Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

brANSON

The on-call housing is nearly silent as I push my way through the doors, arms laden with food. With the ambulance gone, it means I have the place to myself until they get back. A frown tilts my lips as I glance up at the clock. Mikey is supposed to be back by now, so I can take the rest of his shift.

Christine is inducing soon, and she'll kill him if he's not there. It's not like him to be late, but then, he might be stuck on a call that's far more time-consuming than it should be. I can only hope he gets to her in time. She'll have my head if he isn't.

Shrugging out of my light jacket, I put up the perishables and keep my phone handy in case I need to make an emergency run in the other vehicle. Granted, it only has the basic necessities and is certainly not equipped to haul people to the hospital if needed, but I can swap it out with Mikey in a pinch.

A loud screech fills the house as the ambulance returns, coming in hot. Something's not right. Usually when Jackson drives, he's gentle, as if transporting someone's mama to church while she's holding a casserole. Shoving the last of the food into the fridge, I dust off my hands and step out into the garage.

"Everything good, Mikey?" I call out.

"Oh yeah. Just Mrs. Conners needing her weekly wellness check."

A large grin splits my lips as I cross my arms. "How is the old bird, anyway?"

"Still as old as ever. Somehow, her eyesight has deteriorated rather quickly. So she had to feel around while I was taking her vitals."

A chuckle vibrates through my chest. "And I'm sure you just hated that. Is that why I'm taking your shift today? Need to blow off some steam?"

"You wish." His shoulders shudder as his face nearly turns green. "I don't think I'll ever be able to scrub it from my mind. ‘Come here, sonny,'" he mimics the old woman. "‘I can't see you that well. Come closer.' Only to have her reach out for my," his lips thin as he does a set of air quotes, "arm."

"As if your cock is big enough to be mistaken for an arm," I tease, shaking my head.

"Hey. You don't know. To her bony fingers, I'm sure my pinky feels huge."

"That's what size it is? A pinky?"

"You know what I mean-"

Jackson hops out of the front and grabs my uniform, interrupting our banter as he tosses it to me. "Make this quick. We have a live one."

"Any other molestation stories?" I quip, pulling my jacket on. "Or can I go save some lives?"

"Whatever," he mutters under his breath as he shakes his head.

"Hey. Tell Christine I say hi. And you better name part of that baby after me."

"She's a girl!"

"So? I'm sure you'll figure out something." With a large grin, I open the back and pound on the door before slipping inside.

The instant I get into the back of the ambulance, my mind kicks into gear. It's all fun and games when I'm in the house, but back here, I don't allow any shenanigans to get in the way. As we bump along the road, I check everything over, making sure anything I might need is at my disposal.

Once I'm satisfied, I go up near the front. "Any word on what's going on?"

"Not a clue," Jackson barks out. "Just that. It's all hands on deck. A call came in from over in the upper east end. Caller hung up and wouldn't answer when dispatch returned the call."

"It could just be a prank."

"You would think that, but it came from the Astencourt residence. We can't be too careful."

My blood runs cold as we race toward the scene. Astencourt. I know that name. Hell, everyone knows that name. They're one of the five families, old money through and through. Gripping my fingers into fists, I do some breathing to keep calm.

If there's one place you don't want an emergency, it's at the house of one of the five families. Rich people always have a way of making things far more difficult than they need to be. Jackson weaves in and out of traffic, maneuvering the ambulance with an almost god-like skill. Soon, we pull up to the ornate gate and stop. It's not open.

Hopping out the back, I clutch my kit to my chest as I weave my way through police and fire personnel all gathered about, looking lost. "What's going on? Is anyone hurt?"

"We don't know yet," an officer barks out, stress wafting from him until the stench is nearly nauseating. "Can't get this damned gate to open, and if there's anyone inside, they're not opening it for us."

My brows furrow as I glance up at the mansion. From an upper window, I see a flash of movement and long brown hair streaking just out of sight. "There. Up there. Someone is definitely inside."

Walking over to the keypad at the gate, I bring my communicator close by and punch in a few codes. Just as I thought. An older model. I reach around the back and feel for a set of wires and tug until they come loose. After I wait ten seconds, I shove it back in and turn to the massive hunk of iron and patina. Like candy from a baby.

The groan it gives as it finally heaves open can rival any horror movie, but at least we're in. Hanging back, I let the police go first so they can secure the area. My hair stands on end as my gaze flicks about, looking for whatever threat, seen or unseen, might have caused someone in this house to call emergency services, but so far, I see nothing.

Honestly, the only thing really out of place is how eerily quiet it is. Where are the servants? A place this massive has to have an equally impressive staff. That is, unless they're all slaughtered, and the brown-haired girl is the only survivor.

But that's ridiculous. Just the machinations of a caffeine-fueled brain and not as much sleep as I would like. This should teach me to offer to come in on an off day after a horror movie bender.

Shaking my head, I make the trek up the manicured lawn and stones, chuckling under my breath. Maybe a torture porn marathon wasn't the smartest way to spend my off days? Still though, something isn't right, but I just can't put my finger on it, and my gut is usually spot on.

Soon, the police file out, their lips set in a thin line, but so far, no one is calling for heavier artillery. "Ace, you're up."

"What about the killer?"

"No killer. Not one that we can find. I'm very close to thinking this is a prank, but the girl is in hysterics. See if you can calm her down so we can figure out what's going on."

So it's going to be one of those days. Got it. Poor little rich girl finally at the end of her rope.

Reaching into my bag, I pull out a syringe and prime it before placing the cap back on and slipping it into my pocket. The officers and fire personnel part, giving me clear access inside.

At first, however, I don't see the girl. Hell, I don't see anyone. Again, that thought nags the back of my brain. Where in the hell are all the staff?

The enormous foyer is cavernous, nearly swallowing me whole. There's money and then there's money , money. Though I've never been in the same room as an Astencourt before, it's clear from just this little bit I'm seeing, they definitely have money , money.

Soft sniffles catch my attention, pulling my gaze over toward the stairs. The stench of fear washes over me, making my stomach churn.

"I'm coming upstairs," I boom out as loud as I can, so I don't startle the girl by just appearing up there.

"Please," the small, feminine voice cries out, her words nearly dripping with hysteria, "I need them gone." Not at all my intended effect.

"Can't do that, sweetheart." Taking a deep breath, I soften my tone a bit. "Not until I know what's wrong with you."

"I- It's- I- Nothing. Okay. It's nothing. It was an accidental call."

Padding my way down the hall, I follow the voice. "I need to see for myself so I can give them the all clear. Can you do that for me? Can you let me see you?"

A door opens, revealing a disheveled omega, her green eyes nearly glowing with how fiercely she's crying. "Please," she sobs. "I'm fine. Well... sort of. But I won't be if you don't get them off the lawn."

"Look, I think your yard will survive some tire marks. Don't you have a landscaper to make it all better?"

"You've got jokes," she spits out before sliding back into her room to pace.

"What I have is a sense of humor, and it's starting to wear thin. I don't want to incapacitate you, but you're leaving me little choice."

"If I promise to tell you what's wrong, can you please get them out of here? I just need one person. One person. That's it. That's all. What's wrong with me doesn't need police. Do you see or smell smoke? No. The fire department doesn't need to be here either."

"What's the harm in having them here?" I lower my tone, doing my absolute best to be a calm, soothing presence for this distraught omega.

"What harm? What harm? Do you know who the fudge I am?"

A bark of laughter catches in my throat at her whispered non-expletive. "Why don't you tell me? And while you're at it, tell me how old you are."

"I'm Emmeline Astencourt. Nineteen."

"Tell me, Emmeline Astencourt, nineteen, what's the harm? All these people are here to make sure you're okay."

Her fingers clench into fists as she walks back over to the window. Anxiety rolls off of her in waves, tempting me to give her some ketamine so she'll calm the fuck down. "I need you to talk to me, Emmeline. I can't help you if you don't talk to me. Why did you call emergency services?"

"God, if the reporters see," she mutters under her breath as she paces. "My mother will kill me. She'll literally kill me. The last thing they need is a scandal. I can't. I just can't."

I stride over to her and wrap my fingers around her arms, stopping her mid-pace. "Are you a junkie? Is that what this is about?"

Her eyes widen as if I've just cursed her grandmother to her face. "Somehow, I think that would be better. It's acceptable for rich brats to end up in rehab. Oh, god. Why couldn't this have been drug related?"

Physically, she looks fine. There are no obvious cuts or scrapes. No blood that I can see. But until I sit her down and actually take her vitals, or god forbid, have her tell me what's actually wrong, I can't, in good conscience, ask the others to leave.

"Then why did you call EMS?"

"It was an accident," she wails. "I thought- I thought-" Hiccups interrupt her words, but she swallows and continues. "I was too embarrassed. I hung up."

"And when they tried to call you back?"

"It was still too embarrassing. I- I don't know what to do, okay? I panicked. I never called EMS before. I never had to."

"Give me something, sweetheart. I can't make them leave until you tell me what's happening."

"I-" her face goes red, almost the exact shade of a ripe strawberry, just perfect for plucking. At first, I worry she's not going to tell me, but then her lips part as she wets her bottom lip with her tongue. "It's stuck."

My heart pounds in my chest as I go on high alert again. "What's stuck? Where?"

"My- My- Oh God," she cries. "This is so mortifying. I put a- a- plug up my bottom, and it won't come out. Please. I can't have this humiliation go public. I need you to help me. But without an audience. Please."

Far different emotions swirl through me as I watch the omega lose it. A butt plug up the ass. Well, isn't that quite a pickle? Unfortunately, my cock thinks the idea of seeing her bent over, a shiny gem winking up at me, isn't the worst thing to look at. Lucky for me, she doesn't seem to notice as my pants begin to tighten.

" In you , in you? Like it went all the way into your rectum? Did it have a flared base?"

She looks at me, bewilderment etched in every frantic line of her face. "I don't know what that means. Please. Can you help me?"

"Let me see."

"What?" She cries out, hysteria lacing her tone.

"I need to assess the damage."

"But... But you can't."

Confusion flits through my brain as I watch her glance about. "How else did you think I was going to help you?"

"I don't know. Talk me through it? Tell me how to get it out of me?"

"If it's up your anus, I'll need to take you to the hospital so they can surgically remove it."

"What?" she screeches, stepping back from me. "That's even worse. There will be forms, my parents will be notified. No. That can't happen. You have to find another way."

"Right now, I don't even know what way there is to go unless you show me."

Her face deepens in color as she grips the sides of her pants. "Please. You don't need the rest of them here, do you? Not to look at it. Please, oh please," she begs, making me wish she was pleading with me for something far more sexual. "Just help me."