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My crossed arms lower and I tentatively bring my folded hands to my waist, nerves churning in my gut. "Mother, I—"
"No, you're right. Sweetheart, I've only ever wanted you to be happy. I am worried about you, and this path you're going down. That's why I think Stevens will be good for you. Elevate you, help you build that confidence you always seem to lack."
I bristle, hugging my arms tighter. "I'm not marrying them."
She smiles softly. "Let's not make any rash decisions. I really think they are the best pack for you to join. That they can help us financially was only ever a secondary boon."
The reminder of the money makes me feel even more tired and sad. "How much, Mother?"
For a split second the softness disappears, her eyes angry and raging, but she clears it just as quickly. She smiles sadly, so well practiced, I almost believe it. Waving her hand like it's nothing, she says, "Just a few hundred thousand. See? Not so much. Marrying them really is about matching you with your best chances at being somebody, Imogen. Without them, I'm afraid your reputation for turning alphas down has scared all the upstanding packs away. Without them, Imogen, I fear you'll fade into obscurity. Whatever happens to me and your fathers, because of this messy debt collector business, is not as important as what happens to you, my beautiful girl. They just want their money. What's a few broken bones?"
"Why can’t you sell some of your things? I don’t understand. All the cars, that house is way too big. You could downgrade, sell everything to keep us all safe.”
She rubs my shoulder, which still hurts from where she grabbed me, then starts to walk away as if I’d said nothing at all, calling out over her shoulder, "Please follow through with the appointment with the nutritionist, sweetheart. I only want what's best for you."
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.
