As he pulled up his pants and fastened them in place, Vincent addressed his colleagues. Mal couldn’t help but overhear. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take a bathroom break.”
No one protested, and soon enough Mal heard the door to the room open, then close. When he emerged from behind the curtain, Vincent was gone. Dr. Biernacki, the ethics commissioner, perched against a counter across the room, his palms flat on the counter he leaned against, his fingers hooked over its edges. His eyes were on Mal. Studious curiosity narrowed his gaze, and although he kept an impartial smile on his face and glanced away from Mal when Mal looked in his direction, Mal got the impression that he was being observed.
Not knowing what else to do, Mal nodded politely at him, then left the room and hurried down the hall toward the front door, eager to get to the parking lot. In just a little longer, he’d have the safety of four locked doors and a ton and a half of steel, and neither his dark thoughts, nor Dr. Biernacki’s lingering looks, could harm him.
Soon enough, sunlight warmed Mal’s shoulders and soaked into his hair. He pushed his hands into his pockets and hurried across the parking lot, leaving the clinic behind. Like always, he’d parked a distance away from the building—the walk didn’t hurt, and with the lot as busy as it was, Mal didn’t want to expend the time circling for a closer spot. Now he regretted his choice. No matter how he hurried, the open space around him never shrank. The fast he went, the harder his overtaxed heart worked. By the time he’d arrived within sight of his car, Mal was almost breathless with the slinking, cutting kind of fear that convinced him that he was being watched. Whether it was by a passerby or a malevolent, ageless being didn’t matter to his mind—what mattered was that he was being observed, studied, criticized.
Oh, look,the unseen onlooker whispered.It’s him. Baylor’s whore. The one who let Lowe silence him with a lump sum, who bought his escape from his dead-end life the only way he could—with his body.
Thoughts like those would have strangled Mal, pushed his head beneath the surface and choked all the joy from him until he was nothing more than a husk, had it not been for the fact that someone was leaning against the side of his car.
Vincent.
Mal came to a stop. Prior to Mal’s arrival, Vincent’s head had been angled upward, his gaze set on the passing clouds. Now that Mal had joined him, he looked down. Worry lines creased his forehead, and his lips tucked into a small, concerned frown that Mal had first glimpsed back in the examination room.
“You don’t have to lie to me here,” Vincent said softly. He remained where he was, occupying his space against the car in a way that suggested he wouldn’t move unless Mal invited him to. The promise Vincent had made to Mal held true—Mal’s body, Mal’s rules. Vincent wouldn’t touch him unless he was told that he could. “Are you okay?”
A wry smile broke across Mal’s lips, but only because he was certain if he didn’t try to smile, he would burst into tears. “No.”
“I didn’t think so,” Vincent murmured. “I don’t have long, but… do you want to talk about it? I don’t think anyone will come to look for me here. We’re safe.”
“I can’t.” Dull, aching pain coursed through his cheeks as his smile started to falter. Vincent was a source of strength when he had little of his own, but if Mal allowed himself to take comfort in him now, it would cause more trouble than it was worth. Dr. Biernacki had been watching. Scrutinizing. Judging. “You can’t risk it. I’ll text you, okay?”
“Okay.” Vincent pushed off the car and stepped around him. There was a stiff quality in the way he moved that suggested the decision pained him—that he would have rather remained where he was and risked his career than left Mal while he was in need. Like feet ankle-deep in murky lake water suddenly displaced by the shifting muck they stood on, Mal’s heart lurched. “If you need anything, text me.”
The slimy, unstable feeling around his heart remained. Mal nodded. He didn’t know what else to do.
“I’ll see you a little later,” Vincent said. He stopped at the back wheel well of Mal’s car and turned his head to look at him, the sun glinting off the worry in his eyes in a way that begged Mal to let him in, but Mal couldn’t. Not here. Not when both of them were in danger of losing something so precious.
With nothing more to say, those imploring eyes looked away. Vincent rounded the neighboring car without looking back and made his way across the parking lot to the front door. With a tug at the bar handle, the door opened, and Vincent was gone. Alone, Mal unlocked his vehicle and sank into the driver seat, depleted.
In time, the conclusion he’d come to in the examination room would hold true—everything would be okay—but right now, unable to turn to the man he wanted so desperately to confide in, it didn’t feel that way.
Mal folded his arms over the top of the wheel, slumped forward, and brought his forehead to rest on his arms. For a long moment, all he did was focus on his breathing.
One hour at a time, he’d get through this. By tomorrow, he wouldn’t feel so bad.
But for now, this was the way it had to be.
28
Vincent
The door to the clinic had barely closed when none other than Dr. Biernacki stepped into the lobby, his steps too brisk to be coincidental. Upon seeing Vincent, he slowed to a stop and tucked his hands casually in the pockets of his pants, then offered Vincent a mockery of a smile. While his facial features were refined—almost modelesque—his beauty was twisted by the curious intensity he directed Vincent’s way.
Despite having worked for Synecta’s newest CCO team for three weeks, Vincent still didn’t know his name. Dr. Biernacki hadn’t been forthcoming about it, and so far, no one else on the team had used it. Before, it had seemed strange, but now, as Dr. Biernacki trapped him in his lie, it struck Vincent as sinister. There was no familiarity between them—no level of friendship. Dr. Biernacki would expose him without consideration for the circumstances.
He would end Vincent’s career with Synecta and boot Mal from the program.
The future they both wanted would crumble to dust.
“There you are, Dr. Rhyne,” Dr. Biernacki said amiably. “I went to use the restroom, too, and found that you weren’t there. I’d wondered if there was another facility somewhere.” He glanced toward the door, a neatly groomed eyebrow raised for emphasis. “An outhouse, maybe?”
“I said that I needed to use the bathroom in order to be polite in front of the patient,” Vincent replied. He didn’t let uncertainty leach into his voice. Dr. Biernacki was young, but he was employed by SEAG for a reason—his wits were sharp and his instincts were sharklike. If Vincent let him get a taste of blood, he’d move in mercilessly for the kill. “I didn’t realize that needing to get some fresh air after being in close quarters with an omega in heat was a crime. You have my apologies.”
“Mm.” Dr. Biernacki’s eyes traced down the row of buttons on Vincent’s shirt, then snapped back up to hold his gaze. “Yesterday, when Elliott Pruitt came in while in heat, you were fine.”
“Pruitt had already taken his blockers.” There was no room between Dr. Biernacki’s statement and Vincent’s rebuttal to allow doubt to fester. “The effects were muted. As an omega, surely you’re able to tell the difference?”
