Chapter 24
Imogen
"Thanks again for coming with," Ophelia chirps from the passenger's seat as we make our way out of Arrow Cove. There's no local prison, only a jail at the police precinct downtown, so we have to drive out of Arrow Cove, through the mountains, to get there.
Grateful for the subject change, helping me get out of my head, I wave her off. "You know it's not a problem, Ophelia. I'm honored you asked me."
She sighs. "Well, you're the only one I know who wouldn't judge me for it."
"You think your pack and other friends would judge you?"
"You don't think this is strange? Going to see him?"
I curl my lips in, humming in agreement. "I suppose it is… strange. But I understand. You want answers. I think that's very brave."
Ophelia snorts, "Brave. I don't feel very brave. My stomach hurts. My hands keep shaking like I was electrocuted, but I can't seem to get it out of me."
"Are you certain you want to do this, then?"
She gazes out the window while I navigate the small neighboring town's long, quiet roads. Eventually, she sighs, though she sounds more determined when she says, "I'm sure. I have questions, and there are other people I can ask… but I'm hoping he feels like he owes me. After what he did. I might get answers."
"About how he got into heat clinics when he shouldn't have been approved?"
"Exactly. He made a comment, more than once, that if you had enough money, if you knew the right people, you could do whatever you wanted." To omegas, she leaves unsaid.
Chills skate down my spine, but it makes me more determined, too. Ophelia needs help getting this information, so I'm going to help her. We drive for a few more minutes before she tells me to take a turn, where we pass signs titled Men's State Prison. Pulling up to the monstrous concrete structure with barbed wire fencing and long, plush green laws, the building looks like it was dropped, unwelcome, right in the middle of the forest.
We park in the depressingly empty visitor's lot, and I follow Ophelia into the building, trying my hardest to walk with the same confidence she seems to exude.
Despite her height, several inches shorter than me, especially in my high heels, we look like quite the pair of omegas. Janitors and guards with security belts strapped with all kinds of weapons stop and stare, but she keeps walking, and so do I. Eventually, we come to the alpha wing, and she signs us both in as visitors. We have to show our I.D.s and then wait in a boxy room, cold and devoid of any type of comfort. The chairs are plastic, scuffed, and dirty, the neon lights harsh and unforgiving. I can tell we're both experiencing sensory discomfort, but aside from looking down and squinting, we get through it.
Ophelia's too nervous to talk; she gets up and paces, then sits back down, and nearly an hour passes like this before we're finally allowed into a large, empty cafeteria-like room with tables scattered around. Already seated at one table in the middle of the room, hand-cuffed, is Jackson Olcene. One guard hovers a few tables away.
Ophelia's steps falter, so I reach out and take her hand. She looks up at me gratefully, then we walk to the table and take the seats opposite this sad heap of a man.
"You look better," Ophelia drawls, casual and relaxed, when I know she feels anything but. I have to restrain myself from reacting to the comment; if this is him looking better, I can't imagine how he looked the last time she saw him.
The man nods slightly, his eyes skating over me briefly but staying mostly on Ophelia. "Who's your friend?"
"Support staff," she deadpans. I'm proud of how she can joke, faced with this man here in this place.
"So, what do you want? Here to ask me again, how could I?" He mocks, but it's hollow.
Ophelia snorts, "Right, like I don't have a right to ask that question as many times as I'd like. You kidnapped me, dumbass. You tried to force a bond with me. That's not even touching what you did to my sister."
"I loved your sister!"
"You barely knew my sister, and I don't care what you say about how she died, she'd not have been racing down a mountain to get away from your pack if it wasn't for you. I hold you responsible for her death! For the hurt you caused her, the pain!"
His face contorts in rage, opening his mouth to shout or bark; you can feel the dominant alpha energy pressing against us, intense and sticky and violent. But then, miraculously, he drops his head in his hands. Shoulders shaking, he begins sobbing. I've never seen an alpha cry before, certainly not like this.
I watch Ophelia's reaction, and it's… sorrowful. She feels bad for him. Despite everything he did, she's still compassionate and kind. But she continues to sneer, likely angry that she feels anything toward him but disgust.
My mind wanders to my conversation with my mother earlier, how the packs she's chosen for me are the respectable ones. But here we are. Jackson Olcene, before his stint in prison, was well respected, had the right pedigree, the right amount of money, and a good name. And then Ophelia, who, at dinner parties, high-society still gossip about, calling her South Loop trash. Yet she is, without a doubt, the bigger person.
"Jackson," Ophelia snaps, unsympathetic. He's stopped crying, just keeps fidgeting in his chair, running his hands over his shaved head. She doesn't tell him she forgives him, but her tone softens. "I came because I need information."
I'm surprised when Jackson doesn't hesitate, lifting his chin in response.
"You said… Last year, you said something about how you could get into the heat clinics if you had the right connections. I need to know what those connections are."
"Why?" He spits angrily. "So you can slap more charges on me?"
"Dude, you act like you don't deserve to be in here. Look, I'm just trying to find out how alphas are getting in."
He presses his lips together and looks up, around the building, anywhere but facing us, two omegas oppressed by men like him.
"Jackson, you know it's not right. I thought South Loop was the most dangerous, but there are a few clinics, some close to High Hills, where we've found a ton of unreported incidents of omegas being taken advantage of during their heat. We're shutting them down; we're getting better security. But unless we plug the leak, whoever's getting names like yours on the approved list will keep doing it. We need to know," she begs.
An alpha or a pack—though oftentimes it's lone alphas who are still looking for their pack or those who remained unbonded—can choose to sign up on a pre-approved list to assist with omegas during their heat at heat clinics. I've used them myself. The names are vetted, with background and health checks, and the omega will approve the list before their heat begins. For alphas to sneak their names onto this list is not only dangerous, it's assault.
This is the big splash Ophelia's been making lately. She unapologetically shouts these injustices from the rooftops. Sometimes, the Daily Rag uses unkind names, like my mother would, to describe her; other times, they champion her. It's all about public opinion.
"Jackson… you fucking owe me. What would Alma want? What would she say, what would she think, if you choose not to tell me?"
Jackson grumbles under his breath, and they argue for a few more minutes, but using Alma's name seems to have worked because he finally snaps, "Okay, fine! You win! Ugh… Look, you didn't hear this from me, got it?"
She narrows her eyes but agrees. "Got it."
Jackson nods. "Stevens. Kenneth Stevens."
Lead drops into my gut. I must not have heard that right.
Ophelia gasps, leaning closer. "The mayor?"
He nods again like he didn't drop this massive bomb. Ophelia glances nervously at me before turning back to him. They talk more about the details, how it works, who else the mayor has on the take. I think they say goodbye. I'm not sure. All I hear is a high-pitched ringing sound and pressure—heavy, closing in, and I can't see straight. I can't get out of my head.
I feel stuck, like an ocean swirls around my ears, and nothing else penetrates. Ophelia guides me away, and I follow woodenly down the hall. We step out into the late afternoon sun.
"Are you okay?" She asks.
I nod, but I'm not. I can't believe he's involved.
Except, I can. I can believe it, because he tried to purchase me. My unease gives way to anger, and for the first time, I don't care what face I'm making. I am mad.
I want to storm city hall, and maybe I'd do just that after I dropped off Ophelia if she didn't freeze and whine, "Oh shit."
I follow her gaze, and there, parked beside my BMW, is her mate Enzo, standing like a statue beside a black SUV.
She mumbles beside me, "Okay, it's just him. I don't sense my other mates. Shit, how did he find out?" She looks at me helplessly.
I shrug because it's Enzo. Who knows how he knows? She approaches him cautiously, but then stands a little taller and folds her arms as we approach. She doesn't look very menacing at five feet, but no one would dare tell her so.
"How'd you find me?"
Enzo shrugs, "I followed you."
"Why?"
"Because you're not very good at being sneaky, my love. I assume you went to talk to Jackson?"
She nods slowly. Enzo glances at me, his deadened stare making me shrink beneath his gaze. It's not an alpha thing, it's an Enzo thing. He looks back at Ophelia. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"How did you know—wait, did you already know I was coming here?"
"Of course."
"How?"
"I hacked your email. I knew you emailed the warden a few weeks ago asking about getting in to see Olcene. I also know what information you were looking for. Honestly, Ophelia, I'm not stupid. It's really quite obvious."
"Enzo! You can't just hack other people's emails!"
He tilts his head, unapologetic. Ophelia growls, "Well, I'm driving back with Imogen. So… you can just. You know. Go home. I'll meet you there. And I'm mad at you!"
His expression doesn't change, head still slightly tilted. It's unnerving. Unfortunately, he brings that gaze to me. "I've told your mates where you both were. The six of them are expecting us back at the house. I'll follow."
Then he climbs into his SUV, idling until we're ready. Ophelia and I stare at each other open-mouthed. "Six of them?" She asks, horrified.
"Well, I suppose… Your other three mates, and… does he mean Dante? Wait, how does he already know Dante are my mates?"
Ophelia chuckles, climbing into my car. "Enzo knows everything. Okay, time to face the music."
Our energy and scents vacillate between nauseous discomfort and rage on the drive home and even though I didn't feel unsafe in the prison, I'm glad to know Enzo was outside the entire time. If it were any of her other mates, they'd have stormed inside. Enzo obviously didn't tell them where she was until we'd already gone inside, so it was too late for them to intervene. He's a good alpha.
Enzo follows us on the drive back, and with these long winding roads, I wonder how I missed him the first time. We get through the deep mountainous back roads and pull toward Ophelia's home, her nerves considerably loosened compared to the drive there. I'm glad she feels that way because I feel the opposite.