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It’s overwhelming my inhibitor.
It’s too much.
I wrap my arms around my stomach, doubling over.
Instantly, Lincoln notices.
“Fuck.” He reaches into the top pocket of his suit, snatching out his fancy silk handkerchief. He rubs it furiously over his scent gland. “Do you want me to wrap this over your mouth and nose for you?”
“Please…”
Lincoln gently lifts my hair out of the way to tie the handkerchief over my mouth and nose.
I take a shaky breath, relieved that now all I can smell is Lincoln’s fresh raspberry scent.
This is a trick that we learned at high school, although then we used Lincoln’s tie. He insisted, even though the teachers would give him six of the Discipline Strap on his palms, if they caught him not wearing the correct uniform.
I remember licking over his hot, red palms in comfort.
“Better?” Lincoln rubs circles on my upper back, which soothes me.
I nod. “I can hear raised voices. I want to see what’s happening.”
“I promised to keep you safe.”
“I’ve never been safe. Plus, we keep each other safe.”
Lincoln’s lips tug up at the side. “You’re right, fated.”
He grabs me by the hand and pulls me toward the open doorway. Together, we peer around into the shop.
I can see the edge of the display counter with its piles of freshly baked caramel cookie brownies, slices of pumpkin pie, chocolate and almond croissants, and miniature lemon tarts.
The exit to the shop is blocked, however, by a gang of Saint Betas who are wearing smart suits. Most are in their twenties and not much older than me, but they’re muscled and broad shouldered.
I bite my lip, nervously.
Vito is trying not to look entirely outnumbered.
He’s going for casual, despite the way that his hand is shaking, as he’s putting the finishing touches on a cake order.
The cake is one that I designed based on the Omega Society’s logo of an empty cage.
My friend Angel explained it to me.
She told me that everybody’s living in cages, whether they’re the Government’s laws, parents’ rules, or our own dynamics. The logo represents the day that we realize the bars aren’t real.
We can fly out of the open door.
On that day, all the cages will be empty.
When I told Vito that story, he went silent for a long time. Then he held my hand tightly.
We’re not free of our cages yet.
Vito’s at the back of the shop, as far from the other men as he can be, putting his back to the wall and keeping the high counter that allows us to work on the complex cake orders between him and them as well.
Smart.
