Alhedy smirks as I slide them across the table, but I flatten my hand before he can take them. “This isn’t me taking you on. I’m going to see Zack again before I decide, so you’d better hope he likes you enough to give a glowing reference.”
The prisoner snorts, both of us knowing Zack doesn’t have suitable language for that task. “Then what are the forms for?”
“So I have a reason to come back and see you. Sign where indicated.”
I slide a pen across the table. Every TV interrogation scene I’ve watched floods into my brain, presenting pictures of him getting his hands free and stabbing the length right through my eye socket. And here I thought only Red and Rickon were the movie fanatics.
As if recognizing the violent content in my thoughts, Al holds my gaze and rolls the pen deliberately across the table, the tumbling sound loud in the still room.
“Get on with it,” I demand.
Alhedy speed-reads through the pages and signs. When he flips to the last page, he points the pen toward the bottom where I skipped putting a “sign here” sticker. “There’s one more signature space here.”
I sweep the pages out of his hand. “Hence, the reason I have to come back soon.”
He laughs. “Devious.”
Alpha Lodgings can limit my client visits to once per week, but not if I have legal documentation that requires signing. It’s a ruling that ensures they can’t use document lodgment as a punishment.
“I’ll be seeing you then,” I say, rising and stuffing everything inside my bag.
“I guess you will,” Al replies, watching me leave the room with a predatory gaze. He’s not laughing now because he hasn’t got exactly what he wants, but I need to talk to Zack above all else. He should be out of solitary tomorrow, so I only need one day.
Time to go see Rickon and Red.
Chapter sixteen
Callisto
With an apology to make, I don’t want to go empty-handed. I mull over my options on the drive back to the prison, but the solution presents itself in the form of a flower stall on the side of the road. Normally I’d never think of getting flowers for another guy, but it feels right for the moment. Plus, Rickon isn’t like other men.
Inside the tin lean-to, I spot a beautiful bouquet made of three different blue hues ensconced in gray foliage and silver paper. Ricky’s worn eyeshadow in those shades before. I pick out a second arrangement with long stems of crimson bell-shaped flowers with yellow snapdragons. That will do perfectly as a “congratulations on getting through your heat” gift. They also don’t have a strong fragrance, which will be better for Red’s sensitive nose.
As I drop the money in the honor box, my phone rings. When I answer, the woman on the other end says she’s from the Omega Center. My heart lurches.
“Mr Wren, I’m calling on behalf of Rickon Jones. He wanted me to tell you his omega collapsed in the parking lot, and we’ve readmitted her to the Center.”
My heart lurches. “Is she sick?”
“No.” The woman hesitates long enough for my stomach to twist into a knot. “It appears to be a psychological episode after she received a phone message, but I don’t know anything else.”
Oh, shit. I kick the trestle holding the flower buckets. This is too much for Red. Why didn’t I remember to swap out her phone, since Ray already contacted her once? She’s been through so much; why does she have to suffer more?
“Are you still there?” the woman asks.
“Yes.” I swallow around a thick lump in my throat. “Did Rickon leave any other instructions?”
“He asked you to come, if you have the time.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I dash to the car and throw myself inside, accelerating away in a shower of gravel. Even though I fucked up and Ricky asked me to leave, he still reached out to me in the moment of crisis. He doesn’t hate me.
But the relief wars with my fears for Red.
The drive back into the city’s a blur, my body running on autopilot to get me to the Omega Center. All the car sweeps and ID checks at the gate chafe my nerves raw, but finally I stride down the hall to Red’s room.
The omega sleeps on the bed curled up into a ball, but signs of a struggle are everywhere, including a broken chair and long scratches on Rickon’s arms. He leans on the side of the bed, sweat darkening his silver-white hair.
