Chapter 21
I have felt untethered since yesterday. Since I realized that the doctor I hired, not knowing she was an Omega, is my Omega.
My scent match.
Who wants nothing to do with me.
I get that it’s not personal. She’s got heavy trauma that dictates her reaction to Alphas. But it still hurts to know that she doesn’t trust me.
But what reason have I given her to think that I am a safe place to land in this situation?
“Boss,” Dario whines from my couch, “we need to go check on her.”
“No,” I snap for the thousandth time. “She’ll come find us when she’s ready.”
“And if she’s never ready?”
“She has to come out eventually.” I rub between my eyes, unable to read the email from a strongman and cannonball catcher who wants to join the troupe. I don’t have the bandwidth to even think about bringing in new members when I’ve got a veritable shit show unfolding around me.
I’ve got rats in my midst, and no idea how to ferret them out.
“Any progress on finding out who it was that attacked Alex?” I ask the acrobat. He shakes his head sadly.
“No, everyone is pretty tight-lipped. I didn’t want to reveal our hand that we know it happened, but no one has a bad word to say about her. I can’t even begin to guess who it was.”
I don’t want to think that anyone I hired could be capable of this, but this isn’t exactly a bunch of choir boys. Most of us have addiction, violence, and a general disdain for authority in our pasts. Some have rap sheets as long as my arm.
But there are some things I don’t fuck with. Rob a convenience store?
Fine.
A little casual arson?
No big deal.
Resist arrest?
Welcome aboard.
Protesting your rights and a corrupt government throws you in jail for bullshit charges?
Even fucking better.
But violence against Omegas and children? I’ll take the trash out myself.
Which is why I have no idea where even to begin looking, because none of my crew have the backgrounds that would hint at this being a possibility. It’s like I’m flying blind.
“Just keep your ears open. I don’t want to think one of our own did this, but…”
“But I believe her,” he finishes for me. “And Quinton and Matteo saw injuries on her. So, regardless of whether we want to believe it or not, it happened. And we can’t let it happen again.”
“Speaking of injuries, why didn’t those assholes tell the rest of us?” I push up from my chair and head to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. “They didn’t think I needed to know that something was going on in my circus?”
The ancient machine sputters and starts to spit out the thick, dark liquid, the slightly bitter smell of cheap coffee filling my trailer. My caffeine consumption is strictly functional. I don’t care what it tastes like, I need it to keep me moving.
“To be fair, they’ve got a lot going on right now, what with Quinton literally Rotting from the inside out.” Dario hops to his feet and pads across the room. How can he be so graceful, so light-footed, and yet take up so much space? “Gonna offer me a cup, big guy?”
I pour two mugs and shove one into his waiting hands. “Still. It’s disrespectful, not to mention dangerous, to keep something like that from me.” I take a sip of the coffee.
It’s disgusting, as usual.
“I’m not arguing with you,” he says, taking a sip of the coffee I handed him and then making a twisted face. “You make the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had.” Dario’s thoughts seem to mimic my own.
“Then go back to your place and make your own,” I grunt.
His eyes sparkle as he places a hand on my shoulder. “And miss out on this bonding session? Why would I do that?” The Alpha flounces off, returning to my couch and sprawling out, legs stretching his loose shorts wide.
“Why are you here, Dario?” I ask, trying not to look at the skin of his thighs, dusted with dark hair that is at odds with what’s on his head, which peeks out of the bottom of his shorts.
He shrugs, taking another small sip of the coffee that is supposedly awful. “What else am I supposed to do? Dexter is being all dark and broody, and I don’t feel like being around that right now. Not that you’re much better, honestly.”
I roll my eyes and slump next to him on the small sofa. Our arms brush against one another, leaving little sparks where our skin touches.
“So, we’re going to be in a pack together,” Dario says quietly.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. She’d have to accept us first, and it doesn’t seem likely.”
I still can’t decide if I want her to or not. Yes, she’s my scent match, but this is all so fucking fast it makes my head spin. Plus, Alex isn’t exactly the most open person. Not that I blame her for holding back, but it’s hard to develop feelings for someone who keeps half of themself hidden.
“Regardless,” Dario barrels on, “if we end up in a pack together, maybe we can pick up where we left off?”
My fingers clench tightly around my mug. I should’ve expected him to bring this up.
Two years ago, Dario was hurt during his act. Nothing major, but he was out of commission for about a week as his sprain healed. During that time, Dexter did a solo act, and Dario bugged the fuck out of me in my trailer, much like he’s doing now.
After three days of listening to his nonstop prattle about God knows what, I shut him up with my mouth in a move that surprised even me.
It’s not like I’m a particularly sexual person.
I hardly ever bring people back to my trailer.
The few times I have, it was almost mechanical. I don’t seek out physical affection .
But kissing Dario was like standing in front of a hose at full blast, and it swept us both away. The chemistry was incredible, but the risk of things going wrong was too high to let it continue for more than a few days.
If we allowed feelings to develop, it could fuck up the delicate balance within the circus.
When his sprain was healed, our relationship was over, and we never discussed it again.
Until now.
“I’m just saying,” Dario barrels on when I don’t respond, “if an Omega is tying us together forever, it’s not like it’ll affect the circus like you were concerned about before.”
I can’t look at him. I’ve not had many relationships over the years, and what I did have could hardly be classified as a relationship—more like dalliances. I haven’t had the desire to put in any effort for more.
But the air in my trailer is thick with potential between the two of us.
“Yeah,” I finally say, looking up at the ceiling. “I think maybe we could.”
“Move a little to the left,” Travis, one of our lighting crew, shouts. “You’re slightly off your mark.”
Dress rehearsal for tonight’s show feels pointless. It’s the same show, different city, but since it’s our first show here after two days off, it’s worth it to go through the motions.
Luckily, Quinton had his health scare on an off night. But still no sign of Alex .
I thought certainly I’d see her this evening, after the shock wore off and she got some sleep. But nope, it’s been almost two days and she’s still nowhere to be found.
“Stage left,” Chet shouts, pointing in the other direction. “Where’s your head at, bossman?”
The two Alphas have been with me for years, starting as standard stagehands, just doing the setup and break down of things, and then eventually moving up to more prestigious positions in the crew.
“Just got a lot going on,” I answer, and move to the correct mark. We walk through the lighting cues for my portion of the show, and they get me mic’d up before telling me to send Q and Matteo in for their run-through.
I find the two sitting on the ground outside of Alex’s trailer.
“You’re up,” I tell them. “Chet and Travis are ready to check your marks.”
Quinton waves me off lazily before stubbing his joint out in the grass. “We don’t need a rehearsal.”
“Everyone has to do it,” I remind him.
He shrugs and turns to look at me. His eyes are barely bloodshot, and there isn’t much skunk stench clinging to him. Matteo notices my perusal.
“Yeah, that’s his first one of the day.”
I raise an eyebrow in surprise, and Quinton chuckles. “You two shouldn’t act so surprised. I’m wearing her shirt under mine. I’m feeling better than I have in months.”
It’s a positive that I can’t overlook. Having Alex here may have shaken things up, but Quinton needed her, and he may never have found her without me fucking up and not verifying that Dr. Alex Shields was an Alpha.
“I thought she’d be out by now,” Matteo muses, pulling a stick of charcoal down the page of the notebook he has propped on his knees. “I know this is a lot to work through, but I didn’t think she’d bury her head in the sand.”
“Give her time,” Quinton chastises. “She won’t be able to deny this any more than we can.”
I snort. “She seems stubborn as hell. If anyone can ignore a scent match, it’s Dr. Alex Shields.”
“Well, I’m not going to let her wallow forever,” Matteo mutters, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to check in on her.”