Chapter 3 Jo
three
Jo
Adela tries to walk me to my meeting with the facility director, Leslie Perez.
"Addie, I know you're tryin' to help, but I can't look weak right now.
" If anyone else had demanded they escort me to an appointment, they would have found themselves on the other end of the plastic spork I swiped from the cafeteria.
But within the hour, Adela seems to have wiggled past all my defenses.
"You just broke Paige Lawson's nose, Jo." Adela looks at me with wide eyes. "There are going to be consequences for that. Maybe not from Thornfield, but—"
"Addie, I'm fine." I brush her off. "You're in no state to be puttin' yourself in any danger anyhow."
"Okay, well…" She pushes her glasses up her nose. Aww, bless her heart. She really is worried about me. She sighs and gives me directions to the Facility Director's office.
Smiling, I nod. "Easy peasy."
I take the first left, just like she said, and then a right, and then…that's where I lose it.
Well shit.
Did she say to take another left and it’s the third door on the right? Or a right and the third door on the left?
I'm giving the security camera the middle finger when something knocks into my shoulder.
Hard.
I stagger forward, clutching my shoulder as a large, orange-suit clad body moves past me.
"Excuse you!" My hand lands on my hip as I stare daggers at the brute who just plowed into me like a tractor.
The ass waffle who ran into me stops in his tracks, then turns on his heel and narrows his eyes. "What did you just say to me, bitch?"
The alpha in front of me is more like the kind of alpha I'm used to dealing with. Angry, irrational, quick to slip up. His brown hair falls into his eyes, his scowl angry, like he was in a pissy mood before he even ran into me.
"I said, excuse you." My voice stays even. "Precious, you might need to see the doctor if your hearin' is goin' out this young."
He's crowding me against the wall in the next second, his damp wood scent making my nose itch. "Do you know who I am?" He growls.
"Sorry, I left my mind-readin' helmet at home today." The snark leaves me before I can think twice.
"Shut the fuck up," he hisses, his hand reaching for my throat.
The guy had to make it physical. All he had to do was apologize. Or even just keep walking. But no. He had to go and try to lay hands on me.
See, when a man puts his hands on me in a violent manner, I tend to lose myself a little. Proper southern lady? Never heard of her. Get ready to meet Trailer Trash Bitch.
Logic flies out the window. All I can hear is my heartbeat pounding in my ears as everything around me slips away, leaving one thought in its wake.
Survive. Survive. Survive.
The bastard doesn't get to make contact with me, because a scream rips out of my throat as I catch his wrist with my hand and twist it away from me.
If he had been expecting it, the move never would have worked, but he wasn't expecting me to fight back.
He probably saw my purple jumpsuit and thought I was an easy target.
Not today, asshole.
His left hand rears back like he's gonna take a swing, so I take the opportunity to drop and ram my shoulder into his midsection, knocking him off balance.
He loses his footing and falls onto his back, and in the next instant, I'm straddling his chest, my fists making contact with his face, over and over and over again.
"Fuck, you, jackass!" I scream, my cries echoing in the empty hall. He reaches for my neck again, squeezing tightly. His hands are so large he only needs one to completely wrap around my throat. Looks like I’m in for a game of make-sure-the-alpha-passes-out-first.
Black spots start to cloud my vision as my heartbeat roars in my ears, but I can't let up.
I'm an omega and he's an alpha, but if he's on the same instinct tamping drug that I am, maybe it won't take as long for him to pass out.
Finally, his grip falls slack and I take a gasping breath of air, falling off his chest and onto the floor.
The air fills my lungs, my heart still racing as I keep my eyes closed.
My fists ache, my throat is sore, and I'm sure the security camera just caught everything.
I have no idea how long I sit there, but once my heart calms and Trailer Trash Bitch is back in her cage, I sigh, standing up on shaky legs.
Of course, that's when help arrives.
"What the hell happened here?" A handsome beta man with deep mahogany skin approaches, his eyes glued on me as he looks me over.
His ink-black hair is close-cropped, the fade on the sides drawing attention to his intense, honey brown eyes.
Eyes that I could get lost in as they look at me with concern, until, of course, they land on the unconscious body next to me.
It's only then that I stop drooling long enough to realize this man is a doctor. His navy blue scrubs and white coat would have given it away instantly if I wasn’t so distracted by his damn perfect face.
Fuck. Maybe that asshole deprived my brain of oxygen long enough that my omega took over.
Before I can come up with an answer, another man in blue scrubs comes up behind him, this one definitely another alpha, and clearly an orderly. Great. I just hope he's nothing like Banesworth.
"Is that Lars?" The second man asks, his brows hitting his hairline as they both try to figure out what the hell happened. He runs a hand over his buzzed head, then scratches at the scruff on his chin.
"You must be Josephine Harding," the doctor says gently, "I'm Dr. West Monroe, but everyone calls me West. Do you want to tell me what happened?"
My mind blanks. I'm still blaming the lack of oxygen at this point and not the two hotter-than-the-hinges-on-the-gates-of-hell men who've appeared in front of me.
After a brief moment of silence, my brain kicks back online.
"Does nobody read the note in my file that I literally stabbed my last psychiatrist in the leg when he wouldn't stop calling me Josephine?
" West's mouth tightens into a line like he's trying not to smile, which is weird because I'm dead serious.
"Apologies. Jo," Dr. West Monroe says, his voice even. "What happened?"
"I…" They can look at the security camera if they really want to know. I ain't no snitch. "He tripped."
West's brows shoot up as his eyes travel over Lars' face, taking in the swelling that's already started.
"He tripped? That's what you're going with?" The orderly asks, shaking his head.
The doctor’s eyes go back to me, his eyes landing on my neck. "You have marks on your neck, Jo."
I shrug. Maybe I can be a little bit of a snitch.
"He was trying to strangle me, and then he tripped. Repeatedly. Face down."
"Right…" West says slowly, giving me an indiscernible look.
"You're saying you have nothing to do with the state of his face?" The orderly raises a brow.
I gasp, placing a shocked hand on my chest. "Sir, how could little old me take down a man that size?"
The two of them look at me and West looks like he might call me on my shit, but then more footsteps come around the corner.
A short woman, wearing a gray pantsuit and a crisp white shirt, lights up with a smile when she sees me.
"There you are, Jo! I wondered if you had gotten lost." Her dark brown hair is pulled up in a bun, her makeup done flawlessly.
Her cat-eye eyeliner is sharper than any shiv I've ever made, and her skin is dewy and soft-looking.
Seriously, if we were allowed to have makeup in this hellhole then I'd be asking her for tips.
"Leslie, Jo needs to be taken to the nurse—" West cuts off when Leslie immediately wraps me in a hug. Well, alright then. My arms stay awkwardly at my sides as she moves back and forth like she's hugging someone she hasn't seen in years.
"Jo, it's so good to finally meet you! I have to say, I've read up on your file and you are just fascinating." She smiles at me and pulls back, holding my arms as she looks me over.
My brows shoot up. This woman finds murder fascinating?
"You've read my file and you willingly hug me?"
"Oh, come on, Jo. The only thing that could put me farther from your victim-profile is if I was an omega." She smiles at me before looping our arms together. "I'll get her to Helaena," Leslie says over her shoulder, leading us away as she effectively dismisses the men.
"She's with me after your appointment!" West calls out after us, and Leslie waves him off as we round the corner.
I think I like her.
"That was alotta fancy words there," I drawl, still letting her lead me.
"Oh," she pats my arm. "I have a PhD in psychology and worked with the FBI for years in their Behavioral Analysis Unit."
My brow furrows. Leslie doesn't look like she could be any older than thirty, so how could she have gone to school for a PhD and worked for the FBI for years? Maybe her skin care routine is actually just that good.
"I know what you're thinking," she grins at me, "I graduated high school at thirteen, then got my Bachelor's at seventeen, and my PhD at twenty-two. I had my fun at the FBI, and now I work here, where I get to go toe to toe with the nation’s most interesting minds."
"But…you're not a doctor?" I ask, utterly confused.
"Technically, even if I'm not employed as a doctor, I have my doctorate…but no, to you, and to every patient here, I'm not their doctor. Just their…friend. Advisor. Mentor, if you will."
"Huh." I frown, not quite knowing how to feel about all that. Leslie is obviously a genius, and I worry that she might figure out what I have planned. After today, I’ll make sure to steer clear of her.
Before I know it, we're in front of a door helpfully labelled "Nurse", and after Nurse Helaena checks me over, she gives me an ice pack and sends me on my way. The irony of the two of us having mirroring injuries today is not lost on me.
Then we're sitting in Leslie’s office, a homey little spot that if I hadn't walked in myself, I wouldn't believe that it resided in the same building I just knocked an alpha unconscious in.
"So, Jo." Leslie looks at me from her spot behind her desk, tenting her fingers together. "What do you like to do? Do you have any special talents? Basically, how would you like to spend the labor part of your day?"
Special talents? Somehow I don’t think she’s looking for “Can subdue an alpha in fifteen-seconds,” or “Makes really cool shivs.”
"Um…" I bite my lip. Would it be too obvious to request to work in the kitchens? All those knives… "I've always loved to cook." I lie through my damn teeth.
"Wonderful!" She smiles, rubbing her hands together before typing quickly on her computer. "Okay, you will report directly to the kitchen at seven in the morning tomorrow. You'll rotate week by week which meal you help prepare, and you'll start with breakfast."
That was…easy. Frowning, I observe the bubbly beta as she finalizes a few things. She's obviously smart as a whip, so why would she let me, the omega who's murdered thirteen alphas, around any sort of sharp object?
Huh. She must figure I won't risk getting sent to Zombieland.
After she finishes typing, she reaches into a drawer and pulls out a file.
Out of it, she pulls a keycard on a lanyard, and two pamphlets.
"This key will allow you access to your room, which is 5D.
The dorms are co-ed, and we…highly discourage fraternization, but all the same, you'll have an appointment with Helaena tomorrow to take care of birth control and an STD panel. Since the medication is still in its experimental phase, we don’t want to risk it working too well and letting you get pregnant outside your heat.
This trifold is your map of the facility so you don't get lost, and this one is your schedule.
Starting tomorrow, you'll have regular sessions with Dr. Monroe every day at eleven, and on Fridays you’ll have a medical assessment with Dr. Brooks at one.
Circle time is non-negotiable, and that's every day at nine in the morning. Any questions?"
Um, yeah, why is this place like a rehab instead of the place where dreams go to die?
"Nope," I lie for the second time in five minutes, and she smiles, excusing me as I pull out my map to find Dr. Monroe's office.
Now all I have to do is get through our session without drooling all over him.