Page 122 of Captive Omega

Chapter 35

Resa

My room faces the backyard, and there’s an Olympic sized pool a few feet away beside a squat white building, otherwise there’s not much to look at. Just landscaped gardens, grass and a tall hedge in the distance. Beyond that, the barest tip of a tree is visible.

I’m staring out into the distance, forehead on the cool glass, when Garrison, Vaughn, and Blaine wander out.

They walk down to the small white building. Blaine slides the glass door open and he and Vaughn enter as Garrison stands outside, hands on his hips.

“What are you doing?” I breathe.

Vaughn staggers out of the building, cradling an armload of towels he dumps on the ground before he goes back for more. I squint, briefly distracted from my heartbreak.

Seconds later, Blaine emerges with a stack of gray plastic storage containers. Then it’s Garrison’s turn to enter. He carries out a massive hot pink inflatable flamingo pool float that he throws into the pool.

“Seriously, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper.

Why have they decided now is the time to give the pool house a spring clean?

As if he feels the intensity of my stare, Garrison swivels his head my way. I back up, not sure I want him to know I was watching. He’s far away. I’m up on the first floor with a window separating us, but if anyone’s going to spot my red eyes, I have a feeling Garrison Brewster will.

The moment I abandon watching Lucas Security doing a strangely timed mid-afternoon cleaning session, my mind returns to Henry.

I think of the day he proposed, how happy I was, and how excited I was to be his wife. Now all I can think about is Emily’s engagement ring and how they looked in that photograph. Where did he propose to her? When did he propose?

Did he look for me? Or did he assume I’d moved on and found someone else?

When my gaze settles on my cell phone, I order myself to think of something else. Calling him won’t lead anywhere good.

What would have happened if I’d gone to his house? Would Emily have been the one to open the door to me?

I’m halfway to picking up the phone and calling him, wanting to demand answers when I force myself to stop. Where would that get me? Would it help to shout down the phone at Henry? Or to blame him for not trying to find me?

I pick up TV remote instead and curl up in bed. I’m in the mood for trashy TV. Instead, I come face to face with more news about the ongoing investigation into omegas being abused in the city. About a secret club of wealthy alphas who have been using free heat clinics to snatch up omegas mid-heat when they can’t fight back.

Omegas like me.

I flick the TV off. As I sit there, my reflection staring back at me, I just want to go home, crawl into my childhood bed, and let someone else deal with this mess. I’m tired and heartsick. No. I’m just plain tired.

I want someone else to fix what's broken in the city, but I can't because no one else knows what I do. I know names and faces. So many alphas who have probably gotten away with it.

I can’t let them get away with it. They’ll just wait for the investigation to end, pick out a stupid new name for a club, and start it all up again months or years from now.

Nowhere in the news have there been police raids or arrests, and there should be.

There needs to be.

I brace myself and go looking for more news, more things I need to know, even if it’s painful to know them.

“The city’s prosecutor is seeking any witnesses, as alpha Sloane Eddiswood’s trial is ongoing at the courthouse. He is currently facing years in jail for a laundry list of crimes, not the least of which is trafficking omegas,” a female reporter speaks into a microphone.

I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching, when a soft knock pulls my gaze from the TV. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Lex calls out. “I ordered Thai food.”

My belly lets out a happy gurgle, and I nearly fall scrambling to my feet. “Be right there.”

It’s kind of disappointing not to open my door and come face to face with a beta juggling throwing stars. Lex is holding a large white bag that smells incredible, and a glass of the apple juice that I need someone to inject into my veins.

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