That feeling swells even more when Mirabelle turns, burying her face in my chest and taking a deep breath. It’s the first movement that feels likehersince she fell into this weird catatonic state after the fight.
“Almost there, Sugar,” I say into her hair, soaking in her sweet strawberry scent.
It takes a bit of awkward maneuvering, but I manage to get the door to the trailer open with her still in my arms.
“Do you want me to set up your nest?” I ask softly, nodding to the top sheet we have piled on top of my dresser drawer. Sometimes Mirabelle prefers a more open-air design to her nest, but I keep the top sheet handy for when she wants to make her nest tents.
She just shakes her head, so I set her down on the bed and kneel down, slipping her shoes off her feet and massaging them.
Even through the dark stockings, I can see the red skin and the blister that’s starting to form on the heels of her feet where the harsh material of the shoe dug into her foot.
Shoes like that are seriously torture devices.
I reach up and brush the backs of my hands against her knees, red from kneeling on the concrete for so long.
I should’ve found a cushion or something. I probably could’ve explained it away as my “omega pet having delicate sensibilities” or some bullshit that some caring slave owner would’ve said.
She makes a soft noise at the back of her throat as I continue to massage her feet. It’s the first sound she’s made since the fight.
“Your feet must be in a lot of pain,” I murmur, looking up at her, eager she’s finally showing signs of coming back to herself.
She blinks down at me, her brows drawing down in confusion.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “They suck.”
“I bet,” I chuckle. “How’re you doing, are you okay?”
She grimaces and reaches for one of the fuzzy blankets, wrapping it around her body.
“I don’t—I don’t know what happened. I just... freaked out. I couldn’t stand the sight.”
Despite the blanket around her shoulders, I can see the tremble in her body. I guess she’s in some state of shock.
“Yeah, those fights can get pretty violent.”
“I don’t think it was the violence,” she says, shaking her head. “Not just the violence. I hated watching the fight before, but I just couldn’t handle my alphas getting hurt.”
She saysmyalphas so casually. I don’t think she realizes it’s the first time she’s verbally claimed them asheralphas. Most of the time, she refers to them as the fighters or the guys.
Hersis a new title I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear about.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” I nod slowly. “I’d assume most omegas hate the sight of violence. Stress and stuff can apparently mess with your hormones.”
“Oh,” she says, her lips quirking up into a small but still bitter smile. “I guess the facility didn’t get the memo.”
I’m pretty fucking sure that facility that kept her captive knew damn well what they were doing. I think their mistreatment of Mirabelle and the other omegas there and the rules around them suppressing their omega instincts were a feature, not a bug.
“I’ve gotta go and meet up with the doctor to check up on the guys,” I sigh, glancing at the time on my phone. “Will you be okay here?”
Everything in my body is telling me to spend more time with Mirabelle. She’s obviously still not okay, but I have responsibilities here. I can’t give Jett or my dad reason to revoke the privileges I’ve earned from “stepping up” into the family business.
Mira’s hand shoots out and she grips my wrist as I stand.
I expect her to ask me to stay, to not leave her, but as tears cling to her lower lashes, that’s not what she says.
“Bring me with you,” she says, her voice a strained whisper. “Please. I need to see them.”
“I dunno if that’s a good idea,” I wince.
