She stares at me with those big, innocent eyes, her bottom lip tilting downwards in an effortless pout at the mention of my shitty family.
“They’re called fighting dogs because they’re trained to go in and fight other feral alphas from other farms at showcases,” I continue with a sigh. “The more wins they have, the more valuable their blood is. We have two right now, but my dad just bought another. That’s the one I’m gonna train.”
She nods slowly, seeming to absorb everything I’m saying surprisingly well. No questions. No exclamations about how inhumane the family business is.
“I’ve heard that I’m supposed to be used as... bait?”
I meet her gaze, forcing my next words out without looking away. If she’s going to have to survive the upcoming hell, then I can suck it up and look her in the eye when explaining things.
“We’ve had the two dogs in our stable for a long fucking time. They’ve been forced to take enhancement drugs, probably a lot more than they should. That shit can make anyone go crazy. My brother had the stupid fucking idea that they could be tamed, or at least their ferality could be kept at bay if they were around an omega.”
“And I’m the omega.”
“Yeah, Sugar. You are.”
The nickname spills out before I realize what I’m saying. But it fits. She’s sweet as can be.
She’d probably fare better if she weren’t.
But despite the terrible situation she’s in, her lips still quirk up into a little smile likeshe’strying to reassureme.
“I’ll do my best to try to help them.”
I shake my head, my throat closing at the thought of the feral alphas. At the thought of sweet Mirabelle being thrown in a fucking cage with one of them and torn apart.
If Jett’s plan fails, and it very well might, an omega like Mirabelle may be torn to literal shreds.
Hell, feral alphas far bigger than both of us combined have a hard time fighting the two dogs we’ve got. There’s a reason the farm only has two.
It’s ‘cause the farm’s only needed two to be as successful as it has. They’re the cream of the crop, according to my dad.
“That’s—that’s—fuck, Mirabelle, you could die. You could be torn apart and you’re sitting heresmiling—“ My voice cracks as I bury my head in my hands.
My chest feels like it’s going to explode. I can practically feel my heartbeat in my teeth. My body revolts at the thought of Mirabelle getting hurt.
“But if I help them, I’ll be fine, right?” She asks, her voice carrying the most significant thread of uncertainty I’ve heard from her so far.
My jaw clenches.
“If you actually help them, then they’re not the ones you’ll have to be worried about. It’s my fucking brother. He’ll use you as a pawn to get the dogs to do what he wants them to do.”
And that could be a fate far worse than getting ripped apart by a feral alpha. I know my brother. His mind is capable of sadism most can’t even fathom.
“O—oh,” she breathes.
She’s wrapped her arms around her middle, swaying from side to side, ever so slightly. Like she’s trying to comfort herself. The sight breaks my heart into a million fucking pieces.
When her gaze meets mine and I see that pouty bottom lip wobble, I can’t take it. It’s like all of the shattered pieces of my heart on the floor have been pulverized into dust.
“So—so even if I don’t break the rules here, I’m still going to be punished?” She whispers.
“Yeah, sugar,” I say, my voice strained.
“Oh,” she repeats.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her I’ll save her. That we can run away now, escape into the night, and never look back. That I can make sure she never has to even think about getting “punished” again.
But I don’t.
