Page 45 of Savage Surrender

Fields replace houses once Owen finds an old highway moving east. There’s not much traffic and I get sleepy despite our circumstances. Freddie turns the radio down low.

Owen reaches back on every straight stretch. If I don’t catch his hand quickly enough, his fingers tap against the back of the middle console until I do.

Whatever Montgomery gave me is winding its way through my system. It pulls my body hotter degree by degree and makes the large, tense, adrenaline-fueled alphas around me smell good enough to eat. I breathe shallowly and picture the heat as a physical thing I can push back.

We are running for our lives, hussy.

The omega writhing under my skin does not give a single fuck.

“Are you okay?” Weller asks, pitched under the radio, for me alone. “Your breathing is off. You feel warm.”

I could deflect. I’m good at deflecting.

“Montgomery dosed me,” I say, feeling a bit sheepish that I’m just now bringing it up. “The champagne. I think he’s forcing my heat.”

Weller’s hand closes over my knee, and Tristan drawls, “And you were just giving me shit about keeping secrets. I thought your scent smelled stronger.”

“You should’ve told us right away.” Weller taps his fingers against his leg. “You going into heat will change everything. We’re not prepared.”

“We were escaping. It didn’t feel like the ideal time for a pack meeting about my body.”

“How do you know it’s coming?”

“I could tell immediately after drinking the champagne.”

Freddie turns in his seat. “How close are you?”

“It’s not super strong yet - I think I have some time.” My thighs press together like I’m a liar. “Whatever he gave me... it’s trying. But I think I can hold it until we find suppressants.”

Weller opens the kit again and reads every label under the passing streetlights. When he reaches the end, he starts over.

Owen finally eases off the gas when the fuel gauge drops low. He pulls into a station with two pumps and half the letters missing from the sign.

“Gas or ass,” I joke. “Nobody rides for free.”

Freddie laughs while the others perform the fastest threat assessment in history. One camera behind the register. A back door beside the coolers. A clerk too committed to his phone to look up. Nothing here feels interested in us.

A television above the lottery tickets shows a news report on what’s left of Whitney’s burning mansion. My portrait appears beside Montgomery’s beneath a red banner.

DOCTOR’S OMEGA DAUGHTER MISSING AFTER VIOLENT ATTACK AND FIRE

The anchor’s mouth moves beneath the words while my portrait replaces the fire. One vulnerable omega with a troubled past, newly identified as Dr. Emmett Montgomery’s daughter. Police are asking for tips.

I angle my face away from the register.

Troubled past, my ass.

Freddie takes a basket and fills it with anything I study for more than two seconds. Weller pays for gas while Tristan watches the windows. I’m reaching for chips when a pretty omega follows Freddie down an aisle.

Dark hair, big tits, shirt cut low enough to make sure nobody misses that fact. She tugs the neckline even lower, then asks him to reach a box from the top shelf. Her fingers touch his chest and she smiles at him. He steps backward instantly but it’s too late.

A violent little rumble starts beneath my ribs. I want to snap her fingers off.

I come from behind her, move between them, and turn to face her. “He can’t help you.”

She looks at me with disdain. “Didn’t ask you. He doesn’t smell like he belongs to anyone?”

I yank down the collar of his shirt and point at the spot where I marked him. “Walk away before you get hurt.”