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Why does he have to be nice to me?
Why does he have to be so goddamned beautiful?
He doesn’t deserve what the Redfangs will do to him. No omega deserves to be treated like a thing. Sold and abused.
I won’t let it happen to me.
I won’t let it happen to him.
Decision made, I hit the gas, heading back to the house. This is the only road to the city, so if I keep driving, I’ll meet up with the Redfangs.
I speed faster than I’ve ever driven, constantly checking my rearview. Any second, the Wyverns will fly up behind me in one of their candy cars, rolling in to save Orion like his knights in camo armor.
Aaaaaaany second.
I never spot headlights.
It’s hard seeing anything driving in the dark. Heat has a permanent haze boiling over my vision, and every few minutes, another death cramp twists everything below my ribs like a soaked towel.
Only the towel’s soaked in gasoline, and I’m on fire.
My slick is so uncomfortably wet, I swear it’s dripping into the seat. And this is just the start.
The longer I go without an alpha, the worse it’ll hurt.
The OCC told us a thousand scare stories about omegas who rode out their heat alone. Like the omega who went into heat at her pack’s mountain home while her mates got cut off by a blizzard. The pain was so unbearable, she tried to sedate herself and OD’ed.
A lot of doctors won’t even offer drugs. It’s too unhealthy. We’re efficient breeding machines, us omegas. Wouldn’t want the chemicals to affect a girl’s fertility.
Who cares if she’s in so much pain she cracks a few bones from thrashing?
I clench the wheel.
No matter how bad it gets, I can handle it. I know I can. I’ll hide and bite back the pain, the same way I always have. Like when Noelle locked me in that closet. Or when Juniper stomped my ribs into powder, and I spent two weeks alone in my bedroom, no one bothering to ask why I missed class.
I’m strong.
I’ll handle whatever I have to handle.
I’m halfway to the house when I spot the headlights flying toward me.
A flutter flips in my belly.
Only one way to stop a moving car.
I tense, gripping the wheel to stop my fingers from shaking. I have to time this perfectly.
Just as the black sedan flies past, I wrench the wheel and tag their bumper.
Our cars spin.
Theirs swerves into the ditch, mine doing a 180 on the road. My fingers are still shaking when my car screeches to a stop. I don’t move, don’t get out, just waiting to see what they’ll do.
A gun rests in my lap.
I’ll use it if I have to.
Two guys spill out of the back seat. They close in on me, lifting guns to shoot.
