Page 33 of One Flew Over the Omega's Nest: Part One
She nods shakily, and without a word, disappears out the door and sprints down the hall like her ass is on fire.
Which begs the question…what the hell did this fucker do to her? "Let me go, you piece of shit," he spits.
I do as he asks, spinning him around to face me before winding my fist back and hitting him square in the jaw.
"What thefuck?" He grabs his jaw, his eyes wide as he stares at me. I don't blame him for being surprised. In fact, he's supposed to be. Everyone thinks I'm just the easygoing orderly with no backbone, who lets the patients get away with anything short of literal murder.
Nobody knows that I've known how to neutralize any threat thrown my way since I was eleven years old.
"You're going to stay away from her, Banesworth." My voice comes out a growl as I grab fistfuls of his scrub top.
"Or what?" He sneers, still rubbing his jaw. "And why? Are you fucking the whore?"
"I would never abuse my power like that, you sick fuck." My breathing feels labored as I try everything in my power to not rip his tongue out for speaking about my omega like that.
Fuck.Theomega. Notmyomega.
"If you so much as lay a single finger on her, Brooks is going to find out how you like to get a little…loose lipped at your Friday night poker games."
He pales considerably. "How do you—"
"It doesn't matter how I know, asswipe. The fact is, I do. Now. Stay. Away. From. Her." I punctuate each of my words with a little shake, and he glares at me, but eventually nods.
I drop him, before giving him a patronizing pat on the cheek. "Good. Now get the fuck out of here."
He wastes no time leaving me, and I sigh, running a hand over my face. Shit. I just showed my hand way earlier than I needed to. And for what?
The little omega who seems to have burrowed her way under my skin.
I shouldn't be doing this. The master keycard in my pocket feels like a lead weight as I approach the dorms. There's just something off about Josephine Harding.
She doesn't belong here.
The omega is a little psychotic, to be sure. But…she didn't kill anyone who didn't deserve it. All alphas, all men who had a connection in some way or another to illegal activities. Every single one at one point or another had been on trial for somekind of abuse and then miraculously found innocent.
All except her father, of course. But I couldn't really blame her for killing the old man if her medical records from ages four to seventeen are anything to go by. It's not any worse than some of my closest friends have done. We do what we do to survive. And Jo? It's clear that she's had to do a lot to survive.
She wasn't at dinner tonight, which made me prickle with worry.
So much worry, that I looped the camera feed for long enough to sneak into her room to check on her. A risky move, but it's nearly two in the morning and she should be dead asleep by now.
Gods, if West knew what I was doing…well, first he'd rip me a new one for putting our mission in jeopardy, and then he'd be a jealous fuck because he's just as wrapped around her finger as I am.
Holding my breath, I swipe the keycard when I get to her door, and silently push it open. The last thing I need is for her to kill me before I make it a single step inside her room.
The lump under the covers doesn't move though, and I let out a silent sigh of relief before stepping in and shutting the door behind me. I'm immediately hit with the scent of apple pie and vanilla ice cream. It's like the fragrance has seeped into the very essence of the room.
Fuck, that smells good. But…I shouldn't be able to smellanything. The doc had been bragging about the new concoction for the omega that would neutralize her scent as well—something they don't bother doing for the alphas.
My steps are silent as I approach the bed, and it's only by the little moonlight showing through her barred window that I'm able to make out her features.
She looks like a completely different person, her face at peace as her hair fans out softly behind her.
The omega sleeps on her stomach, with one hand under her pillow, and I idly wonder if she has a knife stashed under there.
I would be surprised if she didn't.
I find myself sinking to my knees next to the bed, intently watching her face as she sleeps. My hand reaches out of its own accord, and brushes a piece of hair away. I freeze, realizing what I've done, but she doesn't stir, and shake my head at myself.
