Page 48 of Two For the Show (Trapped On The Tightrope Duet #2)

The flash of cameras nearly blinds me as I stand on the steps to the Capitol building.

The building is strange. A modern tower behind an older colonial-style building that, if I’m not mistaken, was the original Capitol building.

It’s the perfect place for a press conference—a stunning backdrop for me to spill my guts out to the world.

This area of Florida can get pretty cold this time of year, but it’s a pretty December day, with clear skies. There is a slight chill in the air, which is why I’m glad I wore stockings, even if they’re a pain in the ass.

I wish I had a podium or something to stand behind, so I could wring my hands without anyone noticing. Instead, I have to hold my hands behind my back in a position of feigned indifference to hide the way they’re shaking.

Can everyone tell how nervous I am? Are they standing in front of me, waiting to tear me apart, to ruin my credibility? What if I get up here and lay my trauma out on a silver platter, and they throw it in my face?

One thing is for sure: without my pack behind me, I wouldn’t be able to do this .

Jude stands behind me, the tallest of all of us, and places a hand on my shoulder, silently reassuring me that he’ll always be here.

Dexter stands on my left like a brooding bodyguard, arms crossed over his chest, with Dario beside him, and Quinton is on my right, all charming smiles with Matteo standing stoically beside him.

My pack.

On paper, they don’t sound like what an Omega should want. Together, we smell like a bakery, with candies and pastries galore. Especially since their scents have morphed, they don’t smell like typical Alphas.

But they never were typical, were they?

A grumpy as hell Alpha showrunner of a dangerous circus.

A Rotting Alpha with no self-preservation skills.

A Beta with a sadistic streak.

An Alpha who hides his hurt behind smiles and jokes and puts his life on the line every day.

And a traumatized, broken Alpha hides his struggles with self-doubt under a layer of discontent.

But they’re so much more than that. So much more than the way society sees them. I have never felt as safe in my life as I have in their arms. There is no one else I would want supporting me today than this pack of circus misfits.

“Thank you all for coming today,” I say, painfully aware of all the microphones and video cameras pointed in my direction.

“I’m sure most of you recognize me, but for those who don’t, my name is Dr. Alex Shields.

As you can imagine, it has been a stressful few months for me.

The situation surrounding my disappearance has been misrepresented in the media, and I am here to set the record straight. ”

“Are these the kidnappers?” someone shouts.

I barely hold back my eye roll. “Despite what you may have heard, I was not kidnapped. I voluntarily ran away from Dr. Richard Smith and his pack.”

“Why?” another voice demands.

My huff of a laugh can’t be contained. “That would be why I called you here today. I’d love to share that story, if you could stop asking questions.

” I wince at my harsh words, but honestly, I called this conference.

Why won’t they let me speak? Clearly, if I am standing here with a pack of men, what they have been told isn’t true.

Why continue to interrupt me when I am here to tell them everything?

I have to swallow down my bitterness. They’re just doing their jobs. I need to make sure I do not come across as hysterical or combative. I need to be clear, concise, and respectful. That’s the only way to get everyone on my side.

“I want to clear the air, to tell my story.” Jude squeezes my shoulder, and I take a deep breath.

“I started dating Dr. Richard Smith while we were in our residency. He was wonderful to me, and my scent match. I thought he was my forever. Four years later, he brought me to dinner and introduced me to Tripp and Greg, claiming they were his pack.”

There are murmurs from the crowd, and a few try to shout questions. I hold up my hand. “Walter Evans the third, known as Tripp, son of Governor Walter Evans, and Greg Ramsey.”

Once again, the press cannot hold back their questions, and they speak over one another, yelling at me.

The combination of noise and flashing camera lights has me shaking and overstimulated.

I want to go back to my nest, to the arms of my men.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to reveal my biggest shame to everyone.

I don’t want to be here anymore. I squeeze my eyes as the onslaught of questions continues.

I can’t process them all, can’t understand what they’re saying, and it is all so overwhelming that I can barely collect my thoughts.

“Stop,” Jude barks. “My Omega is here to tell you what happened to her, and you will listen.” His dominance washes over them, and the crowd of Betas and less dominant Alphas goes quiet.

“I left Rich, Tripp, and Greg after months of abuse, after I was choked until I passed out. Statistically, forty-three percent of homicide victims killed by an intimate partner were strangled non fatally beforehand.? * I knew my death was inevitable, and I had to escape. When I saw a job posting for a traveling physician with a circus, I applied and got the job. I quite literally ran away and joined the circus.”

And then I tell them everything.

I tell them about every bit of abuse.

Every bruise. Every kick.

Every time they assaulted me gets laid out in front of the media for the country’s consumption.

The world loves a tragedy.

I’ve seen the true crime documentaries, where an Omega goes missing, and eventually it comes out that their Alpha or Beta murdered them, and everyone wonders how they missed the signs.

Here’s the fucking signs. The signs I ignored. The ones I missed.

My trauma will be reduced to a soundbite, but if it can help one person in a bad situation, I will welcome it.

When I speak about the media coverage of my disappearance, I struggle to hold in my anger.

“And of course, emboldened by the media, who saw them as a caring, romantic, grieving pack, they came after me, tracked me down. They wouldn’t let me disappear.

They felt like they owned me, and no one told them any differently.

I was constantly referred to as ‘their Omega’.

I was not a person. I reduced to my designation, an Omega who needed to be saved by an Alpha.

When I was admitted into a hospital with Foresaken Omega Syndrome after months of taking severe suppressants so I wasn’t at risk of going into heat and making myself vulnerable around my abusers, the hospital called Rich.

I don’t fault them, of course. He was still my emergency contact.

But with documentation of FOS, it was easy to claim that I had been abducted by the very men who sought treatment for me, and that I couldn’t make decisions on my own. ”

My chest is heaving, and the press is silent in front of me. I narrow my eyes at them, picking out the faces I saw doing reports about how devastated my so-called pack was, and how much they loved me. Some of them won’t meet my eye, but I find a few who will.

“Are you proud of yourselves?” I ask them, seething. “For giving abusers a platform?”

“How were we to know?” one shouts back at me. He pushes his way through the crowd. He’s a handsome Beta, with pale olive skin and dark hair. “How could we be expected to know they were abusers?”

“Did you know that there are over two million injuries and fifteen hundred deaths from intimate partner violence in the United States every year? ? * Did you not once think to question the story they told? To look any deeper? Why did no one investigate them? We love to joke that it’s always the Alpha, and yet no one looked into that pack.

If they had, they probably would have seen that I had been withdrawing small amounts of cash from our accounts whenever I could.

That my suitcases were missing. It should have raised red flags, and yet no one saw anything other than three handsome Alphas who were distraught that they lost their favorite punching bag. ”

The whole time I speak, my pack stands sentinel beside me, shoulder to shoulder, one united front.

“But I got better with the help of my pack, my scent matches, the men who you see standing here with me today. The men I bonded willingly and am trying to stay with. Instead, the governor signed an extradition order for the state of California after I performed with their circus. He claims that because of the FOS, I am unable to make my own decisions and need to be returned to my registered pack. What he didn’t say in the order was that his son had promised Dr. Richard Smith would be given the role of Designation Director for the state of Florida in exchange for me. ”

I let the words sink into the crowd. It takes a moment, but once they make sense of what I said, their faces start to transform. Their quiet rumbles of dissatisfaction validate me and give me strength for the next part.

“Governor Evans, I know you’re watching this.

Were you a part of the attempted trafficking of an Omega, or were you a blind party to the ministrations of your son?

You ran on family values. You ran on a platform of protecting Omegas, going so far as to make laws that prohibit Alphas and Betas from entering certain areas under the guise of keeping Omegas safe.

Did you know your son and his pack members were raping their Omega?

That they were choking and kicking her, breaking her collarbone, and leaving her covered in bruises? Did you know?”

My voice is hysterical, I know. But I can’t calm down even if I wanted to.

Which I don’t.

“Did you know that I fled for fear of my life, giving up a job as a respected physician? That after years of being isolated from my friends and family, I had nowhere to turn but a troupe of misfits in a traveling circus? A troupe that cared for me and protected me, going as far as to publicly oust and humiliate members of their troupe to keep me safe? Are you going to come out here and admit that you had no idea what your son was doing? Or will you stay silent and confirm your involvement?”

Dexter grabs my hand, pulling it from behind my back and squeezing it tightly as tears spring to my eyes and track down my cheeks.

“Are you going to hold firm to the order that I am incapable of making my own decisions? That having been diagnosed with FOS means that I am unable to think for myself and therefore need an Alpha to do it for me?”

Jude leans forward, pressing against my back.

“This is about more than just Alex. This is about the fact that the Designation Director of California told us that he had no choice but to deliver our bonded, scent matched Omega into the hands of her abusers because of the antiquated, bullshit laws being enforced by the current administration. An Omega is seen as incapable of critical thinking and decision making when they are diagnosed with Foresaken Omega Syndrome, reducing them to a dependent of their pack.”

“No one thinks that about an Alpha with Rot,” Quinton says casually, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I would know. No one has told me that I cannot be trusted to act in my own best interests. In fact, there are no laws that require an Alpha with Rot to have so much as a power of attorney in place, despite it being a fatal and debilitating illness. I wonder why that is?”

“Leave me alone,” I say firmly. “Let this be the clip aired across the country. Have this as your soundbite. Leave me the hell alone. Let me be with my pack. The one I chose. The one I love. And do better in the way you treat Omegas. I’ve seen how many are abused and the abysmal support they’re,” my voice cracks, “we’re given. Do. Better.”

As the press starts to shout questions again, the doors open behind me, and several people stride out, all dressed in suits and looking quite serious.

And behind them is Governor Walter Evans, looking fucking pissed.

* ? J Emerg Med. Author manuscript; available in PMC: 2009 Oct 1.

Published in final edited form as: J Emerg Med. 2007 Oct 25;35(3):329–335. doi: 10.1016/j.jemermed.2007.02.065

* ? NLM Domestic Violence: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK499891/