Page 52 of Your Wild Omega (The Feral Actress #2)

Chapter forty-two

Red

Pressure lands on my body, trapping me in place. I gasp, unable to move. The House of Bitches looms around me, the nest restraints latching onto my arms. I should be able to get those leather cuffs off again, but every time I try, I can’t seem to move. The air’s become heavy, too.

I whine and thrash, calling for my alphas, but they don’t hear me. Pain throbs up my body and I grit my teeth. Is it my heat? But I don’t think I’m due yet. My befuddled brain casts around for answers.

“Hey, ’ Lev. Waiting for me?”

My lungs clamp on the haze-thickened smog. It’s him. Ray, the disgusting alpha I hate most in the world. But the OCB shot him, and I kicked him in the face, right? Why is he here now? I shake my head, trying to clear it, but a formless mass looms out of the shadows to stand over me.

Fuck, where’s Zack and Rickon? What if he hurts them?

“Who, them? I killed them. You’re mine, ’ Lev. You know that, right?”

I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. Hissing with effort, I clench my fist and swing hard.

The jolt jerks me awake and I gasp. Zack snores as he belly-sleeps, one arm across my ribs and the other lying over Rickon. My heart races as I reach out to touch both my alphas. Their chests rise and fall softly with deep, peaceful breaths.

Just a nightmare. Fuck. It felt like I was dying for real.

I shuck Zack’s heavy arm off me and slide my legs over the bed. No wonder I couldn’t breathe with his arm on my chest. My clothing clings to me, limp with sweat, and the darkness in the room writhes as if containing a living thing.

I can’t go back to sleep with these nightmare-shadows haunting me, so I swallow down a sob and count my breathing, pretending I’m cycling something through my body. Chi or some shit that makes me powerful. That’s what all the characters in martial arts movies do while meditating.

My gaze drifts back to the sleeping men beside me.

A part of me wants to wake them, but they must be truly exhausted, especially for Zack to sleep in the middle of the bed instead of on the edge.

With a sigh, I lever myself upright. Pain throbs up my leg, jerking me to a halt—real pain, not the phantom sensations of my dream.

Once I ease myself off the bed, I grab my phone and headphones, thinking I might look for something to watch or listen to the film script for a bit.

Running my fingers along the drywall, I make my way through the hall and downstairs.

A bit of light always shines here, thanks to the expansive glass windows overlooking the city, plus the kitchen gadgets.

I pour some orange juice from the fridge; then for good measure I top the glass up with one of Callisto’s hard liquors from a tall glass bottle.

No idea what it is, but hopefully it helps.

I sip the resulting concoction and grimace.

My gaze slides from the collection of liquors to the couch. We used to find Callisto here late at night, his gray suit jacket draped over a chair. Or his light would be shining under the office door. The clock on the microwave oven ticks over from 12:40 to 12:41 a.m.

He’s probably still awake.

The restless murmur in my brain sure is.

I open my phone contacts and stare at Callisto’s name for several minutes.

I don’t have a profile picture for him like I do for Rickon, so the circle just displays a large C.

It’s a bad idea, terrible even, but better than enduring alone with the skeleton that just emerged from my subconscious closet.

It feels like Ray might step out of the apartment’s shadowy corners any second.

I hiss under my breath and swipe at the dial button before I can talk myself out of it. I massage lines out of my forehead as it rings. Once, twice.

“Hello, Red?” Callisto answers breathlessly.

I swallow around a lump in my throat. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was up. About to finish for the night, though. Is something wrong?”

“Um, not exactly.” Fuck, Red, what are you doing?

I rest my ass on one of the bar stools, toying with the rim of my glass.

“Well, I guess I had a nightmare, and I didn’t want to wake the guys.

I remembered you’re often up late and hoped you wouldn’t mind if I called.

” I’m babbling now, tripping over myself to justify why I called this alpha.

“Red.” His soothing tone captures me, restraining my panic. “I don’t need an explanation. You can call me anytime for any reason. As your lawyer . . . or as a friend.”

I bite down on my lip, hanging my head. He might be an ass of an alpha, but damn, his voice is smooth as melted chocolate.

“All right,” I say simply, the tension draining out of me.

I take a sip of my orange juice cocktail, the bitter tang hitting differently now.

Kinda feels like I’m out for a drink with a friend.

Come to think of it, I’ve never been to a bar.

I’ll have to ask Rickon to take me. Or maybe Callisto, since this isn’t my first time having a drink while chatting with him.

“How was your day?” Callisto asks.

I snort. “Kinda awful.”

Callisto listens as I spill the details about my topsy-turvy adventure with the panicked horses.

“Rickon must be beside himself,” he muses, rustling around like he’s getting changed or something.

“Yeah.” I laugh. “But I think the worst part was I got a lift home with Bradley Jacks. And get this—he has a red Lamborghini. It’s so him.”

“The actor?” Callisto’s voice turns cold. “Why did you need a ride with him?”

Oh, shit, I walked myself into a landmine. “Um, well, the thing is, Zack and Rickon had to stay home today.”

“Why?”

I shake my head once before resting my cheek on my hand. “I think you should ask Rickon that. It’s not my story to tell.”

The line goes silent for a while, and I can’t help wondering what he’s thinking. Time to move the topic away from this sensitive relationship quicksand.

“I, ah, borrowed some of your top-shelf stuff to put in my drink. Hope that’s okay.”

Callisto laughs, but it sounds a bit strained. “Help yourself to everything in the house. Oh, except for my case files. Those are confidential, but there shouldn’t be any out in the open.” Another pause. “What did you choose to drink?”

“I dunno, but it’s the tallest bottle. I put it in my orange juice. Tastes weird.”

“The tall one? That’s probably vodka. Go easy on that stuff.” He snorts softly. “And did you say orange juice? Red, you’re pushing my limits.”

I laugh and he joins me, letting out a rich chuckle that’s even more soothing than his regular voice.

He sobers too quickly for my liking. “Seriously, don’t take any sleeping pills or painkillers, okay? They don’t mix with vodka.”

Damn, some painkillers might’ve been a better idea than alcohol, but too late now. “You should have one too,” I murmur.

“With fruit juice?” He snorts, revulsion twisting his voice. “Gross.”

“I dare you.” The stool clatters on the floor as I slip free and retrieve the bottle from the shelf, tilting the label to see. I spell out the letters silently: V. O. D. K. A.

Callisto scoffs, but a moment later, glass clinks. “Let’s see what they’ve got here. I have a miniature bottle of whiskey and one of red wine that’s likely nastier than old socks. Plus milk and apple juice. For the record, I am not doing milk.”

“Apple juice then,” I order, holding in my laughter.

He grunts in disgust, but a moment later I hear liquid sloshing. Callisto talking about mini bottles makes me think he must still be in a hotel.

The alpha clears his throat, and the line crackles a little as he moves around. “Did Ricky stay home because of what happened with his parents at the courthouse?”

“Oh, no. He’s handling that pretty well. He told me all about what those cunts did to him.” I’m getting angry all over again, just thinking about it. Could have been a lot worse too, if Callisto hadn’t shut the situation down. “And thanks, by the way, for stepping in,” I add.

“That’s my job,” he says confidently. Then his tone softens. “I was worried, though. It’s been a really traumatic situation for him. Pretty sure I told you kids bullied him a lot at school, and it got worse when people found out his parents up and left him.”

I tip my glass back and forth, watching the orange liquid slosh. Having no parents at all might be better than having ones that discard you like a paper plate. But neither’s good. “At least he had you,” I mutter before taking another sip.

Callisto grunts. “Yeah, but doesn’t feel like I did enough.”

We hang in solemn silence for a moment, lost in our thoughts but not alone. Then I remember my earlier realization. “You’re staying in a hotel?”

“Yeah, but it’s nice. I’m right across the road from my office, so it’s super convenient.”

My body hurts perching on the stool, so I top my glass up with the vodka and take it over to the couch. “Callisto, I’m sorry about kicking you out of your own house.”

I’m not sorry Zack took the stance he did, but I am sorry it got so messy.

He sighs down the line. “You know, Red, it hurt like hell, but strangely I don’t think Zack was wrong.

I’ve thought about it a lot, and I wasn’t fair to you.

I regretted not being there for you on the first day so much, and in my desperation, I tried to make you need me.

Depend on me. And underhandedly, at that.

I should’ve just been open and expressed myself properly. ”

I lean the cold glass against my forehead, letting his words wash over me.

He goes on. “You’re only just getting on your feet, and you didn’t need that kind of complicated approach.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh. “Honestly, what you’re saying sounds just as complicated.”

Callisto chokes out a laugh. “Sorry. The long and the short of it is your alpha has a strange wisdom about him, as much as I hate to say it.”

I smile. “Yeah, he does.”

“Hey, don’t ever tell him I said that. Shit.”