Page 10 of Indigo

It all looks so good, and then she watches us, denying everyone a smile and keeping her emotions close to her chest. Damn, she’s tough, and I’ve been intrigued since day one.

This makes my job harder. The responsibility weighs me down, and I round the desk and sit in the chair, breathing out slowly and trying to make sense of things. We are supposed to advocate for them all, but how can I do that properly when all I want is to bury deep inside my Omega?

The Alliance is dragging their feet. What was supposed to last a couple of weeks has now been four months. I had to inject money here when they wouldn’t, which is not my job. In the past four months, I made sure to meet with each one of them and learn how best to support them. I’ve been asking for therapists, medical support, and documentation, yet every single request was met with silence. Not refusal, just nothing.

There’s no one for them but us. I knew that coming in, but now… Now I can’t think straight. Indigo consumes my thoughts.Everything I am is screaming her name, gasping for a release only she can provide.

“How can this even happen after four months?” Cassidy pulls me out of my thoughts.

“They weren’t in full health when we found them,” I hypothesize. “I warned the Alliance. I told them we needed testing. I wanted to avoid this, right here.Fuck.”

I can’t stay still. I leave the desk where I just sat down and start pacing. Cassidy watches me move for a second. He’s at a loss for words after this development, and damn, that’s a fucking first.

“You wanted to avoid this?” he finally says.

The venom in his voice drips down his chin, and I reel back when I hear the implications in his tone.

“Not the scent-matching. I wanted to avoid catching them unaware. I sent multiple messages to the Alliance to blood test everyone in the facility.”

“It wouldn’t change the outcome,” Cassidy growled.

I shake my head. “No, but we would’ve been given time to talk to her. Maybe planned the way we could break it to her.”

Hank nods, agreeing with me, but I can see he’s just as confused, trying to waddle through the muddy thoughts. I want to fix the situation and help Indigo come to terms with this, but all my blood is pulsing down my cock.

“I need to let the Alliance know.” I blow out a breath, trying to organize my thoughts.

“The Alliance?” Cassidy scoffs. “That’s what’s inyour mind?Fuck me, Nash. We just scent-matched. Sour Peach just ran away with her big eyes terrified. The Alliance can suck my knot.”

“Sour Peach?” Hank raises a brow.

Cassidy shrugs, and before he has a chance to explain his little nickname, I raise a palm to stop them.

“We can’t look after the other Omegas like this. Especially when Indigo goes through heat. We can’t neglect them because of this. We need help. We need—”

“Nash is right.” Hank clears his throat. “We are compromised.”

Cassidy growls, but eventually nods. He might work for the Alliance, but he’s not exactly happy about it. He doesn’t believe in the effectiveness of our government, and it is hard for me to say he’s not wrong. But I believe in being a good presence inside a corrupt government. That’s what Dominic was until they fired him.

“I’ll call Dominic,” I say.

“What can he do from the unemployment line?” Cassidy asks.

“Fuck me if I know, but he can tell me where to go.Whoto talk to.”

“I agree,” Hank says. “I don’t know if I trust the Alliance when they refuse to test the Omegas,” he shakes his head. “The scent-matching program is their pride and joy. But we have thirty unmated Omegas and they won’t even blood test them for matches?”

He’s not wrong. Since the Alliance discovered the first lost Omega living among Betas, they started a scent-matching program. They have been giving everything to it, every resource. So why aren't they texting these Omegas? I don’t have the answer, but it has become very clear that the only person I could trust was fired.

Before I start putting all my fears into words, I just grab the landline and press the numbers I know by heart.

“Dominic Savage,” he answers on the other side.

“We scent-matched.”

No sugar-coating, I hate that, and I know he does too. I don’t identify myself. He knows it’s always me calling him about this shithole of an operation.

“Fuck,” he hisses.