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Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to convince myself.
Even though I’ve certainly never been in a small room, alone, with a young, unbonded omega in a crimson thong.
I see her through the window of the random interrogation room they’ve placed her in. A flash of ruby rubber; a silk curtain of black hair; naked, ashen golden-brown limbs.
But I’m Tristan Thorne.
It’s fine, I think, straightening my tie and dropping a hand to the doorknob. How good could she be?
chapter
five
I sense an alpha looming outside the door.
He’s wearing a suit. Which, in this place, means he’s probably a lawyer. Or, at best, a nice doctor to inject the crazy omega who won’t speak with tranquilizers. Or truth serum.
My heart flies in my chest, beating so hard I swear I can see it tick when I glance down at the pale-brown boobs smushed under my teddy. Fear tastes familiar, a bitter tang welling behind my teeth while I try not to shake out of my seat.
What if this guy’s a detective? What will happen to me? Will they figure out where I came from and call Wally?
You’re my property. I have paperwork that says so. Anyone who found you or tried to help you would just hand you right back to me.
It’s the main reason I didn’t try to leave sooner. That and the super-perfume. And the whole no-money, no-phone thing.
Now? No words, either.
This alpha looks word-y. He’s as fancy as Wally always pretends to be, only his wealth seems genuine—bespoke suit with shiny thread, polished shoes. A full head of slicked-back espresso-dark hair. Under thick, matching brows, his eyes burn—intense, even from the other side of the door’s glass inlay.
The prickles in my gut bloom into full-on ripples. They roll out to my fingertips and toes until I’m pretty sure even my hair is quivering.
I don’t get it. I spend every miserable night walking around rooms full of the most despicable alphas on the planet. Why would some pretty lawyer make me feel like I’m coming out of my skin?
He doesn’t even have his dick out!
The crease between his brows quirks tighter. His gaze drops to the old-fashioned telephone bolted into the interrogation room table, then shifts to something hanging beside the door.
When he moves, I flinch. Chagrin burns through my gut as I realize he isn’t attacking me. He’s just reaching up to take a matching telephone handset off the wall. He holds it up where I can see it and then nods at the one beside my hip.
He wants to talk to me.
Fear rears up, an instinctive flash of fuck no. But then I realize—he could have just waltzed right in.
Everyone else has. This alpha is trying to give me a choice.
Which is… a first.
My hand vibrates while I paw at the phone, my numb fingers barely capable of grasping the smooth plastic. I bring it up to my ear and hold my breath, afraid to even let him hear me breathe.
The alpha doesn’t seem to have the same concern, though. He exhales into the receiver, still staring hard through the slice of glass in the heavy metal door.
“Hello.”
It’s such a normal thing to say; I find myself answering automatically. “H-hi?”
His mouth is chiseled and sort of… stern. But it curls up at the corners slightly. “They said you were having trouble speaking.”
If he weren’t looking at me with a deep kind of concern in his eyes, I’d almost think he was teasing me. My fingers twitch around the phone handle, clammy sweat misting my palms. “I-I am.”
