Page 49 of Captive Omega

Yet here she is, staring at my ugly burns. And here I am, getting increasingly angry that she is.

What is she thinking?

They disgust her? That she can’t wait to get away from the kitchen so she can laugh or mutter how she’s glad not to be looking at them anymore? Is that why she waited until I was pretending to type on my laptop before she walked into the kitchen?

Resa deposits the file on the edge of the kitchen table, as far away from me as she can, and turns to leave. It’s clear she can’t wait to get away from me.

The turtlenecks hide the worst of them, but not all.

She’s my scent match. Even if she doesn’t want to be. She is my scent match and scars shouldn’t bother someone I was meant to be with.

I snap my laptop lid down. “Do they bother you?”

She spins around and backs up, dark brown eyes with thick black lashes widening. “Does what bother me?”

“My scars. Do they disgust you?” I do nothing to hide my bitterness.

Her back stiffens and, try as I might, I can’t read her expression. She’s beautiful with an expressive face and a stubborn, pointed chin, but when she doesn’t want someone to read her, that expressive face snaps shut.

“No. Your scars do not bother me,” she says slowly.

“I don’t believe you,” I say as she turns to leave. “You were looking at my hand and you were thinking?—”

She looks me dead in the eye, face white, her fingers curling into tight fists. “You think I give a shit about your scars when I know what you alphas are capable of? What I was thinking was how I forgot my knife and how little I wanted to be alone with an alpha without the means to defend myself.”

She spins around and stalks out.

“Wait!”

“I don’t answer to alphas,” she says, not slowing. “Find another omega who does.”

I don’t hear her cross the entryway, but there’s no missing when she reaches the staircase. Vaughn picked fragments of glass out of her feet last night, yet she’s stomping up those stairs as if determined to make each step hurt.

I sit down. Then I stand up. And sit down again, muttering a curse under my breath as I rake a hand through my hair.

Should I?—

Are you seriously considering following her up to apologize now? Now, after you scared her?

She won’t want anything to do with me now. Furious at myself for lashing out, I tell myself to leave her alone. I’ve done enough damage.

Garrison walks in, looking poised to say something. After eyeing me for a beat, he seems to change his mind about what he was about to say. “Everything all right?”

“Fine.” I flip my laptop open. “I’ll have that background report for you later. This case looks straightforward.”

Not messy like the case that killed Violet.

It wasn’t the case that did that. You did. Remember?

Garrison’s steps are silent as he walks over to the table and picks up the file. He flips through it and then nods. “Resa looked upset.”

I slam my laptop lid down. “Go ahead, you can blame me.”

His expression is inscrutable. “That wasn’t blame. You like to blame yourself for a lot. Even for the things you’re not responsible for.”

We’ve had so many versions of this same argument before, we both know how it ends. I usually stalk out and spend even more time being a recluse, blaming myself.

So he doesn’t push anymore. Neither does Vaughn.

---