Page 107 of Two For the Show
The flashof cameras nearly blinds me as I stand on the steps to the Capitol building. The building is strange. A modern tower behind an older colonial-style building that, if I’m not mistaken, was the original Capitol building. It’s the perfect place for a press conference—a stunning backdrop for me to spill my guts out to the world.
This area of Florida can get pretty cold this time of year, but it’s a pretty December day, with clear skies. There is a slight chill in the air, which is why I’m glad I wore stockings, even if they’re a pain in the ass.
I wish I had a podium or something to stand behind, so I could wring my hands without anyone noticing. Instead, I have to hold my hands behind my back in a position of feigned indifference to hide the way they’re shaking.
Can everyone tell how nervous I am? Are they standing in front of me, waiting to tear me apart, to ruin my credibility? What if I get up here and lay my trauma out on a silver platter, and they throw it in my face?
One thing is for sure: without my pack behind me, I wouldn’t be able to do this.
Jude stands behind me, the tallest of all of us, and places a hand on my shoulder, silently reassuring me that he’ll always be here. Dexter stands on my left like a brooding bodyguard, arms crossed over his chest, with Dario beside him, and Quinton is on my right, all charming smiles with Matteo standing stoically beside him.
My pack.
On paper, they don’t sound like what an Omega should want. Together, we smell like a bakery, with candies and pastries galore. Especially since their scents have morphed, they don’t smell like typical Alphas.
But they never were typical, were they?
A grumpy as hell Alpha showrunner of a dangerous circus.
A Rotting Alpha with no self-preservation skills.
A Beta with a sadistic streak.
An Alpha who hides his hurt behind smiles and jokes and puts his life on the line every day.
And a traumatized, broken Alpha hides his struggles with self-doubt under a layer of discontent.
But they’re so much more than that. So much more than the way society sees them. I have never felt as safe in my life as I have in their arms. There is no one else I would want supporting me today than this pack of circus misfits.
“Thank you all for coming today,” I say, painfully aware of all the microphones and video cameras pointed in my direction. “I’m sure most of you recognize me, but for those who don’t, my name is Dr. Alex Shields. As you can imagine, it has been a stressful few months for me. The situation surrounding my disappearance has been misrepresented in the media, and I am here to set the record straight.”
“Are these the kidnappers?” someone shouts.
I barely hold back my eye roll. “Despite what you mayhave heard, I was not kidnapped. I voluntarily ran away from Dr. Richard Smith and his pack.”
“Why?” another voice demands.
My huff of a laugh can’t be contained. “That would be why I called you here today. I’d love to share that story, if you could stop asking questions.” I wince at my harsh words, but honestly, I called this conference. Why won’t they let me speak? Clearly, if I am standing here with a pack of men, what they have been told isn’t true.
Why continue to interrupt me when I am here to tell them everything?
I have to swallow down my bitterness. They’re just doing their jobs. I need to make sure I do not come across as hysterical or combative. I need to be clear, concise, and respectful. That’s the only way to get everyone on my side.
“I want to clear the air, to tell my story.” Jude squeezes my shoulder, and I take a deep breath. “I started dating Dr. Richard Smith while we were in our residency. He was wonderful to me, and my scent match. I thought he was my forever. Four years later, he brought me to dinner and introduced me to Tripp and Greg, claiming they were his pack.”
There are murmurs from the crowd, and a few try to shout questions. I hold up my hand. “Walter Evans the third, known as Tripp, son of Governor Walter Evans, and Greg Ramsey.”
Once again, the press cannot hold back their questions, and they speak over one another, yelling at me. The combination of noise and flashing camera lights has me shaking and overstimulated. I want to go back to my nest, to the arms of my men. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to reveal my biggest shame to everyone. I don’t want to be here anymore. I squeeze my eyes as the onslaught of questions continues. I can’t process them all, can’t understandwhat they’re saying, and it is all so overwhelming that I can barely collect my thoughts.
“Stop,” Jude barks. “My Omega is here to tell you what happened to her, and you will listen.” His dominance washes over them, and the crowd of Betas and less dominant Alphas goes quiet.
“I left Rich, Tripp, and Greg after months of abuse, after I was choked until I passed out. Statistically, forty-three percent of homicide victims killed by an intimate partner were strangled non fatally beforehand.?* I knew my death was inevitable, and I had to escape. When I saw a job posting for a traveling physician with a circus, I applied and got the job. I quite literally ran away and joined the circus.”
And then I tell them everything.
I tell them about every bit of abuse.
Every bruise. Every kick.
