“Antoni, I can’t leave Zeller. Or my son. I won’t do that.” Valentin blew out a breath.
Antoni nodded. “I had a feeling that’s what you’d say, but it’s very important that you don’t underestimate Keyes. He’s dangerous.”
As Valentin drove home, wondering how he would pay his rent next month, he thought about how formidable an opponent Keyes was. But Valentin was smart and had skills as a handyman. Surely someone would hire him. And his college classes started soon. He’d be working every day to improve himself.
He waited in his apartment for three days. Decoy provided a welcome distraction and reminded him of what he was fighting for. He wished he could call Zeller or communicate with him in some way.
On the fourth day, he figured the Parkensons understood that he wasn’t taking their offer—their fucking bribe—to leave town permanently. If it had been a test, they should have seen by now that he’d passed.
But it wasn’t a test.
At least not the way he imagined.
As Valentin opened the door of his rusty old sedan, intending to spend the day job hunting in nearby towns, he found out that he had indeed underestimated Keyes.
He scarcely registered the blow that sent him sprawling onto the street corner, scraping his chin against the sidewalk.
He couldn’t make out the faces of the assailants who kicked his ribs so hard that vomit burned up his esophagus.
He didn’t see it coming when they slipped a hood over his bloodied face and stuffed him into the trunk of a car.
And he barely made out the words when one of them muttered, “Poor chump. Shoulda taken the money.”
Chapter Fourteen
Wes
“Mr. Parkenson, did you need something?”
Wes organized papers on his desk, shoving folders into a leather case as he packed up his notes. Class had ended ten minutes ago, but he noticed a student lingering in the back rows of the stadium-style room.
Asher Parkenson approached him cautiously. Wes was surprised by the serious look on the beta’s face. The young man was usually so jovial, among the most good-natured in this section.
“I have a few questions about your lecture,” Asher said. “But I didn’t want to ask in front of the class.”
Wes furrowed his brow. The lecture he’d given today had been fairly straightforward, a basic timeline of omega rights legislation for their modern history unit.
He propped his hip on the desk behind him. “Alright. What can I clarify?”
“Well, the law says omegas can emancipate themselves at age twenty-five, if they’re not married.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“But I was curious what happens if an omega has a baby before then?”
“An unmarried and unemancipated omega?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you asking if having a baby gives the omega grounds to emancipate themselves early?”
“That, but also if they get any say in what happens to the child.” Asher’s jaw ticked. “I know most omegas are married or twenty-five before they first give birth, but if it did happen?”
Wes hummed. “You’re spot on that these situations are unusual, but pregnancy is not grounds for self-emancipation. To the best of my understanding, in those instances, the omega’s parents would be legally responsible.”
Asher’s face pinched. “So they decide what happens to the baby?”
“Technically, yes. But I imagine that in most cases, the decision would be mutual.” Wes had never seen the young man look upset. “Is there a particular reason you’re asking?”
