Page 49 of Storm
The camera adjusts again, zooming in a fraction. Confirmation that someone's watching. Jonathan or Reed? Either way, they’re both assholes.
"I know you can hear me, asshole," I continue, stepping closer to the camera. "Let me out."
The camera remains fixed on me, but nothing happens. No response, no unlocking doors, nothing.
"Fine," I snarl, raising my middle finger directly at the lens. "This is how you want to play it? Real mature, dicks."
I stomp away, anger and something uncomfortably close to fear churning in my stomach. I hate being trapped. I hate not knowing what's happening. But most of all, I hate that Jonathan and Reed think they can just lock me in here and disappear.
The sound of movement in the kitchen pulls me towards the door. I find Frankie at the stove, his back to me as he cooks something that smells amazing. The tension in my shoulders eases slightly at the sight of him. He’s wearing a gray tee and what looks like basketball shorts. Not the usual guard uniform I’m used to.
"Morning," I say, leaning against the doorframe.
Frankie startles, nearly dropping the spatula as he spins around. "Storm! I didn't—I mean, I thought you were still—" His eyes drop to my outfit, then immediately dart away, a deep blush spreading from his neck to his cheeks. "Ah, good morning."
I can't help but smile at his reaction. I totally forgot what I was wearing. This is more skin than I intended to show Frankie. I clear my throat.
"Have you seen our jailers this morning?" I ask, pushing off the doorframe and hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter beside the stove. Frankie keeps his eyes firmly on the pan, but the redness of his ears intensifies.
"No," he says, his voice cracking slightly. "I woke up, and the place was empty. I tried the elevator too, but it's not working."
"Stairwell is locked," I add. "We're trapped."
Frankie's scent shifts—toasted marshmallows and cinnamon taking on a sharper edge of concern. "Did they say anything to you about leaving?"
I shake my head, swinging my legs slightly. "Not a word. You'd think they'd at least leave a note if they were going to lock us in."
"Maybe it's business," Frankie suggests, carefully flipping what I now see are pancakes. "Jonathan always seemed busy with meetings and calls at the Omega House."
"Busy being an asshole, you mean," I mutter, then notice how unusually warm the apartment feels. The heat seems to curl around me, making my skin prickle with sensitivity. A tendril of worry works its way up my spine. My heat. Fuck. Not now. I know I toyed with the heat suppressants, and I barely took my blockers. But I can’t go into heat here with them.I need Rook.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up. My nipples tighten visibly against the thin fabric of my cami, and I feel the rush of slick between my thighs. My dark chocolate scent intensifies, filling the kitchen with its richness.Fuck.
Frankie sways slightly, his grip on the spatula white-knuckled. His pupils dilate, and for a moment, I think he might actually pass out.
"Shit," I whisper, looking up at the camera I know is watching us. "I know you said he can't touch me, but if you don't give me some heat suppressants, him touching me will be the least of your worries."
Frankie clears his throat, taking a deliberate step back. "I'll, um, I'll just finish these pancakes," he says, his voice strained.
I take a deep breath, trying to control my body's reaction. It's not Frankie's fault. It's this stupid omega biology, reacting to the lack of suppressants. Add that to the way I already feel about him, and it's a dangerous combination.
"I'm sorry," I say softly. "I didn't mean to..."
"It's okay," he assures me quickly, though he still won't meet my eyes. "It's not your fault. I know it's just...biology."
But it's not just biology. That's the problem. I genuinely like Frankie. Have for years. The caring, shy beta guard who snuck me gum and played cards with me when no one else would. The one who never treated me like I was just an omega designation.
We eat breakfast in awkward silence.
Frankie setting a plate of pancakes in front of me before taking a seat across the table. The distance helps, but I can still feel the heat in my cheeks and the uncomfortable awareness of his presence.
"It's really coming down out there," Frankie says finally, nodding toward the wall of windows on this side of the apartment.
I look up to see rain sheeting down the glass. The city beyond transformed to shades of gray and dark blues. The gloomy skyline makes the penthouse feel even more like a cage.
"Do you want to play cards?" Frankie asks suddenly, breaking my melancholy thoughts. "I have the deck in my room."
I look up, surprised. "You brought cards with you?"
