Page 2 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

My family managed to keep my name out of the rolls in the hope I can find my own way or choose to submit if I want to.

Brad knew about and enjoyed our “compatibility” but had been keeping it quiet for me. Or more likely, he didn’t want me talking about forming a pack. I can’t trust anyone else to know or risk my security.

As an omega with a questionable job history, no pedigree, and no resources, I have nothing to offer other than my A/B/O designation. If I find someone high status, someone I choose and know I can rely on to protect me from the Admin, then I can finally declare and stop the suppressants. I’ll have to keep a man happy, but a guy like Brad is easy to please.

At least, that’s what I’d thought.

Now, as Livvy shifts her weight on her knees, I admit that I have nothing. I’ll probably end up in the auctions, hoping someone can pay off my college loans for the degree I moved here to complete but couldn’t afford to finish.

My heats are getting harder and harder to avoid.

A popping noise is followed by a giggle. “You like that Brad-y, baby?”

“Yeah, keep going.”

Livvy pitches her voice high and girlish. “Am I better than her?” she asks.

“Yeah, baby, that’s right.”

“How much better am I?”

“Stop talking and finish me off,” he mutters.

Gag. We weren’t formally dating, but also we weren’t not formally dating. I was his regular.

I wait for the exact moment I know is coming.

Brad’s heel starts to bounce. It gets a little faster.

“Yeah,” he mutters under his breath.

And . . . now . . .

Metal rings as I knock on the stall door.

“I hope she doesn’t give you chlamydia, Brad. You should ask Stanton about that,” I holler.

Brad chokes on his air. “Shit, shit... Izzy? It’s not what it looks like!”

“I can’t see you, but I can hear you and Livvy fine. Hope he picks you, girl,” I sneer and storm out of the bathroom.

As I stomp away, his words ring in my head.

It’s not what it looks like. Does he think I’m an idiot?

My mind whirls in a vortex of dangerous emotions. Each thought is a piece of shrapnel caught in the maelstrom shredding my good sense.

I want to burn the world to the ground until it matches the ash of a year’s work toward freedom.

The hallway dumps me into the larger space of the bar where guys still in their jerseys are peppered through the room. The team had a preseason event earlier, and most of them came to Fluke’s after to blow off some steam.

So of course I came. Brad didn’t need to tell me to come. He knew I’d be here for him. I always am.

Was.

Fuck him.

I spot the closest navy-and-white jerseys, along the wall immediately to my right by the food window, and decide that the “burning it all down” starts right now.

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