Chapter Three
Ava
There’s a firm knock on my office door, and I lift my head from the file I’ve been reviewing. “Come in,” I call.
Shelby opens the door, guiding in a woman slightly older than myself—mid-to-late thirties, I’d guess, with red bags under her eyes like she’s done a lot of crying recently.
She clutches her purse strap so tightly, her knuckles are white, and she looks around my sleek corner office as if she’s stumbled into a different world.
“Maya, this is Ms. Kendrick,” Shelby says softly, lowering her voice like she always does with other omegas. “She’ll be handling your case personally.”
Maya blinks at me, clearly thrown. “I—I thought you’d hand me off to someone else. I didn’t figure you…”
“I don’t trust anyone else with these kinds of cases. Not the ones that matter,” I say, gesturing toward the chair across from me. “Please, sit.”
She perches on the edge, body tense. Her scent, probably normally a pleasant light lavender and linen, has sharpened into something bitter, fear and exhaustion burning it at the edges. It makes me want to hide her away, and I’m not even an alpha.
Shelby raises an eyebrow at me, and I shake my head. She closes the door behind her, leaving me and Maya alone.
“First thing first. You can call me Ava, not Ms. Kendrick,” I say, leaning forward and opening my body language so she knows I’m on her side.
“When I take a case like this, I want you to think of me as your meanest best friend. I’ll fight like hell for you.
The cops like to call me the viper.” I grin.
A hint of a smile loosens her face, and her shoulders drop half an inch.
“Start at the beginning. Tell me what brought you here.”
She bites her lip. When she finally speaks, her voice trembles. “I left my alpha, Daniel, six months ago. I broke our bond and left with the kids. Now he is filing for full custody and wants to strip my parental rights.”
I wince but maintain composure even as anger flares beneath my ribs. I don’t know the facts yet, but it’s a story I’ve heard often enough. I slide a box of tissues closer to her.
“His lawyer claims that my heat cycles make me unfit,” she continues. “That I’ll either be bringing random men to our home or abandoning the kids to go to a clinic to get my sexual needs met. He says it would be inappropriate for them to witness their mother being a… a whore.”
My jaw tightens until my teeth ache. “Let me guess, this motion came shortly after you brought up child support and alimony because you need help to pay the bills?”
She nods.
“It always does.” I let out a breath. “Okay. These are some questions I have to ask everyone, so please don’t view them as offensive,” I say carefully. “Do you have a history of violence or neglect? Anything he could point to besides your biology?”
She shakes her head, hard. “Never. I stayed home with them, and he never had an issue with how I parented until now. I actually got a job even with being unbonded.” She puffs up with a little pride at that, and it makes my chest ache.
“I clean at our church when no one’s there.
The pastor is a beta and helped me find a few other houses to clean while the kids are at school.
My mother will watch them when I’m in heat, and I’ll use the clinic.
I’m not in a rush to meet an alpha again.
My kids are my priority. I’m a good mom, Ava, I swear. I’d never do anything to hurt them.”
I reach out and grab her hand. “Maya, I believe you.”
She looks so small in the chair, trembling but refusing to fall apart.
The sight of her tightens something in my chest. She might be older than me, but she reminds me of myself when I was younger.
Terrified but determined not to be seen as weak.
It makes me wonder how different my life would have been if my parents hadn’t whisked us away in the dead of night after I presented and helped me hide what I am.
I’d probably be in the same position as her.
I inhale slowly, reining in my emotions. She doesn’t need me lost in what-ifs; she needs me in control and vicious. “Can the same be said about your ex?” I question, leaning back in my chair and crossing my legs. “Is he a good father?”
She fidgets, shredding a tissue and twisting the pieces between her fingers and doesn’t meet my eyes.
“I can’t help you if you aren’t honest with me.”
Maya bites her lip, and I can tell she’s trying to think of how to word her thoughts. I wait patiently, though her silence has already told me what I need to know.
“He isn’t an abusive father. More of an uninterested one,” she finally answers. “In his family, raising kids is an omega’s only job, so he never took part. I don’t think he could even tell you what grade they’re in or who their teachers are.”
I notice the slight inflection on the abusive father. “And with you? Was he a good alpha? Bonds are extremely painful to break. Not really something one endures just for a partner that doesn’t help with raising the kids.”
“No.” Her voice is small. “He wasn’t a good alpha.”
My heart breaks for her, though I’m not surprised. I reach across the table and lay my hand on top of hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“He was abusive,” she whispers. “Not the obvious kind, though. He’d punch the wall near my head or pinch my leg under the table if he didn’t like something I said.”
“I’m so sorry. You should never have had to deal with that. Was there anything else that people witnessed? Maybe verbal abuse?”
She takes a shuddering breath. “He screamed at me a lot. The neighbors called the cops a few times, but since I didn’t have any visible injuries,” she pauses, taking a shuddering breath before releasing a short, bitter chuckle, “they took his word and didn’t file charges. Probably not much of a help for you.”
A small, wicked smile flashes across my face. “You let me worry about that. You’d be amazed at what my team can dig up. If there are 911 calls, we’ll get them.”
Her lips part, hope flickering in her eyes. “Do you really think you can help me?”
“I don’t think so,” I say firmly, “I know. You’re not a danger, and you’re an involved, good mother. I will make the court see that. I’ve won some of these kinds of cases already. Precedent is on our side.”
Tears spill down her cheeks, despite her effort to hold them back. She ducks her head, hiding her face behind her hands.
I circle the desk and crouch beside her chair, balancing with ease on my heels.
Thank years of ballet class for small favors.
Normally, I don’t blur the lines with clients, but with omegas, I’m different.
They’re touch-starved in a way most people can’t imagine.
But I can. Vividly. I grip her hands with mine.
“You aren’t alone in this fight, Maya. Not anymore.”
She exhales a choked laugh and squeezes my fingers before throwing herself into a hug and wrapping her arms around me. “Thank you. I never dreamed you’d actually help me. A lady at my church saw you on NYTV, then saw in the paper about you helping omegas, and she told me to email your office.”
“You’d be surprised how often that happens,” I say, laughing.
“I really should send the mayor a thank-you basket. Best publicity I could have asked for, even if he hates me.” I straighten and smooth my skirt.
“This is why I do what I do. Criminal cases pay the bills so I can take on pro bono work for omegas and fight to improve your rights. The system is stacked against you, and I want to change that.”
When she leaves, Shelby leans against my office doorframe, arms crossed, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
When I first started at the firm, she was the paralegal assigned to one of my cases.
It only took about a week for me to realize I needed her permanently.
Her official title is executive assistant, but in practice, she runs half my life.
There would be no viper without Shelby quietly keeping everything on track so I can focus on doing my job.
I pay her a small fortune in gratitude and out of a keen sense of self-preservation.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail, thick curtain bangs framing her oversized, white-rimmed glasses.
Shelby’s work wardrobe falls into what I have lovingly labeled as librarian chic, but my expensive tastes have rubbed off on her in the way of luxury shoes.
Much to her husband Ron’s eternal irritation, she now owns nearly as many designer heels as I do, and that’s saying something.
Today is no exception. A kelly green pair of Manolos peeks out from beneath her wide-leg pants, white crisscross straps with delicate green leaves lacing over her foot.
“Ooh, those are new. I like,” I say, pointing.
“Thanks. You should. They were your birthday present to me,” she replies, grinning.
I shoot her an unimpressed look. “I can buy you gifts without your direct guidance, you know.”
“Oh, I know. But you were very clear last week, when I took over combing through all those phone records for the Smith case, that I could buy myself whatever I wanted as a thank you,” she says with a laugh.
I scrunch my nose. “Oh. Right. Well, happy birthday. I have fabulous taste, so you’re welcome. What was with the smile when you walked in?”
“Only that you’re such a softie with the omegas.”
“Shelby,” I remind her dryly, “we are omegas.”
Besides running my calendar, my caseload, and most of my sanity, Shelby is also one of only seven people in the world who knows my secret.
“Yes,” she says, rolling her eyes, “but no one else is aware of that. And your reputation is certainly not one that anyone would describe as soft.”
“I’m well-known for defending omegas,” I reply flippantly, slightly uncomfortable.