Page 3 of Now Their Starlet

“This can’t be legal,” I murmur as we reach the top of the stairs. The two alphas have a far easier time maneuvering me now that I’m not fighting them anymore.

My mom’s cracked phone lies there, the screen shattered from where it hit the floor after it struck my face earlier.

“We’re just doing our jobs,” the younger alpha says softly. “Your mother signed off on all the paperwork.”

They manage to drag me into my childhood bedroom. It’s changed a bit since I moved out. The personal effects, pictures, and any signs of my actual personality have been replaced with sleek lines and drab beige furnishings. Picture—and reality TV show—perfect.

The two alphas set my limp body down on the bed.

I’m instantly irritated by the feel of the scratchy cover on the duvet, one of those fancy linen ones that has enough texture to show up on a camera. The throw pillows against my head are the harsh ones, so overstuffed to keep their shape, it’s like my head is lying on a brick.

I hate it.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

It’s such a small thing, given this whole shitshow of a situation.

My gaze catches on the logo on the matching quarter-zips the two alphas are wearing. It’s the logo for a private offshoot company, the Omega Center Network, frequently hires. I’ve seen them around the OCN location I get my suppressant shots from.

I didn’t know they took jobs like this.

The two leave me there, still limp under the influence of the bald alpha’s bark, no matter how hard I fight against it.

The door clicking shut feels like a gun being cocked. The door locking behind them? That feels like the same gun being fired.

When the influence of the bark wears off a minute later, I throw myself off the bed and onto the pristine, white carpet, the fibers so densely packed it’s hard instead of plush. I stumble my way to the door, jiggling the doorknob and trying to get it open.

Locked.

From the outside.

Gina planned this.

She must have.

Most bedroom doors don’t lock to keep people in. This is something she would have had to replace and figure out before I got here.

My chest starts to heave. I’m trapped here.

I spin on my heel, my gaze darting around the room as frantically as a startled cat. I find nothing of use. No device I can use to contact any of the guys to get the hell out of here.

I bang on the door in frustration.

“Mom! Stuart! Let me out!” I scream.

I pound my fists against the door until they ache, buzzing with phantom impacts.

I feel dizzy.

My head is spinning.

I can’t breathe.

My forehead rests against the door, my dark hair falling around my face like a curtain.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

I whirl around, lurching towards the windows. I’m on the second floor so I’d have to jump down. But there has to be a way out.