Page 27 of Hidden

I point out a group of women walking by, laughing, all dressed in similar clothing.

“Can I at least have some privacy?”

“It’s one of the last times you’ll get it, pet, but if it makes you feel better, sure. We’ll turn our backs.”

I wink at her before closing the door and propping my back against the tinted window, making sure there’s no possibility of anyone seeing inside. The jeep rocks a bit as she tries to dress herself, finally knocking on the door to be let out.

“Fuck. You can’t go in public like that,” Kit growls.

“I…can’t?”

Kit leans into her and sniffs her neck, pulling her scent deep into his body. “You look too fucking good in our clothes.”

He’s not wrong, but we’re still on a time crunch. “Come on,” I tell her, pulling her away from Kit. “Let’s go pick out a few things you like to bring home with us. We can buy more later, and we have the basics for you, but we didn’t know what size clothing to pick up so there’s not much for you at home.”

“I…don’t have any means with which to barter for goods.”

I growl this time. “You’re our mate. You won’t pay for a damn thing. Anything you need, will be provided by us and us alone, do you understand?”

She blinks at me but doesn’t respond.

“We want you wholly dependent on us for everything. Your clothes, your food, your shelter, your pleasure…we’re your providers now. And we mean to do a damn good job of it.”

Calai opens her mouth, looks to the store and then back at us, but then closes her mouth and gives me a nod. “Good girl,” I praise her. I lean in and nip her on the mouth, letting my teeth dig in ever so slightly on that damn bottom lip that’s been teasing me all day.

I pull her by the hand as Kit leads and James follows behind, all of us guarding her from anything that might be a threat. Don’t know what on earth we expect to happen in a Target, but you just never know.

When Calai seems overwhelmed by the prints and fabrics available in the women’s department, I start holding up options and letting her choose from those, instead of the entire floor. Having fewer options seems to make it easier, and she is quick to demonstrate she favors dresses similar to what she was wearing- longer ones with less bold prints.

I may sneak in a few shorter ones as well, but if she’s comfortable, I’m happy. Anything is an improvement on her previous dress. I don’t plan on her wearing much once we’re home anyway.

After making sure she has lots of soft things to sleep and lounge in, we gather undergarments (which she gets no say in), and fit her for shoes, before pulling her to the hygiene department. We get a salesclerk to help us, explaining she’s not from here and needs all the basics, and the kindness she shows Calai has me forever grateful.

She stocks her up on pads and tampons as well as makeup and shampoo, eyeing us up while we follow along. I can’t tell if she thinks we’re a threat to Calai or if she’s low-key trying to snag our attention for her own benefit, but I don’t care enough to find out.

Every time an item gets added to the basket, Calai looks to us as if for approval, but seeing her pick out things for herself, making simple decisions like soap scent, makes me unbelievably protective and proud that she’s mine. I get happier with every little thing added to our bill, and after thanking the salesclerk profusely, we pull her away to go and check out.

“Now it’s time to feed the omega,” I say after throwing the bags in the back of the jeep.

“There’s a Mexican place over there,” Kit says, indicating with his head.

We get a huge selection of everything, naturally, wanting to make Calai try bites of it. The scent of spices hangs heavily around us, and she just stares at the food like she had no intention of putting any of it into her mouth.

She dainty scoops up a bit of rice and brings it to her mouth, immediately drowning it in water. Once she swallows that, she pushes the plate away from herself and crosses her arms.

“There's no way you aren't hungry,” Kit tells her. “We didn't exactly bring meals with us for the rescue operation. What's going on? Is it…too different from what you're used to eating? Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“It is different…but that's not it. I'm fine,” she says meekly. “Please, eat if you're hungry. You needn't concern yourself with me.”

Because she says this, we all throw down our forks and pause. We were going to be polite and let her have the first taste, but now that it’s apparent she doesn’t want anything at all, neither do we. The clang of silverware hitting the table seems to startle her. “What?”

Kit pulls at his hair a little bit, readying himself for some sort of argument in which he’ll no doubt have to prove to this girl that what she’s been told her whole life is wrong. “Let’s just skip all the posturing and go to the part will you tell us what’s going on. With the food, with you, with why you don’t want to eat it. Let us fix it. If you don’t like it, we find you something else. If it’s a different reason, we talk about it. Now. I’m going to ask you again. What is happening?”

The girl shrinks into herself a little bit, shoulders hunching. Maybe we’re a little intimidating. “It is different, we really just ate plain rice most of the time.”

“Of course you did,” he bites out. “But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

The omega stares at the food for a moment, tapping her finger on the table. “Are you going to be angry about it? Because if I’m setting myself up for you to yell at me again, we don’t need to do this.”

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