Johnny perched on the edge of the desk, the wood creaking beneath his weight. “On what?”
Amil leant back, crossing his arms. “Nothing analphaneeds to worry about.”
Isla let out a breath. “It’ll be everyone’s business if the laws are changed, Amil. How many do they need to get the sanction to parliament?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“Shit,” Isla said, getting out her phone. “I’m signing it now. You too, please, John-Paul.”
Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Tell me what I’m signing and I’ll sign it.”
“The Omega Rights Bill,” Amil replied, setting his jaw. “A petition’s been opened to change the laws around unwanted mating bites. It means omegas won’t have to get the giver’s permission before removing it. They’re calling it the Sally Maverick campaign after one of the omegas that?—”
“Thank you, PC Dua,” Isla said, holding out a hand. Her eyes drifted cautiously to Johnny. “Don’t forget which station John-Paul came from, alright?”
Amil shrugged, looking back at the screen. “They probably won’t go for it. The name, I mean. Wouldn’t want to name a law after an alpha killer.”
“Amil!” Isla snapped.
Amil’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sorry, Sarge. I’m just?—”
“Passionate?” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know. We both are.”
They shared a look that felt private, so Johnny sloped off to the kitchen and busied himself with putting away the mugs that had piled up on the draining board.
As terrible as it sounded, he’d never really consideredthatparticular part of their laws before. Obviously, he was painfully aware of domestic abuse issues between alphas and omegas. He’d locked up more alphas than he could count. But he’d grown up in a happy home with parents who loved each other. His mum was an omega and his father a beta, and whilst they’d done their best to educate him about what it meant to be an alpha, it hadn’t been until Martin was born that he’d seriously considered just how shitty things could really be for omegas.
So, after pulling out his phone, he found the petition and put his name to it.
“Right!” Wendy said, blowing on her nails as she glided into the kitchen. “Sarge wants us to take statements about the fight this morning.” She dropped her head in a conspiratorial manner, giving him a mischievous smile. “Then we’re off to the care home.”
“A mêlée? This morning?” the man at the pharmacy asked, scratching his chin.
Johnny nodded. “Yes, over some talcum powder?”
The man tipped his head and pondered the question for far longer than necessary. “I’d say it was somewhere between ading-dong and a hoo-ha. Not quite a kerfuffle, and certainly not a mêlée.”
“Right,” Johnny sighed, tapping his pen against his chin. He wasn’t entirely sure he could use the words ‘ding-dong,’ ‘hoo-ha,’or‘kerfuffle’ in an official statement. “And was anything else damaged or stolen?”
The man crossed his arms and tilted his head towards a rack of empty shelves. “Just the bloody talcum powder. About eighty quid’s worth, all said.”
Johnny nodded, jotting it down in his notebook. “Right. And how many containers is that?”
The man shrugged. “Sixty, sixty-five?”
“And did you see who took them? Does the shop have CCTV?”
The man uncrossed his arms and laughed. “This is Dingly Heath, Officer. Of course not.” He dropped his head and covered his mouth. “Why are you asking so many questions? Am I being interrogated?”
Johnny frowned, tucking his notebook into his stab vest. “Of course not. But you’re saying your shop was robbed in the middle of a fight. That’s classed as looting under the Theft Act of 1968 and?—”
“I never said a fight, Officer. I said it was a ding-dong.”
Johnny’s neck prickled and he couldn’t help but scratch at the bite mark. “No,” he said, sliding his fingers from his neck to his temple, “you said it was somewhere between a ding-dong and a hoo-ha, so by all accounts?—”
A hand clapped across his shoulder as Wendy appeared at his side. “You’ll have to excuse him,” she said, giving the pharmacist a sympathetic smile. “He’s new. Keen to prove himself.”
Johnny shook her off. “I am notnew.”
