Chapter 90 #2
I’m about to crumple to the floor. I wish I were braver. I wish I had the fight in me to slam my fist into this bitch until her jaw shatters, and I want nothing more than to kick this asshole right in the balls.
If it were only me I needed to think about, I’d already have ripped a chunk of this bitch’s hair out.
But I’m terrified of what the repercussions might be for my Alphas, and all I can do is shrink in on myself. This is what happens? Omegas are the problem, always the ones to blame, and if we react or retaliate, we cause headlines.
I refuse to let them see me cry.
I won’t allow them to think that they’ve succeeded in anything here.
Except I don’t know how to get away from them. They’ve got me quite literally trapped in a box, underground.
“Brett is supposed to get all of this. He has every right to take over here and run things better. Yet it’s clear, we needed to find more evidence to help him.
Once he can prove just how unstable and unfit Theo Brennan is, it’ll be a smooth transition.
He will make this team a million times better.
” There’s only hatred in Andreas’ eyes as she glares at me.
“You just handed us the smoking gun, you dumb fucking—”
“Is there an issue here?” From down the hallway, a deep voice booms out.
Five of the Wolves’ reserves, all in their game-day suits, appear behind the two assholes who have me cornered.
Never in my life have I been more grateful for a rugby player to intervene and stick their nose into my business.
I don’t recall their names off the top of my head, with my brain going haywire, but I recognize their faces. They’re all players who are pulled from the wider squad and are here in support of the match-day team.
One of them looks at my stricken expression, and his flicker of recognition is all I need to feel a sense of relief.
“I asked a question.” The enormous prop forward narrows his eyes on Chumley and his sister, who blanch at the size of these five walls of muscle. They somehow manage to insert themselves between us, forming a solid mass of protection I can hardly peek around.
“Here, let me help you out of there, Miss Murphy.” One of them holds out an arm for me to cling to, as he guides me out of the elevator. “I think you’ll be safer with us from here.”
“Oh, guys, it’s nothing. Wren and us, we go way back, and we were just conducting an interview… just a fun little impromptu thing… off the cuff, hot-take style about the final, you know…” Chumley stammers, flourishing his press pass, along with what I think is a recording device.
That makes them all take a step forward in their act of guarding and defending me without hesitation.
“Want to hear a hot take, direct from one of the Wolves players?” The guy who I cling to like he’s a six-foot-tall life raft makes a growling sound as he speaks.
“Piece of shit reporters have no business ambushing any Omega, ever, under any circumstances. Do you want to ever work in this field again? I’m confident our GM will ban you from covering any match from kiddy grade to the Olympics. ”
Andrea scoffs. “Like she’s anyone important.”
That makes all five of them bristle, and I’m certain they grow an extra foot each.
“Her brother is our vice-captain. Finch Murphy? You might have heard of him. So put some goddamn respect on her name. Don’t see you bottom feeders ever picking on players from the opposition teams who have court records a mile long.
Want a story? Go interview Chicago or Miami about their players’ history of chats with the local police. ”
“This is insane,” Chumley protests. “We have every right to interview—”
“No, I don’t think you do. Not outside of the media pit.” The player on my left is holding up his cell phone, and I see that he’s been recording this entire interaction. “Wanna smile for the camera and tell our team’s owner your press ID badge numbers?”
“Maybe just let us know who your boss is. We’ll wait.” Someone else speaks up from beside me.
The two start to retreat, muttering something about Omega’s being pathetic drains on society and a scourge on the game of rugby. But honestly, I don’t care. I sag with exhaustion and overwhelm against the human shield at my side.
“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it,” the guy with the phone in his hand calls after them. “Go on… You said you wanted a sound bite… don’t go all shy on us now!”
I shake my head. “Please don’t. I’m just glad to see the back of them. I should really get back to my seat and my friends.” As much as I crave seeing him, I’m not even gonna try and find Theo at this stage. I’ll text him to let him know where I am before he sends out a search party.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” the guy beside me grunts.
“People like that are everywhere. Doesn’t mean I need to spend my life running away from them.
” I try my hardest not to shake with the aftermath of that altercation taking over my limbs.
“How did you know who I was?” I crane my neck to look at them as we begin walking back down the passage toward the stands.
“Oh, you’re Bombshell Bambi. We’ve heard all about you this week.”
“What?” I splutter.
“Renfro hasn’t stopped talking about you since whatever that big meeting was that y’all had.”
I stare at them warily, but they all give me ridiculously charming grins.
“Besides, your big bro laid down the law in the dressing room yesterday for the second time this season. The updated version of the ‘no one is allowed to go near my little sister’ rules… this time it was except Renfro and Palamo.”
“Oh, and don’t forget Brennan,” one of the others pipes up helpfully.
My cheeks burn.
“C’mon, Wren Murphy. You’re officially part of the team now. Tonight, we need a little bit of Omega good luck on our side.”