Page 70 of Captive Omega

Garrison

Someone bumps into my back.

They mutter an apology. A semi could be hurtling toward me and I still wouldn’t turn, much less get out of the way.

The last time Blaine smiled was…

Years ago. Maybe. Certainly before Violet.

I should be walking the party, scanning for threats, doing my job.

Yet here I am, watching a couple leaning against a wall, not speaking. Just standing side by side with a few inches separating them.

For once, I don’t give a shit about my job. About security. About anything.

I stay right where I am, nestled beside a table covered with tiny canapés and champagne flutes, absorbing a sight I never thought I would ever see again.

Both failed to check in and I’d been on my way to chew Blaine out for not doing his job. And no, the hypocrisy of what I’m doing—or not doing—has not passed me by.

Instead, I’d watched everything play out.

The woman with the sultry smile as she walked over to Blaine, then halted, her face twisting in disgust before she turned away.

Blaine’s fixed smile as the woman told her friend what happened.

Resa coming out of nowhere, snatching up a glass of red wine and flinging it at the woman’s dress before I could throw the woman outside like I’d been on my way to.

It’s not the first time someone has said something like that to Blaine and I swore I wouldn’t let it happen again.

His decision to retreat from the world was a gradual process. It didn’t happen overnight. Blaine isn’t ugly. He wasn’t before the car crash and he isn’t now. But before the car crash and the burns, he couldn’t enter a room without a woman making eyes at him.

They still make eyes at him, but the nature of those stares has changed. Now someone looks at him and he assumes they’re staring at him for all the wrong reasons.

Like what happened with Resa in the kitchen.

He didn’t want to come to this party, but he wanted to do something for Resa, maybe as an apology for scaring her in the kitchen. Even if he didn’t say it. I knew. And this is what he gets. More stares and more comments, like he’s the sum of his scars.

I’d wanted to stride over there, grip that woman by her arm—or, more ungentlemanly, by her throat—and drag her out of the room.

I hadn’t needed to because Resa was there, back straight, hands fisted, ready to go to war for Blaine. I protect my pack. It had never crossed my mind that a bruised and traumatized omega would fight just as hard to protect someone she didn’t even trust.

I couldn’t have chosen a better woman to be mine.

When everything had died down, I’d expected Blaine would find a reason to leave since Blaine doesn’t do well with being the center of attention.

He didn’t leave.

He leaned against that back wall, talking with Resa, getting her a drink, and that little smile he tamped down before Resa could see it.

But I’d seen it.

He’d peeked over at Resa as she sipped at her apple juice. And he’d smiled.

My earpiece crackles.

“Garrison. Got eyes on Resa?” Vaughn asks.

In an ordinary job, we’d all be on the same channel. This isn’t an ordinary job. As Resa had dressed, we’d discussed how this party would go. She’d have an earpiece, but we didn’t want to stress her out with every single report of trouble. So we have two channels.

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