Page 23 of Savage Surrender

Check. Check. Check. Check.

The blonde - the dickhead’s assistant - checks their work.

She doesn’t speak to me so much as issue statements in my direction between notes on her tablet. She takes calls just outside my hearing, returns with the pinched expression of a woman whose natural habitat is beside a clipboard, then examines me for flaws. Healthy enough. Normal enough. Sane enough to put beneath ballroom lighting.

“You must remember that your actions reflect on Dr. Montgomery.” Her eyes stay on the tablet. “Any attempt to cause a disruption or leave without prior approval will be flagged immediately. You have other people to consider, so your behavior needs to reflect compliance. He asked me to make it clear that actions have consequences, and you are expected to behave accordingly.”

You have other people to consider.

My pack? My family?

The sentence I’ve been saving for his ballroom - Emmett Montgomery is a rapist - sits loaded behind my teeth. Weller’s shoulder hit the floor hard enough to make him swear when he pushed himself up. I smash the piece of gum I’m chewing between my molars until my jaw aches.

She gives me the threat in the same voice someone might use to explain valet parking, then taps her screen and moves on. I keep my face empty, unwilling to give her even a hint of the despair.

Inside me, something with claws rolls onto its stomach and starts sharpening them.

Behave. Like I’m eight years old and about to embarrass Daddy at a dinner party.

I blow a bubble. It swells until the girl doing my hair pauses, then pops obnoxiously across my lips.

She gave me the gum. And I chew it like an act of civil disobedience.

Ms. Stick-up-her-ass releases a deep breath through her nose.

“They’ve worked miracles today. You hardly look like the girl who arrived this morning.” Her gaze skims my face. “Good bone structure helps.”

“I grew it myself.”

The makeup artist hides a smile by reaching for another brush. Blondie does not.

There are more guards around now. Every one who crosses the lawn looks straight up at me like they hate me personally.

Word travels, apparently.

Owen nearly folded Tommy’s wrist backward in the park. Weller choked Ellis, which I never saw coming. Have to admit: very hot. Then Ellis shoved Weller and made him eat shit. Weller, who prides himself on his appearance and holds himself a little differently than other people. It rubbed me the wrong fucking way. So I took my anger out on that asshole’s ear.

No one is ever fucking with them again. Unless it’s me. And they like that so I don’t feel bad.

“You and your party will be escorted to the ballroom at seven sharp,” Blondie says. “Your father expects you to be pleasant. Well-mannered. Quiet. There will be important people in attendance. This is a professional environment, not a reality television program. If you cannot follow instructions, you will spend tomorrow in solitary confinement.”

My father.

What the fucking fuck.

No. We are not normalizing this. Emmett Montgomery is not my father. He will never be my father.

I’m eager to check my phone. Winston has been keeping me updated. Mom has tried the gate three times. I’m furious with her, but I also keep picturing a guard putting his hands on her, and then all I want is for her to go home and lock the door. Dad still doesn’t know the truth - somehow, impossibly, he still doesn’t. Mom can’t save me. I’m terrified that won’t stop her from trying.

One disaster at a time.

First, I get out. Then I deal with every other problem stacked behind it like a leaning tower of fucking pizza.

“During the presentation, you will sit at the front table. You are not expected to speak unless directly addressed. If someone asks a substantive question, you will refer it to Dr. Montgomery. Understood?”

“Understood.”

My voice could flatline a heart monitor.