Page 12 of Puck & Her Blades

Why don’t they use Omegas on spy missions?

I hold myself stiff on the floor, as my hair hangs in front of my eyes.

I don’t let myself look up, as Roarke prowls toward me, until his finger slips under my chin and he tilts up my head to stare into my face.

“You’re the spitting image of your mom. Now, there was an Alpha.” When Roarke grins, his canines glint. “You really are the Monroes’ daughter. They were so possessive of you that I never thought they’d give you up. I bet that they were disappointed you weren’t born an Alpha.”

I bristle, before I can catch myself. “Every day.”

Shit, this submissive stuff isn’t as easy as it looks.

Actually, I would make a terrible spy.

Roarke’s eyes gleam. “Good, you have some fire left in you still. They break people in that incompetent Institute. They have no idea how to appropriately train and control anyone, especially when it comes to talented Omegas. You’re a rare commodity being able to skate. You’ll push up ratings and keep the franchise fresh. My daughter, Sydney, thinks that the Puck addition could double our merchandise figures.”

“Well, if I can help sell merch…”

Damn my sarcastic mouth. It just slips out.

Instantly, rage flares in Roarke’s eyes.

He snatches me by the scruff of the neck and drags me to my feet. I scream, as he shakes me, slamming me against the wall by my shoulders.

Pain shoots through me.

Then he holds me against the wall with my feet dangling in the air.

Shit, shit, shit.

Roarke’s face is so close to mine that his hot breath gusts across my cheek.

I recoil.

“Omega,” Roarke growls, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise, “don’t mistake my politeness and disdain for that Institute for weakness. I have my own methods of dealing with insolence and disobedience. My pack have been Traditionals for the last hundred years. Just because I can appreciate your talent doesn’t mean that I won’t discipline you. Don’t push me.”

I wet my dry lips, trying not to shake. “Got the memo.”

Fuck Traditionals.

Finally, Roarke drops me to my feet, and I rub my sore shoulders.

I stare at him, warily.

“Good, now we understand each other.” He straightens his tie. “I need to have a little speech like this with every dumbass rookie. It turns out that it doesn’t matter if they’re an Alpha, Beta, or Omega. They all think that they can sass the coach. Things work better, when they get their posturing out of the way and understand my word is law and that in the arena — and pack — I’m their god.”

I force my expression to become blank and nod.

The true power imbalance of this situation hits me then.

Roarke is the billionaire owner, but I’m only an unbonded Reject.

If I’d been claimed by his son, then I’d have had some protection. But alone like this, I’m a nobody.

In theory, there are legal limits to what Roarke can do to me but not many.

Who would take my side over his?

It’s why I was working with the Omega resistance to expose anyone who was being abused within the sporting worlds.

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