Chapter 29
Rowan
We won the fight. Miraculously, I also won all the bets I placed, meaning I’m walked away with a whole stack of cash.
I didn’t bother counting it, because Mirabelle looked so pale I was worried she would pass out, but I’m pretty sure it’s over three thousand dollars.
I’ve spent a similar amount over the past month making sure the guys are more comfortable and Mirabelle has things like her nesting supplies, but that was of my Dad’s money.
This is mine.
It’s burning a hole in my pocket as Dad talks to Jett in the front seat about how surprised he was that our team beat the other, despite being given the worst matchup possible.
I don’t know whether Jett was lying or not about Dad betting against me, but it seems like even if he did lose some money, the high of the win and what it means for the family trumps any anger over losing some cash.
Because a win like this means a lot more money down the line, than just what my dad would think is a quick buck.
For me, this means I have something to fall back on if I ever get the opportunity to escape. Something to keep Mirabelle and I afloat while we hide and figure out a way to survive outside this place.
Mirabelle is practically catatonic as she sits in the backseat next to me. I had to use the leash to guide her through the crowd once the fight was over because it would’ve looked strange if I took her hand.
It still hangs between her breasts as she stares down at her hands, her shoulders curled forward.
The sight of it disgusts me.
But all of my feelings about tonight are swamped by the concern I feel for Mirabelle. There’s obviously something wrong and it’s killing me, not being able to talk to her about it while we’re driving with my family.
Because each minute that passes by as we return to the farm, I see her withdrawing a little more.
The moment Jett throws the car in park, I’m wrenching open the door. The crisp night air fills my lungs.
“Good work tonight, Son,” Dad says.
I blink at him.
He never calls me Son.
I almost want to throw my head back and laugh up at the night sky. Because that’s the kinda shit I would’ve killed to hear when I was a kid.
But now, the words just ring empty.
“Lot of important people came up to me tonight to talk about how well the dogs fought in their matchup,” he continues, oblivious to my racing thoughts. “I didn’t think you’d actually be able to manage pulling it off, especially since you were so secretive about your training procedures.”
Ah, that’s more like him. Talking about what my help did for him and then immediately telling me he had absolutely no faith in me.
“Seems you just needed the right... motivation,” Dad says, his gaze darting over my shoulder and landing on Mirabelle, who’s still waiting in the car.
To the outside eye, it must look like she’s dutifully waiting for my instruction. She played the part of the submissive eye-candy very well.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “I should go get the omega settled before going and checking on the fighters. The doctor is coming, right?”
“He is,” Dad nods.
Good, the guys will need it after that match.
I turn my back to my dad, opening the door wider for Mirabelle.
“Come on, let’s get going.”
I feel Jett’s eyes burning the back of my neck as he watches the entire interaction. I fucking hate it when he’s quiet. No idea what he’s thinking.
Which means there’s no way I can prepare.
Mira shuffles along behind me, wobbling precariously on her high heels along the uneven ground. The moment we’re out of Jett and my dad’s line of sight, I stop in front of her and unclip the leash.
“I’m so sorry, Sugar,” I breathe out, finally reaching out and lacing our fingers together.
She doesn’t respond as she stares blankly, swaying ever so slightly on her feet.
“I’m gonna carry you back to the trailer, ‘kay? Last thing I’d want is for you to break your ankle walking in those torture devices.”
Her chin dips in the barest hint of a nod and I take that as permission to sweep her into my arms bridal style.
I’ve taken to working out with the guys sometimes, when I train them so that I can fit in some level of workouts in my day.
I don’t know whether it’s because I’m surrounded by absolutely jacked alphas when I work out or something about having the motivation of someone to protect, but Mirabelle feels lighter in my arms than when I carried her that first day we met.
And I know it’s definitely not because she’s gotten lighter. Since she’s been eating actual food and not the weird regulated stuff she was fed at the facility, she’s filled out her curves a bit more.
My chest fills with pride at the thought that I’ve grown stronger. And I didn’t even have to take a dose today to feel this way.
That feeling swells even more when Mirabelle turns, burying her face in my chest and taking a deep breath. It’s the first movement that feels like her since she fell into this weird catatonic state after the fight.
“Almost there, Sugar,” I say into her hair, soaking in her sweet strawberry scent.
It takes a bit of awkward maneuvering, but I manage to get the door to the trailer open with her still in my arms.
“Do you want me to set up your nest?” I ask softly, nodding to the top sheet we have piled on top of my dresser drawer. Sometimes Mirabelle prefers a more open-air design to her nest, but I keep the top sheet handy for when she wants to make her nest tents.
She just shakes her head, so I set her down on the bed and kneel down, slipping her shoes off her feet and massaging them.
Even through the dark stockings, I can see the red skin and the blister that’s starting to form on the heels of her feet where the harsh material of the shoe dug into her foot.
Shoes like that are seriously torture devices.
I reach up and brush the backs of my hands against her knees, red from kneeling on the concrete for so long.
I should’ve found a cushion or something. I probably could’ve explained it away as my “omega pet having delicate sensibilities” or some bullshit that some caring slave owner would’ve said.
She makes a soft noise at the back of her throat as I continue to massage her feet. It’s the first sound she’s made since the fight.
“Your feet must be in a lot of pain,” I murmur, looking up at her, eager she’s finally showing signs of coming back to herself.
She blinks down at me, her brows drawing down in confusion.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “They suck.”
“I bet,” I chuckle. “How’re you doing, are you okay?”
She grimaces and reaches for one of the fuzzy blankets, wrapping it around her body.
“I don’t—I don’t know what happened. I just... freaked out. I couldn’t stand the sight.”
Despite the blanket around her shoulders, I can see the tremble in her body. I guess she’s in some state of shock.
“Yeah, those fights can get pretty violent.”
“I don’t think it was the violence,” she says, shaking her head. “Not just the violence. I hated watching the fight before, but I just couldn’t handle my alphas getting hurt.”
She says my alphas so casually. I don’t think she realizes it’s the first time she’s verbally claimed them as her alphas. Most of the time, she refers to them as the fighters or the guys.
Hers is a new title I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear about.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” I nod slowly. “I’d assume most omegas hate the sight of violence. Stress and stuff can apparently mess with your hormones.”
“Oh,” she says, her lips quirking up into a small but still bitter smile. “I guess the facility didn’t get the memo.”
I’m pretty fucking sure that facility that kept her captive knew damn well what they were doing. I think their mistreatment of Mirabelle and the other omegas there and the rules around them suppressing their omega instincts were a feature, not a bug.
“I’ve gotta go and meet up with the doctor to check up on the guys,” I sigh, glancing at the time on my phone. “Will you be okay here?”
Everything in my body is telling me to spend more time with Mirabelle. She’s obviously still not okay, but I have responsibilities here. I can’t give Jett or my dad reason to revoke the privileges I’ve earned from “stepping up” into the family business.
Mira’s hand shoots out and she grips my wrist as I stand.
I expect her to ask me to stay, to not leave her, but as tears cling to her lower lashes, that’s not what she says.
“Bring me with you,” she says, her voice a strained whisper. “Please. I need to see them.”
“I dunno if that’s a good idea,” I wince.
“No! Take me with you!” She insists, pushing herself up on wobbly legs.
“They’re going to be in rough shape, Sugar. If you had trouble watching their fight, you’re probably going to have trouble seeing them get treated by the Doc.”
She clutches the fluffy blanket to her chest, paling slightly at my words before her back straightens. There’s a spark of steely determination in her emerald green eyes, flashing in the dim light from the string lights I hung up against the wall last week.
“I have to see them. I—I need to make sure they’re okay with my own two eyes.”
“Okay,” I nod. “When you see them, they may not look okay, but they will be, I promise. Alpha’s heal quick, especially with the booster doses they took before the fight.”
She gives me a jerky nod, her breath still a little unsteady.
“You should get changed, Sugar. I bet you probably want to get out of that getup.”
Her nod this time is a lot more eager.
I head out to the living room to give her privacy and flop down onto the couch. Tonight was a long fucking night.
I’m not used to talking to as many people as I did. Even more people came up to me after we won the fight than before.
There was a big difference between the curious interest of the people who spoke to me before and the eager hunger of those who came up to me after the win.
I hated it. I feel like I need a shower, being around those kinds of people, and their slimy, sleazebag looks were mostly reserved for Mirabelle, who knelt at my side for the remainder of the evening through the next fights.