It still hangs between her breasts as she stares down at her hands, her shoulders curled forward.
The sight of it disgusts me.
But all of my feelings about tonight are swamped by the concern I feel for Mirabelle. There’s obviously something wrong and it’s killing me, not being able to talk to her about it while we’re driving with my family.
Because each minute that passes by as we return to the farm, I see her withdrawing a little more.
The moment Jett throws the car in park, I’m wrenching open the door. The crisp night air fills my lungs.
“Good work tonight, Son,” Dad says.
I blink at him.
He never calls me Son.
I almost want to throw my head back and laugh up at the night sky. Because that’s the kinda shit I would’ve killed to hear when I was a kid.
But now, the words just ring empty.
“Lot of important people came up to me tonight to talk about how well the dogs fought in their matchup,” he continues, oblivious to my racing thoughts. “I didn’t think you’d actually be able to manage pulling it off, especially since you were so secretive about your training procedures.”
Ah, that’s more like him. Talking about what my help did for him and then immediately telling me he had absolutely no faith in me.
“Seems you just needed the right... motivation,” Dad says, hisgaze darting over my shoulder and landing on Mirabelle, who’s still waiting in the car.
To the outside eye, it must look like she’s dutifully waiting for my instruction. She played the part of the submissive eye-candy very well.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “I should go get the omega settled before going and checking on the fighters. The doctor is coming, right?”
“He is,” Dad nods.
Good, the guys will need it after that match.
I turn my back to my dad, opening the door wider for Mirabelle.
“Come on, let’s get going.”
I feel Jett’s eyes burning the back of my neck as he watches the entire interaction. I fucking hate it when he’s quiet. No idea what he’s thinking.
Which means there’s no way I can prepare.
Mira shuffles along behind me, wobbling precariously on her high heels along the uneven ground. The moment we’re out of Jett and my dad’s line of sight, I stop in front of her and unclip the leash.
“I’m so sorry, Sugar,” I breathe out, finally reaching out and lacing our fingers together.
She doesn’t respond as she stares blankly, swaying ever so slightly on her feet.
“I’m gonna carry you back to the trailer, ‘kay? Last thing I’d want is for you to break your ankle walking in those torture devices.”
Her chin dips in the barest hint of a nod and I take that as permission to sweep her into my arms bridal style.
I’ve taken to working out with the guys sometimes, when I train them so that I can fit in some level of workouts in my day.
I don’t know whether it’s because I’m surrounded by absolutely jacked alphas when I work out or something about havingthe motivation of someone to protect, but Mirabelle feels lighter in my arms than when I carried her that first day we met.
And I know it’s definitely not because she’s gotten lighter. Since she’s been eating actual food and not the weird regulated stuff she was fed at the facility, she’s filled out her curves a bit more.
My chest fills with pride at the thought that I’ve grown stronger. And I didn’t even have to take a dose today to feel this way.
