Page 134 of The Heat of Us

And my regular therapy appointments.

All weaknesses he’d exploited.

We drove in tense silence for a while. I wanted to ask where they were taking me. What the point of kidnapping was. Why my mum was such a heinous bitch.

I could do none of those things.

“How long will the protest last for?” my mum asked.

“At least another hour,” he grunted.

Great, so he was one of the Brotherhood fuckers too. Excellent. Of course his spiel about omega safety was a lie too.

The city lights adorned the wide black sky like a scatter of jewels. I stared out at it thoughtfully, feeling myself dissociate. It really wasn’t the right backdrop for my impending murder. Just because my mum seemed content to keep me alive didn’t mean Damien might not go rogue. Again.

I tugged at my hair, loosening strands and letting them fall onto the carpeted floor. I squished them into the fibres with my toes. Scratched my elbow until my dry skin flaked up and then rubbed it into the seat cushion. Discreetly licked my fingertip and wiped my saliva against the window, leaving a streak.

If I was going to end up in a ditch somewhere tonight then I was going to give the investigator on my case the easiest job of his life.

We eventually pulled up at a regular suburban house. Not even a creepy warehouse for my final hours?

Maybe it would have a basement with a single, swaying bulb.

“Follow me inside the house,” Damien barked.

I got out of the car jerkily, compelled by his command.

“Can you talk normally or are your conversational skills the same as that of a rabid dog?” I sniped.

His meaty hand was on my throat, bulky fingers crushing my jaw. “I’d watch that mouth of yours, omega.” His lips curled upward now that he was closer. I willed myself not to give him the satisfaction of my disgust when he leaned in close, running his flat nose along my neck. “Mm, your scent. Did you really think I believed you were anything else but a knot-hungry whore?”

I was buying an industrial grade scent neutraliser the second I got home.

“Damien,” my mum said warningly.

Concern, really?

“Not out here.”

Of course. Not where people could see, silly!

My final resting place was very ordinary looking. One of those build-a-homes that people picked from a pamphlet. I left a few more strands of my hair and an immaculately detailed footprint in the entryway for the nice investigator.

“Sit,” Damien ordered me, and I plonked my ass down on the uninspired plain grey couch.

My mother entered, a slightly distasteful look on her face. Ah, because we were wearing shoes inside. Damien would not understand nor care that the feel of our shoes on that carpet was downright unpleasant for us both.

“Hazel, I don’t know why you have to cause so much trouble,” she began.

A million retorts immediately boiled up in my throat. I opened my mouth and—

“Quiet,” Damien cut in.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Yes, thank you.” Mum shook her head sorrowfully. “She has always been this way.”

What I would give to not share DNA with this woman.

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