Another microphone shoves forward. “What do you say to the fact your alpha attacked people on the courthouse steps?”
Red takes this one, her voice steady. “We can’t say much due to an ongoing OCB investigation, but I can tell you that someone provoked Zack. His actions that day, though regrettable, were done in self-defense. We’ve already reached out through our lawyers to support the journalists caught in the crossfire, and I’ve offered to pay all related hospital costs.”
Of course, Red’s comment triggers a flurry of questions about the attack we can’t answer, but I’m relieved the focus diverts away from Zack’s outburst.
When Red wilts, I direct attention to the website where our petition’s listed and ask for help before thanking everybody for coming. We pose for photos in front of the prison gates, and I let one news outlet I have a good relationship with come inside the tent to snap a few pictures of our thrown-together living arrangements.
The irony is, Zack’s not even inside the solid walls featured in our protest, because he’s in the hospital. But Alpha Lodgings reported he’ll be returning in a week, so we’ll keep the pressure on in hopes of getting him out on home arrest.
Callisto said our chances were low since someone wants Zack back inside, plus he’s been involved in two fights now. I grind my teeth in frustration.
As I shake hands with the reporter and show him out of the tent, I catch sight of my mother lurking among the nearby cars parked along the verge. Last time I saw her, I fell apart. It’s hard to say what the difference is this time, but I think it might be the simmering alpha presence lodged squarely in my chest. Even if it’s faint, having a piece of Zack within gives me newfound confidence.
I stalk up to her. “Pretty sure we were clear about contacting my lawyer for anything you need to say to me, Clarissa,” I snap out.
She stares at me, a strange look in her eyes that might be longing, as if she regretted severing the bond between us. “You’ve changed so much I can hardly recognize you,” she murmurs.
I scoff. “No, I just grew up. Fast. Tends to happen when you have no parents.”
She has enough conscience to wince.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Red watching us from the tent. I straighten. “I didn’t come over here to talk about the past. If you have something to say, get it over with.”
She shakes her head sadly, as if I’ve wounded her. “Rickon, you’re not making this easy for me.”
“So? I don’t owe you anything.”
“Well, it was expensive raising you—” She sees me open my mouth to refute her and hurries on. “—for the years we did. Sent you to private school, which is how you met Callisto Wren.” Her brows rise as if her logic somehow makes sense, as if she had anything to do with our friendship.
I seethe. Walking up to Callisto the day we met and introducing myself was the bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she chides sulkily. “And my gosh, Rickon, you’re far too sensitive. I guess that hasn’t changed despite the years. Back then you were just ready to leave the nest earlier than most.”
I stare at her, flabbergasted. Who’s ready to be on their own at twelve years old?
Clarissa eyes me up and down, and her expression softens. “You’re doing so well for yourself after all. We just need a few hundred thou’ and we’ll get out of your hair forever. Mom tax, or something. You know.” She shrugs and smiles like it’s no big deal.
The rage in my soul shocks me into silence. Some people know no shame. Like Lyra, Bradley, and her.
After the paralysis wears off my lips, I settle for growling, “Get out of my sight.” Fuck, I want to punch her until she bleeds. Is this Zack’s rage, or my own? My breathing quickens until it rasps in my throat. “And don’t fucking ever come back!”
The woman bristles, fury burning in her eyes.
Josef’s voice cuts sharply through the red fog surrounding me. “Everything all right here, Mr Jones?”
Red sent him; I know it to the core of my being. I nod. “Yep, we’re done. This woman was just leaving.” I turn on my heel and stalk back to my waiting omega.
Chapter twenty-four
Red
Although I’m officially camping out in front of the prison to demand Zack’s release, I can’t physically stay in the tent all the time. I still have a movie to film. And part of that process includes sex scenes.
I cross my legs and lean back in the chair, staring at the intimacy coordinator—a grand title for the sub-director who oversees the movie’s spicy parts. We sit in a small office at the studio, with Rickon, the director, and Bradley Jacks.
Visiting Zack drove the Red Ghost out of my body, but I’m glad the Center’s meds still calm me down, because otherwise this would pose a challenge—not that I’ll be on the prescription for long. Dr Leanne already has a phaseout plan in place.
Even on my current half dosage, I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself, and that empty space whistles constantly inside like a tunnel cut right through me.
