Page 11 of Your Wild Omega (The Feral Actress #2)

Chapter eight

Callisto

Aden Parker, the managing director at Laversham’s Harkman and Laurance Legal branch, removes his reading glasses and stares at me.

The frost in the atmosphere matches the look in his eyes.

“Callisto, when I put a lead lawyer on a case, I expect that person to give it his all, not disappear on leave, chasing drama all over the country.”

I lock the fingers of one hand around my other wrist behind my back and hold his gaze. “You know I’ve barely taken any leave in the past, Parker,” I say.

He scoffs. “And that’s exactly why you’re on the rise, but that won’t be the case if your professionalism evaporates. Do you think I brought you here to hear excuses?”

“No.”

Parker’s a hardass. Everyone says so. The only reason I rarely get the sharp end of his tongue is because I work like a dog with nothing else to do. Never bothered me before, but today I can’t help wishing I were at home to see what Red’s doing with her feral alpha.

Parker taps a finger against his mouse, glancing at his computer screen. “I’ve had a complaint about your absenteeism. Are you going to lead these OCB cases, or should I put Lyle in charge?”

I stiffen. The sensations I’ve always thought of as my lawyer “edge” rise, increasing my sensitivity to noise, light, and his facial expressions. Increases my edginess, too. Who would’ve believed it was such a fine line between extreme alertness and a panic attack? Not me.

Someone making a complaint rubs me the wrong way.

I’m certain it can’t be clients, because I’ve prioritized their calls and emails.

The two lawyers I’ve been working with haven’t said anything to me, but they’re the only two people who’d benefit from my reassignment.

But this is Red’s case, and no way am I handing it off to someone who just wants to tick the boxes and put it behind them.

Red deserves justice, and hell will freeze over before I let those bastards who hurt her weasel out of maximum sentencing.

“I’m fit for the task,” I grind out. “I won’t let the firm down.” Or Red.

My boss leans back in his chair, arm crossing over his chest. “What’s your win streak right now, Callisto?”

“Ninety-three, after the Yarril case.”

He purses his lips in a silent whistle. “Then you understand I’m saying this for your own good, right? Pull your socks up and don’t drop the ball now.” He snaps his fingers toward the door in dismissal. “Get on with it, then. Time’s a-wasting.”

Which is why it’s a waste to even call me in, but he’s obviously wanting to bust my balls as a reminder of who’s the boss.

I nod and leave his office, closing the door quietly behind me.

Someone at Aden Parker’s level can bill a thousand an hour, which means he just lost eighty-three dollars talking to me for five minutes, not to mention my own lost time.

Time is money, after all. I’ve always lived by that creed.

Holding in a sigh, I brush my hand against my left shoulder, stroking over the clock tattoo under my shirt that freezes time at the moment of my dad’s passing.

I’ve always spent as much of my time working as humanly possible. It felt like a consuming urgency.

But now my internal compass point is shifting. I can’t concentrate on my cases, my mind wanders, and even my words feel more labored.

All because of one redheaded omega living in my home, currently training her pet wild alpha.

I brush hair off my forehead and speedwalk back to my office. Hale leans back in his chair, reading printed case notes with a highlighter set between his teeth.

I rap my knuckles against the high-topped counter running the length of his desk.

He waits a moment, his eyes tracking across the page to the end of a sentence before they lift to meet mine.

He blinks a few times, and it’s like I can see the cogs in his brain running down and reversing direction as he switches his attention to me.

“If you had a problem with me, you’d tell me to my face, right?” I ask.

His brows pop. “Indeed.” He reaches for a sticky note stuck on the desk's recess. “Yesterday, you took nine minutes to return my call. That’s four minutes too long.”

I smirk. “Sorry.” Hard to tell who’s working for whom some days.

He nods once. “Do better. Anything else?”

I brace both hands on the countertop. “What’s the best way to punish Quinton and Lyle?”

One side of Hale’s mouth quirks. “Lyle hates sushi and seafood. Quinton has date night dinner with his pack every Tuesday at eight.” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “Apparently, they are merciless if he’s late.”

I grin and slap my hands against the counter with glee. “Damn, you’re good. Remind me not to piss you off. What do you want?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Something elegant from the Wren Grace kitchenware collection. It’s my sister’s wedding next month.”

I shoot him with my fingers as I pass by. “There’s a new line of dinner plate sets coming out late spring. I’ll get you a twelve-piece set.”

He smiles, gaze already dropping back to his case notes. “And that’s why I work for you.”

“Pfft,” I scoff. “Nothing to do with me being an excellent lawyer?”

He shrugs one shoulder, but he’s already sunk into his reading and I know better than to waste his time. Like me, Hale’s ambitious. Most likely he’s stuck to my side because I’m a hard worker too.

I rise on my tiptoes a few times and take deep breaths.

The banter smoothed over some of my nerves, but I can still feel them, simmering below the surface.

I never want to experience that drowning sensation again, but this vibrating alertness feels like it could spiral at any moment if I’m not careful.

But how exactly do I be careful?

So much at work rides on my ability to dedicate myself, but now my mind and body want to be back at my house, watching Red and Rickon—and that ridiculous man-beast she brought home. I groan softly and drop into my chair. I’m a mess.

My gaze catches on the project-management smart board taking up a huge portion of one wall.

Dad always said if you want to get things done, write a to-do list. I scribble down the most urgent tasks on the notepad beside my mouse, dividing them into personal and work.

On the personal list, I add a note to visit Mom.

I need to have a heart-to-heart with her, but at the same time, I don’t want to. Admitting you’re wrong isn’t easy.

I tear off the personal half of the list and shove it in my pocket before updating the whiteboard and emailing a meeting invite to the two work partners assigned to the OCB cases with me.

Although I intend to roast them for complaining to Parker instead of coming to me, I need them both on my side.

Because the truth is, the case against the alpha that raped Red through her heats isn’t looking like one I can win.

I set the tray of sushi down in the center of the conference table in front of the two assistant lawyers. “Eat up. This might take a while,” I tell them.

Lyle’s jaw clenches as he looks at the food, but he smooths away his disgust almost immediately. I swallow down my smugness. It’s amazing how Hale learns such minute details about everyone in the firm.

I drag my attention back to the job at hand and slap down Ray Fibbistachi’s profile photo, taken after his arrest at the trafficking hub. “Okay, so which crimes are we confident we can nail this bastard on?” I ask, rubbing my temple.

Quinton was in court today, finishing off a case against one of the other omega traffickers not related to Red’s case.

He won, and the felon’s slated to do fifteen years in the slammer, but it meant we couldn’t meet until dusk.

Usually I can work ’til midnight without breaking a sweat, but today I’m tired and itching to go home.

I shove the desire to know how Red fared training Zack into the back of my mind and glance at the arrest profile of the criminal. Focus, Callisto. This is what I do best.

Lyle scrolls on his a-Pad. “The home search picked up unregistered haze in his home. Twenty vials. So we have him on possession.”

“Distribution?” I ask.

Lyle shakes his head. “No, he’s been in jail since the arrest. Be nice if they could’ve let him out and done a sting.”

I nod in agreement. Everyone arrested in conjunction with the trafficking hub got denied bail, all determined to be flight risks, but it would be great if we had more to charge him with.

Quinton hums through his mouthful of sushi to indicate he has something to add. He swallows. “Actually, he made bail last Friday.”

“Shit,” I murmur, checking the dates on my calendar. How did I miss that? Must be because Red’s heat distracted me. The guy must have some serious legal muscle behind him to work around the injunctions the OCB set up. Or if not muscle, some under-the-table money.

The idea of that monster walking around freely and possibly bumping into Red makes my blood grow icy. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea for her to have a killer alpha on a leash after all.

Quinton leans his elbows on the table and flicks through his notes. “The OCB arrested Ray in the facility during the raid, and we have the statements from other omegas who said the omega designated O-11 was taken away somewhere regularly—”

“Red,” I interject through clenched teeth.

He looks up, confusion wrinkling his brow. “Pardon?”

“Our victim’s name is Red,” I say. “Red Jones.”

“Right.” Quinton narrows his watery gaze on me. “But why all the runaround? You’ve got her statement, don’t you? Isn’t that why you chased her across the country?”

I shake my head, my heart sinking. “She doesn’t want to give a statement or testify in court.”

Quinton curls his fingers into a fist and slams it down on the table. “Damn these flighty omegas! Do they think we can produce evidence out of our asses for them?” He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“Watch your mouth,” I snap. “After what she’s been through, I don’t blame her one bit for not wanting to revisit her trauma.” I press one knuckle hard against my mouth to stifle more sharp words and pick up my stylus pen to write the information in my tablet.

Lyle clears his throat. “None of the omegas’ statements mention seeing an alpha in the facility.”

I flatten my lips together in frustration. “So we have him in the facility, but he could weasel his way out of sentencing since there’s no evidence of his actual crimes, right?”

Possession without evidence of distribution will only get him six months behind bars, and he might serve even less if he gets a reduction for good behavior or community service.

The idea of this scum of the earth walking away with a slap on the wrist makes me seethe.

I have to pin something on him that will stick.

I circle my index finger on the conference table as I think. From cross-referencing the staff names given by the rescued omegas, it doesn’t appear we have all the traffickers in custody yet. I grind my teeth and tap the end of the stylus on the table.

I swivel to Quinton. “You check in with the case agents to see if they have leads on any of the missing traffickers.” I point the pen at the second lawyer.

“We need to offer one of the other traffickers a reduced sentence to rat Ray out. Two years should be attractive. Lyle, you take charge of that.” Whether it’s eighteen or twenty years for the nurses who sold the omegas won’t make much difference.

They’ll spend most of their lives behind bars, and the world will have changed by the time they get out.

Lyle makes a tick shape in the air. “Okay, will do. Was going to the prison anyway for something else.” He tilts his head. “And what about you, Callisto?”

“I’m going to find the agents who rescued Red and see if I can find anything new in their statements.” I jot a few reminder notes in my tablet before packing up my files. “And then I’m going to visit the facility.”

Quinton leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why would you go there? We’re not forensics.”

I look away, using the pretext of packing my bag. I can’t answer his question. Maybe it has nothing to do with the case at all, but something tells me I must see the place Red came from. I pray it helps me find a solution to this mess.