Page 105 of One for the Money
Who is this?
Someone who wants you to know their place and get the fuck out. You don’t belong here.
Take it up with your showrunner
I tossmy phone away in frustration. I expected this, of course, but I was hoping to have one day free of the stress that comes with having someone at my place of employment willing to attack me to get me to leave.
Don’t they know that I just accidentally bonded a Beta and took a grumpy Alpha’s virginity?
I don’t have time for their temper tantrum about being around an Omega.
If this continues, I won’t be able tofulfill my contract. The destruction of my nest is a worrying escalation that any crisis counselor would say is the precursor to a dangerous, violent outburst. If that initial interaction wasn’t enough to convince me these men have no qualms about hurting me, this would have done it.
No, I probably won’t be able to stick around. I’ll have to leave, because I didn’t leave Rich, Tripp, and Greg to end up held hostage by other men.
But leaving would mean leaving the others, including my bonded Beta.
I have a bonded Beta.
Holy fuck.
I still can’t believe I did that, but at least I had my wits about me enough not to bond Dexter last night. He definitely would have rejected the bond, and, since I’m still recovering from FOS, I’d probably need to be hospitalized to deal with the aftereffects of it.
Plus, the rejection I felt when he scrambled away from me as soon as his knot went down was hard enough. I don’t think I could’ve handled it if a bond was thrown back in my face.
Tonight’s show is supposed to start soon, which makes me wonder if my mystery texter is a performer or a member of the crew. I feel like the crew is mostly all passive at this point, except the spotters, lighting, and sound team. But the setup and breakdown crew typically hang out in their trailers for the duration of the show.
Part of me wants to go poking around to see if I can find out who it is, but I’m not that big of an idiot. If I end up alone, with one of them, I know I won’t like the way it turns out.
Been there, done that, got the torn t-shirt to prove it.
Instead, I take a screenshot of the text exchange and forward it to Matteo and Jude, knowing they’ll take care ofit. Neither of them responds, but I’m not really surprised. Matteo is probably prepping with Quinton, and Jude is probably doing ringmaster shit.
I’m sorry, not ringmaster. Showrunner.
I think the only difference is the lack of a pretty cane and the fancy hat, because from what I saw, it’s the same exact job. But perhaps he reserves the title ‘master’ for something else.
My thighs clench, and arousal heats my veins. The Alpha is so dominant, so commanding, that I could see him requiring that title in the bedroom.
Could I submit to someone like Jude? After everything that I’ve been through?
I know there is power in submission, and the psychology behind it is fascinating, but I do worry that what happened with Rich and his pack will ruin the ability for me to submit to someone in the bedroom. It takes a lot of trust, and I don’t think I’m there yet.
But look at me, making up pretend situations in my head based on an assumption thinner than Dexter’s tightrope.
I’m so conflicted about everything right now that it’s hard to keep my mind straight. I feel stuck, like I’m trapped on that tightrope myself. That any move I make will have me plummeting into something I can’t handle.
The more I think about what the future looks like for me, the more anxious it makes me. Do I work out my contract and then some, allowing myself to form a pack with these men and hoping for the best? Do I stockpile money, as I originally intended, and then try to leave the country after it’s up, getting as far away from them as possible?
Or do I slip out now? Run away, and go from three people hunting me down to eight.
Assuming the Cirque de Mordu crew would hunt me down.
My thoughts are spiraling, most likely because I have nothing to do, which is the only explanation I have for what I do next.
Opening my laptop, I scroll through social media. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. There are parts of my old life that I sorely miss, and part of that is the normalcy. Of hopping online to see photos of babies and cats, learning new dance trends, and staying updated on what my second cousin is up to through an all-caps post from my grandmother.
The first thing I see is a news article shared by Rich’s sister, Kylie. The preview is a photo from my hospital ID badge, when I didn’t have bangs and my hair was still a light brown, and the headline is simply, “Promising Young Doctor Missing.”
