Page 121 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
It was cramped, like the rest of the house, the fixtures barely fitting into their spots. The combination tub and shower took up most of the space, with the toilet and sink shoved between it and the door. I wiped, flushed, and then redressed, going to the single pedestal sink to wash. The bathroom light over the mirror was far harsher than the mirror in the bedroom had been. My disheveled state was highlighted in unforgiving detail.
I looked like hell, but more disturbing was the defeated slump to my shoulders, the wary exhaustion in my eyes. I'd never seen myself look so...resigned. Even after losing everything. After Imperial dumped me. After Grandpa died…The expression didn't fit the face that had stared back at me from different dressing room mirrors for years. Once, I’d been determined, focused, occasionally broken by injury but never truly beaten. That wasn’t the case now.
Had I really given up?
Turning the tap as cold as possible, I bowled my hands and slapped water against my face. The shock of it helped clear some of the cobwebs. Water dripped from my chin as I studied my reflection again, searching for the fighter. She was still there, whispering against the edges of my eyes. I had to be stronger. I couldn’t let my Omega side override my rational mind.
The medicine cabinet above the sink might hold something useful—a razor I could pocket as a weapon, sleeping pills I could crush into their food, anything that might give me a literal or figurative edge. I opened it carefully, mindful of squeaking hinges, and scanned the contents.
Empty.
Well, not completely empty. Toothpaste. Band-aids. A bottle of mild painkillers, the kind you could buy at any grocery store. Nothing with sedative properties. Nothing sharp. Nothing remotely useful for either self-defense or a second escape attempt.
"Just my luck," I muttered, shutting the cabinet with more force than intended, the mirror bouncing slightly against the wall. My luck… those two words made acid creep into my mouth.
Lucky, talented ballerina. Unlucky, broken dancer.
Lucky Star finding a new life. Unlucky, claimed Omega.
I wondered if that would be the new pattern to my life. That, maybe even now I’d find the silver lining to this situation and forge something fresh. Then, just as I clawed back a morsel of happiness, the coin would flip. Heads, tails. Lucky, unlucky again.
No weapon.
No idea where they kept the truck keys.
Maybe a phone. A computer. Some way to contact the outside world, to let someone know where I was. But who the hell could I call?
Grandmother didn’t recognize me anymore.
Crystal was a work friend, who’d risked enough to help me already.
Madame Belova? I could call her… but what could an aging Omega dance instructor do for me? How could she fight contracts worth millions and a cooperation who probably kept shark sharp lawyers on retainer?
No one. I had no one.
The realization was like swallowing a thorn.
28
NELLY
A soft knock on the bathroom door sent my heart ricocheting against my ribs like a rubber ball in a small room. I'd been so lost in my thoughts, in the despair that I Had no one to turn to, that I’d not heard anyone approach. I furtively glanced at the medicine cabinet. I’d closed it, but had I moved anything around? Had I left it the same way I found it? If I hadn’t, they’d know I’d snooped through it.
No time to check.
I turned towards the door, gripping the pedestal stink to steady myself.
"Yes?" The word came out cracked and hoarse.
"Kept some food warm for you. You’ve got to be hungry. You didn’t touch last night’s food." The voice was deep, with a hint of cheerfulness that felt out of place. Cooper.
My stomach chose that moment to growl audibly.
“Traitor,” I whispered angrily, softy hitting my abdomen with a closed fist, “breakfast yesterday wasn’t that long ago.” I wanted to reject anything more they offered me, but there was biology again, being a jerk.
"I'm not hungry," I mumbled, uncertain if my voice was loud enough to carry through the solid wooden door. My stomach gave a second, audible grumble of protest.
“Was that a mountain lion growl then? Did it follow you inside last night?” A note of teasing laced the questions. But it didn’t make me laugh. It only made me pissed. The guy did not have the right audience for his lame jokes. I said nothing.
