“How do you feel about them leaving for the city?”
I whip my head around and find that journalist. He smirks at me. A knowing, happy smirk, one that is laughing at my pain.
“Omega Sanderson, how do you feel knowing your alphas got up at the crack of dawn, saw us here, and went back to the city?” he asks again.
His words don’t make sense, but they also cut deep, making a kind of crystal-clear clarity that turns everything inside me brittle.
“They left?” I ask.
“Yes.”
That single word shatters my world. It gets hard to breathe. I’m hyperaware of all the cameras on me, recording every single reaction. I try to think of what I have to do, but I can’t remember.
“What do you think of the fact that they left you again?” The journalist asks. She’s wearing pink lipstick. It’s ugly, but it’s all I notice about her.
“Well, what I think is that you should get off my fucking lawn before I have you all arrested for trespassing,” I snarl.
“It’s not your lawn, though, is it?” One throws back at me.
They scowl, but I’m not the eighteen-year-old omega they used to know. I glare at each of them, refusing to look away, until they, at last, shuffle back and onto the road.
I yank the door closed and stalk back to my mum's house with the crowd of them following me, taking a million photos. Each step is agony.
I open the red door.
“Pix?” I call plaintively.
He pops his head out. “Sup—oooh, where did they come from?”
“Call Detective Roseland and get him to come visit. He left some of his roaches behind.”
With that, holding my head high, I stalk into the house and leave the door open for Pix, who surveys his targets with deep loathing before he yanks the door closed and retreats to the safety of the house.
“Bonnie?”
I ignore them all.
“Bonnie!”
I shove the hands off me. It feels like my skin’s too tight, like I could scream, like everything inside me is cracking. I can’t blink. I can’t do anything but be trapped in this body as I slowly crash and crumble apart.
A sharp pain rocks my face to the side, and I open my eyes to see my mum staring at me with wide eyes.
“You do not,” she spits emphatically, “get to go there again. Don’t you let them wreck you.”
I blink at her. “I’m going to kill them.” The thought is so calm and so crystal clear.
“Good.”
I turn and go into my room, finding my knives and pulling them out. I take the steps two at a time, slinking down to the basement, where I shove aside the hidden door and go into the training room.
“What’s going on, Darling?” Dad asks.
“Mitchel!” My mum calls urgently. He gets up, watching as I pass him.
I ignore my dad and go to the throwing wall. I throw them in ten seconds and turn for more things to throw.
“What happened?” my father growls.
