Page 88 of Two For the Show
He sighs. “Of course not. I can see the love between all of you. However, that doesn’t change the fact that this is highly unusual and a situation that many people will not understand. We Omegas are so rare, and female ones more so, which makes a lot of people think that it’s our duty to be and act a certain way. The idea of letting an Omega fallfrom the ceiling or get knives thrown at her is going to make a lot of people feel ill. I don’t need to tell you, Dr. Shields, that there is a very loud contingent of America that thinks Omegas are to be protected.”
“Controlled, you mean,” Dexter snaps. “Because we can argue all fucking day that not a single person protected Alex. She needed protection from the people who swore to the government that they had her best interests at heart. They didn’t, but we do. She’s everything to us. We would never let anything happen to her.”
Jude’s phone rings loudly.
“Who’s calling you this late?” Dario asks, turning halfway in his seat to look at the showrunner.
“It’s the forwarding service for the circus’s main line,” Jude says. He shakes his head and presses the decline button. It starts ringing again immediately.
I have a horrible feeling about this, and I share that with everyone.
Bradley scrunches his face up. “Answer it. Put it on speakerphone.”
Jude doesn’t like taking orders from someone else, and I can see him holding his tongue from arguing. But he swallows it down and presses the accept button. Before he says anything, a sickeningly familiar voice fills the tent.
“I want to speak to my Omega.”
The voice that used to bring me so much comfort now has me feeling like I am going to crawl out of my skin. Rich’s tone is so level, so reasonable, that it’s hard to believe he’s the same man who held my arms down as his packmate climbed on top of me.
“You don’t have an Omega,” Jude says roughly. He may not know which of the pack it is, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not going to let them near me.
“Alex? Are you there, sweetie?”
Bile rises in my throat, and I scramble backward, basically climbing into Quinton’s lap. He wraps his arms around my waist and buries his face in the crook of my neck. “Don’t say anything,” he whispers against my skin. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
“You don’t have to answer. But you know that I’m coming for you. I won’t let them keep you.”
If the words were on paper, they may sound reassuring, like the scene in a movie or book when the heroine is kidnapped and the hero finally gets a message to her, swearing that he’ll get her back and that she can’t lose hope.
Rich’s words are the opposite.
Every time he speaks, I lose a little bit more hope.
How is anyone going to believe me when I tell them what he and his pack did to me? I took photos of some of the abuse, but I had to leave my phone behind, and I lost access to them. Even if I did still have it, they would be easy enough for those three to explain away.
I never told anyone. No one can back up my story.
“Try and take her from us,” Dexter thunders. “Just fucking try it, douchebag.”
“I don’t have to try. I have documentation from the governor approving her extradition from California to Florida on grounds of diminished intellectual ability caused by Foresaken Omega Syndrome.”
I scramble out of Quinton’s lap and barely make it in time before I puke over the railing, bile splattering the floor of the tent.
But Rich isn’t done.
“She checked out of a hospital after receiving her diagnosis against medical advice, which she never would have done, since she knows how important it is to complete treatment as a doctor herself. He will contact the Designation Department, and they willcome to collect her to return her to us soon. You can’t run anymore, Alex.”
My head spins.
I’m struggling to support myself, my knees buckling as I clutch onto the railing so tightly my fingers hurt.
“Dr. Smith,” Bradley says, making an educated guess about which pack member is on the phone. His voice is firm and professional, and I fucking hate it. I hate him. He shouldn’t be here. Why is he here, with my pack? “My name is Warner Bradley, and I am the Designation Director of California. Please send that paperwork directly to me.” He rattles off his email address.
“Done. I expect my Omega on the first flight out.”
The line goes dead right as Bradley’s phone chimes with the incoming message.
Matteo’s arms wrap around my waist as he pulls me closer to him, whispering calming words.
