it already has.” Ashana pulls no punches.

Any second now, the bell will ring, and those bars will fly open. Damn, feels like I’m really about to ride in a race like this, even though we’re using retired racehorses and my stunt double will do the actual race shots once we’ve finished.

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