Page 18 of Savage Surrender

“You look like a man who raped a woman behind her back and experimented on her daughter for twenty-four years.”

“Our daughter.” He takes a sip from his coffee mug before adding more sugar and stirring. “And you make it sound much more insidious than it is.”

The fork that was just sitting next to my plate goes into my thigh. Not hard enough to bleed, but enough to ground me. Enough to remind me that attempting to kill him right now won’t go well.

He admitted to it like it’s nothing. No denial. No flinch. He takes another bite of avocado toast and chews while I stare at him. “It was nothing as uncivilized as rape,” he adds.

“Wow. I thought you were psychotic but I underestimated you. Do you hear yourself?”

“Your mother and I knew each other well. I cared for her deeply. I would never hurt her.”

The swatch woman appears beside me without a sound. Under different circumstances, I might admire the skill. She holds a square of fabric against my cheek and studies the color against my skin with the concentration of someone choosing tile. I ignore her.

“You did hurt her. You tricked her. You lied.”

“Lying is not the same as omission.”

The clipboard woman takes my hand without asking and turns it over. Two fingers settle over my wrist while she watches the second hand on her wristwatch. Her pen waits above the paper. My pulse gives me away one beat at a time, and when she has enough, she writes it down. I snatch my hand back.

“What about Whitney? Was she my sister?” Something shifts across his face, too fast to identify before he smooths it away.

“Whitney was the product of an unfortunate situation. Her mother was an addict who would have sold her for her next fix, but she overdosed. Her father wrapped a car around a tree with a bottle in his lap.” He drinks from a crystal tumbler. “Gratitude was never her strength, but she was lucky. I gave her everything.”

Including what was mine. My teeth grind together and I shove the fork deeper into my leg until the skin breaks.

“She didn’t get love,” I say. “That was what she wanted most.”

“No.” His pause lasts longer than it should. “I suppose she didn’t.”

The woman with the train case uncaps a small brush and examines the skin near my temple. She catches my chin between two fingers to turn me toward the window. I pull away. One of the guards at the door shifts his weight forward, and she reaches for me again while Montgomery cuts a piece of toast neatly in half.

“I’m not having children for you. Do whatever you want, but I’m not doing it.”

“You’re still new to this.” Montgomery takes another bite, chews, and swallows. “An omega in heat is a flashing beacon - one an alpha can’t resist. When your next heat arrives, you won’t be able to stop them.”

Three to six weeks. That’s the estimate he gave me, the small window I was supposed to use to decide whether he gets the pregnancy he ordered. Now he says when like the time belongs to him too.

I stare at him. “They would never rape me.”

“I’m not talking about rape, dear.” His tone suggests he’s explaining something simple to a disappointing student. “The drive to breed with you will be overwhelming. Impossible to deny. Your scent will call to them, begging them to dominate you, to implant part of themselves inside you⁠—”

I gag. Loudly.

Three.

“—and lock you down forever.”

“If I say no, they won’t touch me.”

He puts down his fork and looks at me. The woman with the huge makeup case reaches for my face again, and I catch her wrist before she gets there.

Montgomery’s attention drops to my hand. There’s no anger or irritation there, though. “Let her continue,” he demands, his voice perfectly level.

One of the guards at the door takes a single step forward. His steps soften against the rug that’s under the table. The woman waits with her wrist in my grip, neither fighting me nor backing off. I could put her on the table before the guard reached us. I could probably break the guard’s knee before the other three closed in. But while I’m not okay being his complicit little doll, I do need to return to my mates.

I release her. She places two fingers under my chin and turns my face toward the light as if my refusal never happened. Behind her, the clipboard woman’s pen moves. My skin crawls beneath the examination.

“Omegas suffer considerable pain when they go through heat without a mate. The cramping can be severe.” He folds his hands. “Worse than natural childbirth.”