Page 76 of Captive Omega

Back to my parents and my fiancé.

Back to my life.

I go up to bed.

Long after I crawl back into bed and resume hugging my knife, my brain is still whirling as I think about the pride in Vaughn’s voice when he said good job.

No one commented on what I did at the party. I thought the smiles and nods I got from Garrison, Roman, Frost, and Vaughn were a well done for not getting in the way or causing any problems.

I thought I had gotten away with causing a scene.

Now I think all those approving nods and smiles were because I didn’t stand for the way that shallow bitch treated Blaine. And I can’t help but feel a little proud of myself. It isn’t often I’ve gone toe to toe with someone and won, but I’m glad I won this battle.

Unfortunately, I lose the battle with sleep.

I’d slept so well last night, I thought it would go the same way. Instead, I lie flat on my back, staring up at the dark ceiling and trying to shut my brain down.

Hours later, I get up.

For the first time in forever, I can go anywhere I want. I don’t have a locked door keeping me in and only one room to pace anymore. My feet still hurt, but I could go down to the computer room and do more research on Dexter Pieter’s assistant—whoever that is.

I can even root around in the refrigerator or see if they have any of the fancy apple juice that’s become my new favorite thing. The tiny French canapés at the party were nice, but not nearly enough food.

I can literally do what I want.

Which is a strange feeling for a girl who has spent the last two years as a captive.

Chapter 22

Resa

The drumming has stopped as I walk down the stairs. Vaughn must have gone to bed. But there’s a faint flicker of light coming from one room, so maybe he’s still awake.

It’s only when I stop in the doorway, spot the figure sitting in a light blue checked armchair, hunched over a table in front of a fireplace, that I realize it isn’t Vaughn at all.

There’s no mistaking his bulk. Garrison.

I weigh up what to do.

Stay or leave.

“It’s warmer by the fire.” I jump when he softly calls.

I mentally berate myself for being so on edge. To prove I’m not afraid of this alpha, I subtly pat my sweatpants pocket to reassure myself that my knife is still there, then I stride over to the armchair opposite and I grind to a sudden halt.

I’d assumed he was playing chess. Don’t ask me why. Just something about him made me think he was the type to beat someone in five moves.

I did not expect to be confronted with a puzzle.

“Feel free to help.” His fingers hesitate over a pile of tiny puzzle pieces. “I seem to have hit a sticky point.”

I drop into the cream armchair opposite him, a similar design but a different color, lifting my legs and wrapping my arms around my knees.

It’s closer than I would ever want to be to an alpha, but the options are retreat—in which case he would know I’d left because I was scared—or take a seat on the couch in the far right hand corner of the room, and he’d think the same thing.

But here? Here I can show him I am not afraid.

I rest my chin on my raised knees. “I didn’t think alphas did puzzles.”

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