Page 90 of Two For the Show
Alex’s eyes are empty.
There is no emotion glittering in them. No challenge, no humor.
When she speaks, her voice has a gravelly quality that it usually lacks.
“I am not going anywhere with you.” She takes several steps forward, hands flexing beside her thighs. “You’ll have to kill me before I go back to them.”
“Now, Dr. Shields,” Warner Bradley says tentatively, holding his palms up. “Let’s talk through this. We have to process this paperwork now, but I can file our own documents and work to get you back with your pack.”
“No.”
The single word reverberates through the tent.
“No?” He has the sense to sound a little afraid of her.
“No. I will not be a pawn in some political game. I am a fuckingperson, and I am not going back to my abusers!” She screams the final words, causing the Director to flinch back.
He runs his hands through his red hair, mussing it up. “I know this isn’t ideal-”
“Isn’t ideal?” she scoffs. “What, it’s not ideal that you’re going to send me back to be raped, beaten, kicked, and choked? It’s not ideal that you’ll be putting me in the hands of men who see me as nothing more than a bargaining chip? While you go home to your Alphas, you’ll sleep soundly knowing that I am being tortured?”
He blanches. “That’s not what I’m saying, but the law-”
“Fuck the law!” she screeches. “Fuck the law, fuck you, and fuck anyone who thinks that I cannot make my own decisions!” She starts clawing at her neck, then pulling at the corset she still wears. “I won’t go back. You can’t make me. I’ll kill myself.”
“Alex,” Quinton says softly. “We won’t let them take you.”
“I won’t let him take me!” she shouts. I barely blink, and she’s over the railing, tackling Bradley to the floor of the tent. She pins him down by the hips with her thighs, as he fights and bucks underneath her.
When her hands close around his neck, my stomach swoops, and I’m on my feet.
“Dario!” I shout, unable to take my eyes off her.
He swears, and both of us leap over the railing.
It’s my worst fucking nightmare.
Alex is an Omega in Storm.
I band my arms around her waist as she pulls at my arms and kicks out. Dario grabs her feet and hauls her away from Bradley. The Director scrambles backward, chest heaving, and pulls out his phone.
“Don’t you fucking dare!” Dario shouts, dropping Alex’s legs to run to him and slap the phone out of his hand. “Do you think calling in someone to sedate and takeher away is going to make this better? Do you know nothing about your own designation?”
“If she’s in Storm-”
“If she’s in Storm, she needs to be with her scent matches. She doesn’t need to be carted away to some hospital to be studied,” I snap.
I’m vaguely aware of the rest of my pack making soothing noises and purrs, and I’m sure they’re probably on their way down here to help.
But in my gut, in the part of me that makes me ‘me’, I know there is no one who can get her out of this but my brother and I.
It’s almost poetic, this moment.
My arms are around the body of my Omega, who is screaming and wailing in a way my father never did. She’s not in control of herself. Not right now.
But she’s not hurting me. She’s fighting like a wildcat, sure.
But she’s not harming me.
