Chapter 40
Unknown
How’d you like the present I left, bitch?
Who is this?
Someone who wants you to know their place and get the fuck out. You don’t belong here.
Take it up with your showrunner
I toss my phone away in frustration. I expected this, of course, but I was hoping to have one day free of the stress that comes with having someone at my place of employment willing to attack me to get me to leave.
Don’t they know that I just accidentally bonded a Beta and took a grumpy Alpha’s virginity?
I don’t have time for their temper tantrum about being around an Omega.
If this continues, I won’t be able to fulfill my contract.
The destruction of my nest is a worrying escalation that any crisis counselor would say is the precursor to a dangerous, violent outburst. If that initial interaction wasn’t enough to convince me these men have no qualms about hurting me, this would have done it.
No, I probably won’t be able to stick around. I’ll have to leave, because I didn’t leave Rich, Tripp, and Greg to end up held hostage by other men.
But leaving would mean leaving the others, including my bonded Beta.
I have a bonded Beta.
Holy fuck.
I still can’t believe I did that, but at least I had my wits about me enough not to bond Dexter last night. He definitely would have rejected the bond, and, since I’m still recovering from FOS, I’d probably need to be hospitalized to deal with the aftereffects of it.
Plus, the rejection I felt when he scrambled away from me as soon as his knot went down was hard enough. I don’t think I could’ve handled it if a bond was thrown back in my face.
Tonight’s show is supposed to start soon, which makes me wonder if my mystery texter is a performer or a member of the crew.
I feel like the crew is mostly all passive at this point, except the spotters, lighting, and sound team.
But the setup and breakdown crew typically hang out in their trailers for the duration of the show.
Part of me wants to go poking around to see if I can find out who it is, but I’m not that big of an idiot. If I end up alone, with one of them, I know I won’t like the way it turns out.
Been there, done that, got the torn t-shirt to prove it.
Instead, I take a screenshot of the text exchange and forward it to Matteo and Jude, knowing they’ll take care of it. Neither of them responds, but I’m not really surprised. Matteo is probably prepping with Quinton, and Jude is probably doing ringmaster shit.
I’m sorry, not ringmaster. Showrunner.
I think the only difference is the lack of a pretty cane and the fancy hat, because from what I saw, it’s the same exact job. But perhaps he reserves the title ‘master’ for something else.
My thighs clench, and arousal heats my veins. The Alpha is so dominant, so commanding, that I could see him requiring that title in the bedroom.
Could I submit to someone like Jude? After everything that I’ve been through?
I know there is power in submission, and the psychology behind it is fascinating, but I do worry that what happened with Rich and his pack will ruin the ability for me to submit to someone in the bedroom. It takes a lot of trust, and I don’t think I’m there yet.
But look at me, making up pretend situations in my head based on an assumption thinner than Dexter’s tightrope.
I’m so conflicted about everything right now that it’s hard to keep my mind straight. I feel stuck, like I’m trapped on that tightrope myself. That any move I make will have me plummeting into something I can’t handle.
The more I think about what the future looks like for me, the more anxious it makes me.
Do I work out my contract and then some, allowing myself to form a pack with these men and hoping for the best?
Do I stockpile money, as I originally intended, and then try to leave the country after it’s up, getting as far away from them as possible?
Or do I slip out now? Run away, and go from three people hunting me down to eight .
Assuming the Cirque de Mordu crew would hunt me down.
My thoughts are spiraling, most likely because I have nothing to do, which is the only explanation I have for what I do next.
Opening my laptop, I scroll through social media.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.
There are parts of my old life that I sorely miss, and part of that is the normalcy.
Of hopping online to see photos of babies and cats, learning new dance trends, and staying updated on what my second cousin is up to through an all-caps post from my grandmother.
The first thing I see is a news article shared by Rich’s sister, Kylie. The preview is a photo from my hospital ID badge, when I didn’t have bangs and my hair was still a light brown, and the headline is simply, “Promising Young Doctor Missing.”
I click on it.
A news story loads, and I hold my breath when a pretty blond interviewer holding a microphone smiles solemnly at the camera.
“Good afternoon, I’m Jill King, with Alpha News 1, here with Doctor Richard Smith. His scent match and pack mate, Doctor Alex Shields, has been missing for weeks. Richard, could you explain to everyone what happened?”
Rich looks handsome, his hair neatly styled and his clothing tightly pressed.
I used to do that for him. I wonder who is ironing creases into his slacks now?
His face is sad, looking every bit the part of the grieving Alpha.
I can see the newscaster, Jill, eating it up hook, line, and sinker.
I don’t blame her. If I were anyone other than myself, I would be, too.
I’ve fallen for him before, after all.
“Alex and I have been together since our medical residencies, and we have a wonderful relationship. I came home one day, and she was gone without a trace. At first, my pack and I thought she left us, and while we were devastated and blindsided, we would have accepted that it was her right as our Omega.”
I can’t hold back my snort. What a fucking lie. There is no way they accepted my leaving.
I have the scars from the first, and only, time I tried to leave them before this that beg to fucking differ.
“But two days ago, I received a call that she had been admitted to the hospital with Forsaken Omega Syndrome. I know how dangerous that is, and how much an Omega needs their Alpha to help them recover, so I dropped everything to meet her at the hospital. By the time I arrived, she was gone, and the staff said she had left with her Alphas. Of course, that isn’t possible, because it was not my pack and I.
Now we know that she did not leave on her own, but was instead kidnapped by a pack of rogue Alphas. ”
“That must be terrifying for your pack.”
“It is, Jill. I don’t have to tell you how rare a female Omega is, and while our pack cherished her for the diamond she is, not all will.
Alex is a doctor, but she has always been too trusting and easily manipulated.
I worry that she will be tricked into instigating a bond with them.
I just want my Omega back. If you see this, Alex, please know we love and miss you so much, and can’t wait until you return home. ”
I slam my laptop shut and run to the bathroom, dry heaving.
He’s put my name and face out there and said that I was taken against my will. If anyone sees me, they’re going to call in a tip, assuming I’m being held against my will, and he’s going to find me.
It seems silly to think, but it’s almost like I’m more trapped now than I was before.
It’s unlikely that Greg and Tripp care this much about their favorite punching bag being missing. I’m sure they could rope someone else into falling for their charm, but since I’m Rich’s scent match, he could start to Rot without me around.
I hope he does.
Maybe that needs to be my new plan. Hide out in the circus long enough for the Rot to take him out.
Between the cryptic text and this news broadcast, I’ve swandived past hopeless and into despair.
Why did I ever think I could find a normal life at the circus of all places? All I’ve done is make my life more complicated. I haven’t even had time to unpack the baggage that I earned last night, and now another emergency is on my plate.
Namely, what will happen to the men of Cirque de Mordu if I am found here with them?
Should I run? Pack up all my stuff and sneak out while they’re performing?
That way, if I get discovered or picked up by someone, they don’t get arrested for “kidnapping” an Omega.
There isn’t much worse of a crime to commit in this day and age, and with the prejudices people have against “ carnies,” there is no way their side of the story would be believed over that of such highly respected members of society like Rich and Tripp, whose father is the governor.
But what is the likelihood of someone noticing me and reporting me if I’m hiding out in a circus? If I barely leave my trailer?
There is no way I am of a clear enough mind to make any major decisions right now. The symptoms of FOS are pretty much all gone after mainlining Alpha pheromones last night, but I’m still weak and tired from my battle with the flu.
I’ve been saving my salary since I started, and it’s more than I escaped Rich and the pack with at first, so that’s a good thing, but there are still many other factors that will weigh into my decision to stay or go. I would need to have a place to go, for one, and a means to make more money.
And I need to get back on suppressants if I’m going to run. I can’t draw the kind of attention I would as an unsuppressed Omega to myself right now.
No, I need to wait and make a plan. I can’t run off half-cocked and hope that it turns out okay. I know I can’t stay here and finish out my contract, even though my inner Omega is starting to scream for me to consider it, but a few more days so I can put together a solid plan won’t kill me.
My trailer jolts to a stop, and I know we’ve reached our next destination.
It’s been two days since I saw the news story about my supposed kidnapping, and I can’t shake the feeling that I am running out of time. That I am living in borrowed, stolen moments.
I haven’t seen Dexter since the rut incident. I’m not surprised, but I’m also inexplicably upset about it. He didn’t strike me as a hit-it-and-quit-it type of guy, especially since that was his first time, but it seems I misjudged him, because he’s back to ignoring me.
Not that I’m making it easy to access me. I’ve only left my trailer once, when I needed to set one of the wrists of the Alpha roadies, a soft-spoken man named Bobby, when he sprained it. He didn’t need to come to my trailer for that, and I didn’t feel like letting someone into my sanctuary anyway.
But I’ve become somewhat of a hermit now. Part of it is the fear that the moment I step out the door, Rich, Greg, and Tripp will be standing there, waiting to drag me home.
Would the cops believe me if I said I didn’t want to go with them?
Legally, they’re my pack. It’s not that they have ownership of me, but getting removed from a pack is like getting a divorce between Betas.
It’s a complex legal process, made even worse if the Alphas can claim the Omega is not in their right mind due to proximity to their heat.
And I am getting closer to my heat, if these spikes are any indication. Add in the diagnosis of Foresaken Omega Syndrome, and there is no way any court would rule I am in my right mind to request a dissolution of pack right now.
Matteo has been by several times, feeling my distress at the heat flashes in the bond, offering his help to ease me, but I can’t seem to take him up on it. I can barely open the door for him.
I recognize that I am vacillating hot and cold, but I’m going to claim it as a side effect of FOS for as long as I can. I have never felt so conflicted in my life.
One minute, I want them, and am willing to give things a shot.
Next, I know that to stay with them means that I’m signing them up for a world of hurt when this inevitably blows up in all of our faces.
This was selfish, right? Rich used to tell me I was selfish. That I didn’t look at the big picture, couldn’t see beyond the end of my nose.
Was he right?
It’s starting to feel like maybe this time, he was right.