I turn around to walk out, then I stop as a thought tunnels into my mind.
This doesn’t have to be my life. I can change it anytime I want to.
I thought time might make things better. Time is making things worse.
I turn around.
Callum has his head bent over his cell phone, his fingers busy tapping a seemingly endless message. Archer is staring out of the window, bored, and Torin has yet to show his face from behind his magazine. After the cruel things Torin said to me, the less I see of him, the better.
None of them want me here, so why am I here?
“I’m leaving,” I tell them firmly.
I meant it before Archer said things that made me afraid to leave. Maybe it was just lies. Maybe they’re just playing mind games with me.
Torin barks out a laugh, and I jump, startled. “No, you won’t.”
I lift my chin. “Yes, I will. You don’t want me here, and I don’t?—”
“You’re ours for as long as we want you. And it’s not like anyone else will want you either.” Torin’s tone is harsh and ugly.
“Sinclair Parrish?—”
Torin cuts in, "Wanted you before you were used goods. Go knock on his door if you want, see if he’ll even open the door to you now you’ve opened your legs to us.”
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“But that won’t stop you begging for our knots, will it?” Torin asks from behind his magazine.
Can’t bear to look at me. Yet he can’t help himself from lashing out at me.
I stand there, bristling with rage and shaking with tears.
But he’s right.
If I don’t go to a heat clinic, it won’t be long before I’m begging them for sex.
“Get out,” Archer says coldly.
I walk outside, closing the door behind me. Veronica appears at the end of the hallway as I’m struggling to control my tears.
“Miss?” she asks with a gentle smile.
Straightening, I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Can you pack me a bag? My heat is starting, and I’ll be spending the next few days at a heat clinic.”
Her expression doesn’t change, though she has to be wondering why my alphas aren’t helping me through a painful need that hits an omega every three months. “Yes, Miss.”
She walks up the stairs, while I stand in the entryway, my eyes blurry with tears and my hand pressed against my cramping belly.
I whisper to myself, “This is nothing.” But I’m lying to myself. I am trying so hard to be strong, but how much can anyone take of this hate?
Soon I won’t be able to stand. The pain will get worse. I will cry. I will beg, and I would throw myself at the nearest alpha to put out the fire inside me. Worst of all, I smell my alphas inches away—just behind the closed door—and Ihurt, but they won’t help me.
I press my face against the wall, trying to breathe through the pain, ordering myself to keep quiet and not make a sound. They’d only laugh and slam the door in my face if they knew how much pain I was in right now.
“Miss?”
I startle, spinning around at the familiar male voice behind me.
