Page 65 of One for the Money
“If she’s hurt and you did nothing to help her? Yeah. Firing is the best thing I’d do to you.”
“Fuck!” I swear, pushing past him. “Fine. But this is really fucking low, Jude. Really fucking low.”
I can hear Dario starting to argue with Jude as I stomp away, but I don’t stick around to listen.
He wants me to check on the doctor? Fine. I’ll check on her. But I’m not sticking around longer than it takes to get proof of life.
I bang on the door of her trailer so hard it shakes a little. I wait a beat, but I don’t hear any movement inside.
So I bang again.
And again.
And again.
By the time it’s been five minutes since I startedpounding on her door, even I am worrying a little, wondering if she’s left and none of us has realized it yet. But there is this scratching sensation in the back of my mind that keeps me from turning away.
Her door is locked, but I learned how to pick one a long time ago. When I shove it open, it catches on something. Peering into the crack of the door, I see a chair wedged under the doorknob. It’s an ineffective block because I’m able to knock it down and slam the door open with very little strength.
If she was sleeping, she’s definitely awake now.
“Alex,” I call, stepping into her space. It’s absolutely soaked in her scent, but the rich scent that should be reminiscent of Black Forest cake is foul, with a sour edge to what used to be a sweet whipped topping. “Dr. Shields, Jude sent me to check on you.”
There’s no movement, no response to my words. I slowly creep towards the rear of the trailer, giving her ample time to come out and stop me. I linger outside her bedroom door, trying to decide if I should throw the door open and barge in there to figure out what’s going on with her.
I don’t like Omegas, and don’t want one, but I also know better than to disturb one of their nests. It’s sacrilege.
But something inside me is dragging me forward, and I find myself pushing open the door to her nest. A quick once-over shows it empty, but a light is on in the attached bathroom. Before I can step into it and check for her, my eyes catch on something that makes my heart stop.
A pair of bare legs, with mottled gray skin, stick out of the doorway of the bathroom.
Still.
Unmoving.
I drop to my knees, crawling towards her, my heart beating overtime.
She can’t be dead.
She can’t.
Dario would fall to pieces.
This whole fucking circus would fall to pieces.
But she’s so gray, so still.
When I reach her, her body is cold, lying face down on the floor. I turn her over and see red vomit crusted in the corner of her lips and stuck to her cheeks.
Intelllectionally, I know I don’t want to touch her. I don’t want to be this close to her. She’d hate that I’m touching her.
But my Alpha has decided that my hindbrain is now my fore, and I am no longer in control of what I’m doing. I am a passenger, watching as an instinctual part of me that I try so hard to ignore every day takes control of my body and has me reaching out and touching her neck.
There’s a fluttering pulse under my fingertips, but it’s weak. I gather her in my arms, and a strange, vibrating sensation overwhelms me.
Am I… purring?
Holy shit, I’m purring.
