Page 23 of Your Wild Omega

I shake my head, my heart sinking. “She doesn’t want to give a statement or testify in court.”

Quinton curls his fingers into a fist and slams it down on the table. “Damn these flighty omegas! Do they think we can produce evidence out of our asses for them?” He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“Watch your mouth,” I snap. “After what she’s been through, I don’t blame her one bit for not wanting to revisit her trauma.” I press one knuckle hard against my mouth to stifle more sharp words and pick up my stylus pen to write the information in my tablet.

Lyle clears his throat. “None of the omegas’ statements mention seeing an alpha in the facility.”

I flatten my lips together in frustration. “So we have him in the facility, but he could weasel his way out of sentencing since there’s no evidence of his actual crimes, right?”

Possession without evidence of distribution will only get him six months behind bars, and he might serve even less if he gets a reduction for good behavior or community service. The idea of this scum of the earth walking away with a slap on the wrist makes me seethe. I have to pin something on him that will stick.

I circle my index finger on the conference table as I think. From cross-referencing the staff names given by the rescued omegas, it doesn’t appear we have all the traffickers in custody yet. I grind my teeth and tap the end of the stylus on the table.

I swivel to Quinton. “You check in with the case agents to see if they have leads on any of the missing traffickers.” I point the pen at the second lawyer. “We need to offer one of the other traffickers a reduced sentence to rat Ray out. Two years should be attractive. Lyle, you take charge of that.” Whether it’seighteen or twenty years for the nurses who sold the omegas won’t make much difference. They’ll spend most of their lives behind bars, and the world will have changed by the time they get out.

Lyle makes a tick shape in the air. “Okay, will do. Was going to the prison anyway for something else.” He tilts his head. “And what about you, Callisto?”

“I’m going to find the agents who rescued Red and see if I can find anything new in their statements.” I jot a few reminder notes in my tablet before packing up my files. “And then I’m going to visit the facility.”

Quinton leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why would you go there? We’re not forensics.”

I look away, using the pretext of packing my bag. I can’t answer his question. Maybe it has nothing to do with the case at all, but something tells me I must see the place Red came from. I pray it helps me find a solution to this mess.

Chapter nine

Rickon

At the far end of the lounge room, Red clicks her fingers. “Come, Zack.” She steps forward, gently tugging the leash clipped to the collar around his neck. The alpha walks obediently beside her through the kitchen and right around the room.

I heave my ass up onto the countertop to watch them. In just two days, the big alpha has settled so much. Although he still monitors our resident OCB agents, he twitches less, and Red can move a few feet away without him freaking out.

Maybe he just needed his omega, like Red keeps saying.

“Good job!” she praises, feeding him a bit of vanilla cake. She catches my eye over Zack’s shoulder and holds up a tiny square of the dessert. “Still his favorite.”

I flush. When she gave Zack his choice of treats, he went straight to the vanilla cake, and then swung to me and checked my scent. I didn’t think I smelled like vanilla, but Red says I absolutely do, and it appears Zack feels the same way. He’ll eatanything Red or I offer him, but his eyes always light up at the sight of vanilla cake.

Red ruffles Zack’s hair and unclips the leash. “Your turn, Rickon.”

“Zack, come,” I call, beckoning with both hands.

He takes one step eagerly but then realizes Red’s not moving with him. Her cheeks hollow, and her body stills as she waits to see what he’ll do. We’ve played this game, but she walked with him before now.

Zack takes another few steps toward me, looking over his shoulder to check Red hasn’t moved away.

“Come on,” I encourage. “She isn’t going anywhere.”

Zack strides toward me, as if to get it over quickly, and stands beside my dangling legs, waiting for his treat. I keep my amusement inside as I offer him cake and stroke his arm. “Thank you, Zack. Well done.”

He opens his mouth expectantly, and I pop the piece on his tongue. A faint murmur showing his enjoyment hums in his throat as he chews. I play my fingers over his shoulder muscles as he stands almost between my knees, twisting slightly to keep one eye on Red.

With Josef and Pearce’s help, we’ve developed a schedule of formal reinforcement sessions with Zack on the leash, and informal learning experiences based around meals and showers. We take breaks in between, with Red and me reading as many rehabilitation articles as we can get our eyeballs on.

They all recommend stability, a safe home environment, consistency, and positive reinforcement.

Every day we practice walking Zack on a leash around the apartment and asking him to stay and come for fifteen minutes at a time. Today we started him on kids’ educational cartoons. All we can do is try.

My gaze drops to the box on the edge of the dining table. There’s a gag and proper restraining handcuffs inside. We haven’t discussed it yet, but I’m pretty sure those are Red’s backup plan.

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