“Are you sure?” Dr. Stetson asks, dropping his voice low.
“I’m sure,” she nods. “Rowan’s hurt, though. Please take a look at him.”
“Alright,” Dr. Stetson nods slowly before stepping inside.
I give him a two-finger salute as he turns his attention to me.
“Damn,” Dr. Stetson says, letting out a low whistle. “Someone got you good.”
“Yeah, my brother,” I groan, sitting up.
“This is... intense, even for your brother.”
Mirabelle perches herself on the arm of the couch as Dr. Stetson takes a seat across from me on my dining chair. She glances between the two of us curiously.
“I’ve known the family for a really long time,” Dr. Stetson says, answering the unasked question written across her face.
“Since I was a baby, right?” I ask.
“I was there for your delivery, actually,” Dr. Stetson says as he pulls on a pair of gloves. “Your father wanted your mother to have home births. So technically, I’ve basically been the family doctor ever since Jett was an embryo.”
I fall silent at the mention of my mother. It dawns on me that she was the last omega to really stay on the farm.
Until Mirabelle.
No wonder the doc’s expression was so shocked when he saw her open the door.
“Tell me,” Dr. Stetson says, gesturing for me to take off my shirt. “Does your brother giving you an uncharacteristically intense beating have anything to do with the omega watching us like a hawk, dressed in what looks to be your clothing?”
“Yes,” I drawl, dragging my t-shirt over my head, revealing my torso.
Mirabelle lets out a stifled gasp, her eyes glued to my torso.
At first, I think it’s because she’s caught sight of the boot and treadmark-shaped bruises along my side, but that’s not what’s drawn her attention.
Her eyes are glued to my tattoos.
She can really only get a good look at the half sleeve that curls down across my chest and over my heart.
Roses. With thorny vines swirling about.
I don’t remember a lot about my mom, but I do remember her favorite flower. She had a garden that quickly died out after she disappeared, with no one bothering to take care of it.
It’s funny, the things I can remember about her and the things I can’t.
Mirabelle’s eyes remained glued to my body. In any other situation, I’d be flattered. But right now, with my body broken and serving as a reminder of how fucking helpless I am, I feel exposed.
“I see,” Dr. Stetson says, his gaze darting between Mirabelle and me assessingly.
“You got somethin’ you wanna ask, then spit it out, Doc,” I say, gritting my teeth and narrowing my eyes on him.
He’s not doing anything wrong. But I can’t help but direct my frustration from my helplessness at the situation somewhere, and he’s a convenient target.
“I know part of my job here is to not ask questions, but I know what your family does here,” Dr. Stetson says, his voice low. “And I’ve got two girls at home that’re just like this girl. I can’t in good consciencenotask what’s going on here. She’s wearing acollar.”
My jaw flexes before I give a jerky nod.
“Yeah, I can’t blame you for asking,” I sigh. “Jett and my dad had the fantastic idea of keeping the fighting dogs in line by bringing in an omega as bait. Try to tame ‘em a little more.”
