Page 212 of Captive Omega

I shift my focus back to the man waiting for permission to enter my house. “What do you want to talk about?”

He doesn’t smile. Then again, he doesn’t seem like the smiling kind. “Change.”

I take a step back, holding the door open. “Come inside.”

We sit at the dining table, facing each other. I’d offer him a drink, the way my mom would, but I’d rather not turn my back on him.

“I’m not a man who likes change,” he says simply.

I tighten my hold on the knife I’ve rested on my lap. “Sometimes change happens whether you like it or not.”

“You have caused me an untold number of issues, Miss Mora.” He looks at me for several seconds. “I don’t like you.”

Is this man for real?

“I’m not asking you to like me, Mr. Pieter. I am asking you to do your job.”

For a painfully long second, I can’t believe I just insulted him to his face.

I survived the tree, O’Brien, and so many other things I never thought I would. But this, this stupid thing will be what kills me.

Wood squeaks as he sits back in his seat, still staring at me through those emotionless gray eyes. “What makes you think I’m not doing my job?”

“Predatory alphas are finally paying for the crimes they’ve gotten away with for years, but there are omegas who still need help. The Omega Institute is less than useless, and they answer to you. That is how I know you’re not doing your job.”

The right corner of his mouth lifts a quarter of an inch. I’d call it a smile, but like I said, I’m not sure this man knows what a smile is.

“You sound high-maintenance, Miss Mora.”

I think of how simple my life was and how little I needed to make me happy. “You’re wrong. I’m not high maintenance. I just want—no, I need—for my child to have more options than I did, and not just my child. Omegas in the city.”

When he reaches into his front pocket, I prepare to defend myself.

He pulls a white card from the pocket, places it on Mom’s reddish-brown cherry wood dining table, and pushes it toward me.

He rises to his feet in one smooth motion and walks away. “My number. Only I answer that phone.”

“I don’t understand,” I call after him.

He stops, his back to me. “When you rip things out of the ground, it’s important to know you are not destroying something that needs to stay.”

“What are you ripping out of the ground?”

“Perhaps everything.”

That makes total sense. Not.

I glance at the white card he left behind. “And your number?”

“I will be busy for the next several days. I would rather not be distracted from my task by more videos with over fifty million views. Call me if there is something you need me to know.”

Fifty…

Holy fuck.

He walks out as I’m processing the fact fifty million people have watched my court speech.

The front door clicks shut as I pick up the white card with a shaking hand.

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