I’ll need to brace for their attacks on her character, but luckily, I already know exactly what they’ll try to do. It’s the same old worn-out song and dance routine. They’ll come after her hormones and heat cycles, claiming emotional instability. That should give me the opportunity to bring up her getting the kids into therapy and a chance to present the therapist’s notes. They are pretty damning, if I can bring them up organically. The oldest boy has growing resentment and anger toward his mother and sister, and has acted out in school toward other girls as well. In play therapy, the youngest daughter frequently shows the daddy doll yelling at the mommy doll, who then falls down and cries.
Every time I read over that line, I debate if it would just be easier to have Tony kill the man and be done with it.
I shake my head to clear the thought and practice my opening statement. In my head, I picture how the judge might react to each phrase. I picture opposing counsel’s posture, the quietsmirks, the smug certainty they will have about Maya until I walk in. That look is one of my favorites. The panic on the lawyer’s face and the confusion on the alpha’s.
I mentally walk through any potential objections or weak spots. Every piece of evidence is checked and double-checked until I’m satisfied I know this case inside and out. I pride myself on being thorough. Hence why I’d been so infuriated yesterday at Mark’s comment.
Soon, though, there’s nothing left to go through, and I still have time to kill. It becomes harder to ignore the elephant in the room. I tap my pen against the folder. It’s impossible to completely disentangle this case from what happened between me and Mark.
Maya is a perfect example of how the system stacks the decks against omegas. The judge we drew wasn’t the one I’d hoped for, but he also isn’t the worst. He has a reputation for being mostly neutral on omega rights, but unfortunately, that can also just mean quietly biased because there hasn’t been a chance to show how he really felt.
Just like Mark.
Most of Mark’s actions would suggest that he disagrees with the foundations of the more conservative laws aimed at omegas, but he doesn’t openly champion against them either. And he sure had a tendency to rub elbows with the types of alphas I loathe. Hell, just last week he was in the paper, shoulder to shoulder with Harold Fucking Harvey, our illustrious mayor whoonce publicly called omegas a “necessary burden.” That kind of proximity says more than words ever could.
What’s the saying?If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.
I shake my head. Irritation and shame simmer beneath my skin. How could I be so stupid? I know better than to blur the lines, to let myself get drawn into the orbit of a sexy alpha. It doesn’t matter how many glimpses of softness I catch when the cameras aren’t around. Like it or not, Mark is a man who plays politics in a world where my kind get crushed under the weight of “it’s always been this way.”
If he figures out my secret? I go from a fun lover to a liability overnight. Or worse, he tries to bond with me and make me his dutiful little omega. Gets me deemed unfit to work like so many other omegas have been by alphas “just looking out for their safety,” stripping my ability to fight for people like Maya.
The thought makes my throat tighten. She is heading to the courtroom right now, terrified and fighting for her children because men like Daniel exploit the biases against omegas. And here my dumb ass is, playing with fire and sleeping with the enemy.
Could Mark be a good guy? Sure, maybe. But I don’t know him, not really.
Last night can never happen again.
Chapter Eight
Mark
I’d actually forgotten about the wedding entirely until Trinity texts to confirm our plans. Which really says everything about how the last week and a half has gone, because initially, I’d been looking forward to this blind date. Ever since a certain tall, leggy redhead shoved her way into my apartment, turned my entire life upside down, and then decided to act like none of it had happened—my mind has been a shitshow.
I know with certainty it was the best damn sex of my life, and I’d be willing to wager a sizable amount of money that was true for Ava too. Yet she’s avoided me where she can, and where she can’t, she’s pulled back on sparring, which somehow is worse. This careful, deliberatenothing is its own kind of answer. Damn her for having the self-control to do what’s in our best interest. I don’t have a single good argument against it. That might be what irritates me the most.
I’m especially annoyed that I have no interest in sitting through this wedding and reception with a gorgeous woman. A casual hookup after an open bar might be just the ticket to forgetting all about my ill-fated one-night stand. However, I’m not actually naïve enough to believe that is possible. Fairly certain I’d need a sci-fi-level memory wipe to forget Ava on top of me.
I’m a man of my word, so I pick Trinity up on time and spend the cab ride doing my level best to be charming and present. We cover the standard first date territory without much trouble. Her work, my work, how neither of us knows the couple particularly well and isn’t it funny how these invitations find you anyway. Greg had prosecuted out of my office for a few months, and we’d been friendly enough in the way proximity encourages. Then a federal offer came through and he left, and as work friendships often do, it had been quietly fizzling ever since. But I’d already RSVP’d. Plus, it’s a decent networking opportunity.
Trinity is lovely. That’s an honest assessment, and it makes my mood even worse. She’s smart, asks good questions, and laughs at the right moments. Under other circumstances, I’d have been here for it. Instead, I keep catching myself wishing she’d say something that makes my pulse spike. Or that her eyes were a different shade, instead of the blue that now looks bland to me. Green,maybe.
Get a fucking grip. The sex wasn’t that good,I chide myself.
Liar.My alpha side grumbles.
There’s a moment of confusion at the door when the usher, a teenage kid who is almost certainly a younger brother of Greg’s, realizes that I know the groom and Trinity knows the bride. The poor boy looks genuinely stricken, like this particular scenario hadn’t been covered in whatever ten-minute usher briefing he received. I take pity on him.
“It’s fine,” I say, glancing at Trinity. “We’ll sit on the bride’s side. Figure you might know someone over there, and I genuinely don't care where we end up.” She shrugs and smiles. I don’t know what I was hoping for from her, but whatever it was, I didn’t get it.
We find our seats and make another run at conversation. It soon becomes clear that neither of us is really feeling it, and eventually I stop forcing it and let the silence settle. Maybe it will be better once we have some snacks and drinks. I scan the room instead, spotting a few familiar faces from the legal circuit and give a small wave. At least I’ll have someone to talk to at the reception if Trinity decides to ditch me.
The music starts and the pastor appears, followed by Greg, who looks equally happy and nervous. Mandatory for every groom I’ve ever seen. There’s a pause, then the doors open again, and the bridal processional starts. I’m not really paying close attention. Mostly I’m doing the mental math of how long until we can move to the golf club, whether the open bar will be worth staying for and exactly how many glasses of whiskey itmight take to shake me out of my Ava-induced mood and have some fun.
Then I stop counting.
Because three bridesmaids deep, looking straight ahead with the relaxed composure of someone who had absolutely not yet spotted me, is the viper herself.
You have got to be shitting me. Is this some kind of karmic payment for sins I’m unaware of?
