Chapter 2
TWO
“Do you need me to walk you to your car?” Trey asks, holding the back door open. “You know I don’t mind helping ya out, Queenie. Whole buncha weirdos wandering around here.”
“You’re the weirdest of them all, Trey.” My pumps hang from my fingers as I lean against the wall, waiting for him to open the door.
The wiry Beta grins, showing all of his teeth. He rests one hand over my head on the wall behind me, and my eyes zero in on the gun tucked into his pants. “Don’t forget it, baby.”
For an enforcer, Trey seems like a good dude. I don’t make it a habit to socialize with members of the Conglomerate outside of what I’m forced into, but Trey is impossible to avoid. He’s not as high-ranking as Puck, but he’s trusted well enough to vet everyone’s comings and goings.
I push off the wall and walk barefoot into the parking lot. “Night, Trey.”
“Night, Queenie. See you tomorrow.”
The door echoes as it closes behind me.
Tonight was long, and only a couple of hours are left before sunrise. That means I’ve got about four hours to sleep before I get up, head to the Clinic, and do it all over again.
The past four years have been brutal. I feel like I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep since I took on this debt for my shitty brother-in-law. Partially, it’s been from anxiety about what is waiting for me around the corner and not doing enough to protect my sister and niece, but mostly, it’s the two jobs.
Besides the forced bond, I guess Kieran treats me okay. He did get me a job at the Design Clinic. He was thrilled when he found out I had my certification to work as a lab assistant.
Even though I’m mainly there to remind Walter Talbot who owns him, I do get to do work I love and am passionate about every day.
But despite doing the work I have always wanted to do, it’s tainted by the Conglomerate. If I had a choice, I’d be helping Dr. Valentine apply for research grants.
Dr. Talbot’s research on gene therapy for chronic illnesses is interesting, though. And at least I am helping someone.
It’s nice to know that I’m doing something good during the day when my evenings are spent pumping drugs into people.
Going to a secondary school and getting that certificate was a complete scandal when I was at the Omega Academy. I was supposed to meet a pack at one of the mixers and settle down as soon as I turned twenty-one. But I never wanted to be locked down to an Alpha.
Look at me now.
Living the dream.
My townhome is dark and quiet when I open the door. Usually, I leave a radio or something on so it doesn’t seem empty for most of the day, but I must’ve forgotten.
I try to flip the lights on, but nothing happens.
“Fuck,” I whisper, flicking the switch multiple times even though I know the result is the same.
My power has been turned off.
The Design Clinic doesn’t pay that well, and my position at Prism does not receive tips regularly. Since they pay for the entire room, my wage is included. If I’m lucky, some stoned businessman will slip me an extra hundred, like one of the guys did tonight.
I send money every month to my sister Eve to take care of my niece, Hannah, and I took on the payments for the Academy loans Eve took out when I turned twenty-one. They’re outrageous. The fees the Academy charges may as well be criminal. Between those two things, there isn’t much left over for me at the end of the month.
I wouldn’t change it, though.
Eve practically raised me. When our parents died, I was eleven, and she was nineteen, and she put her entire life on hold for me. I owe her everything. The idea of either her or Hannah going without does not sit well with me.
Still, I should’ve calculated better.
The tip I received is heavy in my pocket. I’ll need to get up early to deposit it so I can transfer the payment to the power company in the morning. Hopefully, I’ll have power by the time I get off work.
I barely have time to undress before I collapse on the bed from exhaustion.
* * *
“What do you mean you can’t turn it back on until Monday?” I hiss into the phone. I’m huddled in a corner at the clinic, hoping to avoid being overheard by anyone. “I paid you. You have the money.”
“ I’m sorry, Miss Manson, but since the money was not received by the 3 pm cut-off, we won’t be able to reconnect your power today. There is nothing I can do.”
For what it’s worth, the man on the phone does sound sorry. But sorry doesn’t help me.
“I understand,” I sigh. “Thanks for your help.”
I can handle this. I can do this.
I don’t have much food in the fridge, so it’s not like I’m losing a lot there. I can shower at the club. The bathrooms on the pleasure floors are pretty nice. Sleeping in the dark is no problem. It may get a little hot, but I can sleep in the nude.
And I can see Eve on Sunday. She’ll cook for me.
I can handle a weekend without power. I just need to charge my phone while I’m at the club.
“Crystal, there you are,” Dr. Talbot says as he turns the corner. “I’ve got Mr. Ortega here for injections. Has the lab sent over his paperwork?”
I shove my phone in my pocket and push off the wall. “I believe so. Do you want me to print them and bring them over?”
“No need, you can just email them to me. I need you to confirm the other study participants have all gotten this round of testing done and prepare the charts for the rest of the day.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Can you do that?”
Rolling my eyes, I push past the blustering Alpha. “You know I can, Walter. I’ll get it handled.”
He’s always a bit of a douche, but it’s worse after he cleans up one of Kieran’s messes. I’ve found it’s best for me to ignore it. It’s not like I can change it, anyway. He knows I’ll never tell Kieran.
I don’t need his blood on my hands.
The rest of the day continues at a snail’s pace as I confirm appointments and organize charts for the other study participants.
Currently, Dr. Talbot is working on a trial for people who suffer from chronic pain conditions, trying to manipulate their genomes in the same way we Design embryos in hopes of healing, or at least reducing the severity, of the condition.
Mr. Ortega, the one he’s working with today, has severe migraines. I’ve never met him, but his chart is depressing. Three severe, multi-day migraine attacks a month, with a baseline pain of four every day. If this gene therapy is successful, it would significantly improve his quality of life.
That is why I wanted to do this. I don’t enjoy working directly with patients, but reviewing MRIs, EKGs, blood tests, and any other diagnostic tests Walter decides to run is fascinating. Looking for patterns that could help us make someone’s life easier gives me a rush like no other.
At the end of the day, I say goodbye to Walter and climb into my old beater of a car. The greenhouse level of warmth relaxes my muscles immediately, and I soak in it for a minute until it becomes uncomfortable.
I pull up my banking app on my phone and check my account balance. The power company has taken their money, and a few autodrafts are projected.
I have enough.
The brand on the back of my neck pulses in awareness, and I ruffle my blue and purple hair to ensure it covers the bite before starting my car and heading to therapy.