Page 112 of Three Ring Heat: Part One
We dipped into a clothing store and wandered through the racks of vibrant clothes. Bobbitt was like a kid in a candy store, grabbing things and holding them up to her. She put them all back and didn’t buy anything, though, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t need any more clothes, or because she didn’t want to make me feel worse.
Next, we wandered through a pottery store, admiring the most intricate, beautiful pots and vases I’d ever seen. Bobbitt gave me a quarter to toss into a fountain in the plaza, and she encouraged me to make a wish.
“It can’t hurt, ya know?” she said, closing her eyes as she tossed her own quarter into the shallow water.
I stared at the gleaming coin in my hand, turning it over as I contemplated my wish.
What did I want most? To not be caught by the Stone pack and maintain the freedom I managed to find with the Knotty Sideshow. However, I hated to waste a wish on them.
I hated to give them any energy, to let them occupy my mind at all. I was two states away, and I would only be traveling farther in the coming weeks. Every bit of logic told me I was safe from them, but the fear still loomed at the back of my mind.
What if they catch up?
What if they find me?
Reluctantly, I made my wish to stay hidden from them forever and tossed the quarter into the water.
Once we’d made a very thorough trek through Santa Fe Plaza, we agreed it was time to head back. Bobbitt wanted to talk to Hallow, and I, as much as I hated to admit it, wanted to find Daze. It felt like forever since I’d talked to him—I’d hardly seen him yesterday when we loaded the trailers.
We cut through a little alley to another street and headed back toward the convention center, walking beneath several awnings to avoid the hot sun. I was focused on getting back to the caravan, Bobbitt rambling on about an annual festival here in the city, when a billboard hanging on the outside of a storefront caught my eye. The words¿Qué Buscas?were across the top in bold, bright letters.
I slowed to look at the collection of flyers and business cards hanging there; they were crammed onto the board, covering every inch of the cork. Dog walking services, babysitters, home repair, boutiques, food trucks… There was so much.
But two words in particular had my heart falling to the ground and the air sticking in my lungs:Omegas Wanted.
My pulse hitched.
Someone was looking for omegas.
It was a romantic looking flyer with red and pink flowers in the corners, but something about the corporate, blocky text told a different story. They were too rigid, too sinister, to convey comfort. Nevertheless, it piqued my interest.
“Do you see that?” I asked before I could stop myself, pointing the flyer out to Bobbitt. I’d never seen anything like it back in Floral Ridge and wasn’t sure what to make of it. I squinted my eyes and read the first line of the flyer. “John Howard Institute for Designation Studies is offering $5,000 for omegas to participate in clinical trial of new state-of-the-art?—”
Before I could finish the sentence, Bobbitt shoved ahead and ripped the paper off the bulletin board. Without hesitation, she crumpled it in her hands, and my jaw dropped.
“I hate seeing this trash.”
I watched her, stunned. “Trash?”
“This.” She lifted the crumpled paper. “Government organizations posing as omega research facilities. The omegas go in for testing, and they never come out.”
“R-really?” My throat was tight. I knew omegas were always being hunted—hell, my own father had sold me because of my designation—but I never understood the extent of the danger.
If what Bobbitt said was true, not even medical facilities could be trusted. An unsuspecting omega could walk in, hoping to help with research, and be handed over to the government. I’d heard of breeding programs in distant parts of the country, but this was the first time I’d seen anything concrete.
Chills raced down my back.
“Omegas have a hard enough time without this shit,” she grumbled and continued down the sidewalk. When we passed a trash can, she tossed the crumpled flyer into it. “So I tear theflyers down whenever I see them. It’s not much, but it helps me sleep at night.”
I didn’t know what to say.
I’d never considered how betas felt about the other designations, but her reaction shocked me to my core. It gave me the tiniest bit of hope. Maybe there were more people out there who wouldn’t trade me in for a bounty at their first opportunity. Maybe there were people out there who would protect omegas from psycho packs and forced bonds.
Maybe Bobbitt is one of them.
“Sorry.” She looked at me and giggled, her cheeks suddenly going pink. “That was a bit aggressive. It’s just… important to me.”
“No, no,” I said, throwing up my hands. “I totally agree. Omegas have the shit end of the stick, and you’re doing a great thing. Really.”
