Page 30 of Bonds of Hate

“You pay a penalty for stains,” he says impassively. “I’ve got to send it out to be cleaned ‘for I can rent it again.”

“There aren’t any stains.”

One gnarled finger points at a spot on the hem. “I see one right here.”

“That looks like lint.” I reach for the dress, but he yanks it away. With narrowed eyes, I tap my finger on the receipt that has a neatly typed list of terms and conditions that I made a point of reading before paying him a single credit. “There isn’t anything here about a cleaning fee. Anddon’t you clean the clothes between rentals no matter what?”

He shrugs, not bothering to so much as look at my receipt. “Always been the policy. You’re s’pposed to bring it back clean.”

I’m not stupid. I know when I’m being scammed. The dress could have been professionally dry-cleaned and pressed by Alcase, the Omega Goddess herself, and he still wouldn’t return my full deposit.

I glare back at him, unreasonably annoyed by the placid expression on his face. “This is extortion.”

The look in his eye turns malicious. “Fetch a Guardian if you think you’re the one being cheated.”

At any other point in my life, I would happily demand a Guardian Alpha. But as things stand, that would probably be a bad idea. I’ve already created enough of a paper trail for myself by applying to the palace. I don’t need a legal file opened, too.

For all I know, someone matching my description might currently be wanted for murder or assault. Involving the authorities isn’t exactly in my best interest right now.

The shopkeeper can’t possibly know any details, but he clearly recognizes desperation when he sees it and plans to take advantage of it. I don’t have the luxury of calling his bluff.

“Fine.”

I snatch the credit chit and a generous handful of candy off the counter, nearly emptying the plastic bowl on my way out. Only seems fair, considering he just stole the money I planned to use for buying dinner. “Pleasure doing business with you, asshole.”

“Hey, those are only one per customer!”

“Call a Guardian,” I snap back as the door slams shut behind me.

I regret that bit of bravado as soon as I’m back on the street, but there are no shouts to halt or the blare of sirens as I hurry away.

My attitude has always been one of my biggest problems, followed somewhat by a streak of impulsivity. Swallowing that down has only become more difficult with time. I’ve always been good at playing the shy and demure Omega when I have to, though I suspect Prince Logan is one of the few people who always see through my act.

I still think walking away like I did after dropping my virginity bomb was a good choice. He needs time to mull it over, listen to the input of his pack that act like the devils on his shoulders whispering filth in his ear.

I didn’t miss the flash of interest in Logan’s eyes when the realization struck that he could still be the first to have me. Virginity is a novelty, especially at my age, one that he probably has had little opportunity to experience.

Pathetic that it matters, but true all the same.

In hindsight, I should have stayed long enough to interview with other princes. Stirring up Logan’s jealousy might have given me more leverage in pushing him toward choosing me. Even better, I might have legitimately caught the interest of someone else.

But the thought of parading myself in front of another Alpha, next in a parade of Omegas, makes me want to vomit.

Saffron, or any of the other Omegas from the Enclave, would probably skip several nights of sleep if that’s what ittook to interview with as many of the princes as possible. I recognize the look of an Omega who will do anything to ensure her own survival.

I used to see that same look staring back at me in the mirror every day at the Enclave. You either become an expert at this game or just another pawn on the chessboard, sacrificed at the whim of more expert players.

All of us do what we must to survive. I’m just not sure if my heart can take it.

When I walk in, the rooming house matron is camped out at the bottom of the stairs. From the way her eyes narrow, she has obviously been waiting for me.

“Your room was only paid up through last night,” she snaps, by way of greeting.

Without a word, I hand her the half-note and move past her.

She inspects the credit chit before pocketing it. “This won’t cover breakfast in the morning.”

Too tired to argue, I nod my understanding as I force my resisting body up the three flights of stairs to my room.

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