Slick (The Grayverse #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

The only thing that stops me from throwing myself out of the car is that the two alphas sit on either side of me, blocking my access to the doors. Their bodies are overly warm in their black suits, and one of them has eaten something with onions that lingers on his breath. It’s like being wedged into the middle of a meaty sandwich, and my head throbs with the need to purge their cloying scents.

But other than the occasional brush of their arms as they readjust themselves, they ignore me. Instead, they talk over my head, first going into detail about their favorite porn stars, then trading insults about sporting teams I’ve never heard of. Both conversations are confusing, but it doesn’t take me long to work out what a “porn star” does for a living.

I want to squeeze my eyes shut and pretend none of this is happening, but Dex once told me he has to take his chances where he can find them. Good things, for some people, don’t just fall into their laps, and sometimes you have to invent your own luck. Which means listening to the conversation around me and looking out the windows for landmarks I can remember later. None of it’s familiar, which makes me wonder about my life before the center. Was I born here? Did I walk these streets with my family before I presented as an omega? The fact I can’t answer that is overwhelming, but I refuse to give in to panic. If there’s any hope of getting away from these men, I need to have a plan of my own. I can’t wait for Dex or Kane to wake up and save me, so I take shallow breaths and watch the streets flash past.

“Here we are,” the alpha with the gun says sometime later, the car pulling off the road and through a pair of elaborate gold gates. They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen at the center, especially because they’re flanked by a row of female statues, each one curvier than the last. I blink as I take in their nude forms, but the men chuckle, and I slink down further into my seat. Their scents only thicken as we approach a huge pink building with black lettering scrawled across the side: Sultry Studios - the home of heat .

“Home sweet home,” the alpha with the gun says. They introduced themselves during the ride, and I’ve learned that his name is Marcus, and he’s one of Lily Luscious’ top security guys. The alpha who dragged me out of the clinic is called Royce, and he works directly for Donny Carrillo. I’ve heard his name before, but now I know he’s some kind of gang leader, with connections to The Serenity Center. I’m guessing this means they’re about equal in the world of alphas, but they still seem like ugly little bullies next to my mate.

I’ve tried hard not to think of Kane, since I can’t trust my body to hide my reaction. The last thing I ever want to do is perfume in front of a pair of alphas whose favorite porn is something called Wet and Willing . But Marcus barely looks at me as he pulls me out of the car, marching me towards the pink building with Royce bringing up the rear. He enters some digits into a keypad on the wall, then pulls the door open and shoves me inside.

“Come meet Lucious,” he says to Royce, steering me down a black corridor with splashes of hot pink on the walls. “I’ll set you up for the tour after.”

Royce just grunts, but there’s no missing the growing eagerness in his scent, and I grit my teeth. He’s almost panting behind me, and I can feel my stomach working its way up my throat. Where Kane’s arousal made me drop my thighs open and beg for his knot, these alphas make me want to don a slick suit and bury myself under a slab of concrete.

“Luscious, we have your delivery.”

Marcus’ bulk is blocking my view, but now he grabs my arm and drags me forward. The large room is an assault to my senses, and I gape around at the black marble and pink furnishings. There is an alpha statue on either side of an ebony throne –black muscles rippling, and both alarmingly erect - and so many feathers and frills, it feels like we’ve tripped and landed in a giant pink nest. Music is being strummed on a rosewood harp in the corner, and a group of beautiful omegas are sprawled on big, pink cushions in front of the throne. The air is practically pulsing with omega perfume, and it’s as overpowering as the scent of the alphas behind me.

“Bring her to me,” the woman on the throne orders, and I’m nudged forward until I’m standing right at the edge of the field of cushions. I gaze up at the woman, who is a stunning blonde with hair like a golden waterfall, her black dress so thin and silky I can see every inch of her curves, including the dark peaks of her nipples. Her eyes are the pale blue of a collector’s uniform, and her lips are so red and shiny, they look like two slivers of wet candy. “Well, she looks almost as good as she smells.”

The woman’s voice is musical, but I can hear an undercurrent of hostility that makes my spine stiffen. She might think my appearance is appealing, but for some reason, that’s not going to work in my favor.

“My name is Diana,” I tell her, but she waves it aside like it’s irrelevant.

“Was she touched?”

Marcus jolts at the question but then shoots a thumb over his shoulder. “This is Royce Anderson, one of the Carrillos’ guys. He found her at a walk-in clinic.”

I wonder if either of them is going to mention the dead nurse, but the woman now looks Royce’s way. “Well?”

“She smells like an alpha,” he admits, “but there was only a beta in the clinic with her.”

“Was it the vagrant who took her from the center?”

It takes me a moment to make sense of her question. Vagrant is a new word, but I’m pretty sure it’s a homeless person. How she knows details about my escape is less troubling than this reference to Kane. I haven’t had a chance to ask him about his living arrangements, but it pinches my heart to think he might be homeless. But then, aren’t I, too? And what could be better than finding a new home with the two men I love more than anything in the world?

“That’s none of your business.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and the blonde’s gaze swivels back to me. Instead of anger, I see a faint glimmer of something that might be respect. Or maybe it’s just amusement. It’s hard to tell when her scent says one thing, and her face another. “I thought all slick dolls were taught the value of silence.”

I frown because I like that term even less than I like being called a slick sleeve. But before I can tell her so, she waves her hands, which are covered in large, gleaming rings, and the omegas leap off their cushions, scattering through the doors like petals dancing on a draft. Royce makes a disgruntled sound at their departure, but the blonde ignores him as she climbs off her throne and saunters my way. She’s wearing pink pumps with high heels, which gives her a few inches of height over me, and it’s like gazing up at one of those intimidating statues back at the gate. “Do you understand your purpose in life, Omega?”

I’m certain I’m not going to like her view on the matter, so I lift my chin and hold her gaze. “It’s to meet my scent match and live happily ever after.”

Royce gives a rude snort behind me, but the blonde whips her head around, her eyes like chips of ice as she stares down the large man. “We don’t mock dreams here, Mr. Anderson.” When her gaze returns to mine, some of that hardness lingers. “Isn’t it a testament to her resilience that she still has any hope left at all?”

“I guess. But she’s kidding herself if she thinks Donny will ever…”

“Marcus, take our guest on his tour.” The blonde flutters her ringed fingers at her man and he nudges the other alpha, directing him after the omegas. When they’re gone, she kicks off her high heels, and taking my wrist in cool fingers, pulls me down onto one of the pink cushions. She bends like an elegant reed, settling so close that I’m smothered in her scent. It’s strangely familiar, like I’m lying in a field of sun-warmed flowers. “Your purpose, my dear, is the manufacture of slick.”

I try to pull away, but her fingers tighten. “All omega secretions are valuable, but some lucky omegas have a scent that attracts only the richest of admirers.”

I watch her warily. “I suppose that makes sense.”

She smiles, a little smirk that shows her dimples but makes me feel cold all over. “The thing is, an omega’s scent is like a signature, and a powerful alpha can tell one from another, even in a crowded room. Your perfume, they could probably track right across the city.”

I’ve always known I have a potent scent. New collectors have commented on it, and Dex often tells me I give him a head rush when I first walk into the room. But this woman – Luscious, if that’s even her real name – has a powerful scent that’s almost a mirror of my own. Does she see me as some kind of competition? “I don’t understand. Are you saying you want to do something to my scent?”

Her laughter tinkles like broken glass down a drain. “I’m saying I own your scent, my dear, along with everything that goes with it. That’s the arrangement I have with the owners of your facility.”

I blink, wondering if I’ve heard her wrong. “They’ve been… selling my scent. How?” I think back over what I know about the center, and my stomach almost lurches into my throat. “My slick?”

“Distilled into perfumes, lotions, even luxury candles, for that whole-room ambience.” She giggles, like it’s a wonderful joke. “The majority of the product that comes out of those factories is sold on the black market, but I pay a premium to have exclusive rights to every drop of you . That makes you important to me, but it also means I’m a very valuable client of your owners.”

My owners . Because they haven’t been using my slick to find my scent match. They’ve been selling it to awful people like the woman in front of me. “But why? You’re an omega, too. Why do you need my scent…?”

Her fingers tighten on my wrist until I gasp in pain. “Well, as you said a moment ago, that’s none of your business.”

“But it’s my slick. My scent. You can’t just steal it!”

Instead of squeezing my bones some more, her hand flies back, then whips forward across my cheek. Her rings bite into my tender skin and I smell my blood on the air, bright and shocking. The sting quickly deepens into an ache, but Luscious grips my chin, yanking my face so close I can taste old apricots – her real scent – on my tongue. “I can do whatever I want, you stupid little bitch! I own this studio, I own the gash that grinds its wheels, and I definitely own a mindless omega whose own father sold her into slick slavery.”

I don’t know why the image pierces the red haze that fills my mind, but I’m suddenly back in that rusty car with a cracked windshield. A man with lank, greasy hair is sitting in the driver’s seat, while I curl into a tight ball behind him. My heart is thumping, and the man is swearing, long fingers strangling the steering wheel. I can smell my slick in the air, but it’s faint and bruised, like crushed flowers. My father – jittery, angry, his eyes slicing me through the mirror like twin knives – reeks of despair, but he keeps shaking his head and muttering two words: Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it…

It takes me a moment to realize I’m saying it, too. “Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it.” Because one of Luscious’ pink pumps is in my hand, and I’m bringing the needle-sharp heel down against the side of her head. Her scream is a breathless wail, but I’m already shoving her into a gap between the cushions, her eyes rolling back as her head strikes the black marble floor. I toss the pump down next to her, then quickly cover her with the cushions. I pant, my chest heaving. I don’t know if she’s dead, or just dazed, but I’m certain she’ll kill me if she ever fights her way out of her pink grave.

Run, Diana!

I can almost hear Dex’s voice howling in my ear, urging me to flee. It gives me the courage to scramble away from the pile of cushions and dash across the room towards a door. It’s in the opposite direction to the one the alphas took, but I still brace myself as I push it open. But there’s only a dimly lit corridor on the other side, and I run blindly down it, looking for a way out. More doors, all closed, and boxes stacked against a wall. I can feel my pulse pounding in my temple – right around where I hit that awful omega with her own shoe – but I refuse to give into my panic. I said I was looking for a chance to escape, and this has to be it.

Just as I reach the door at the end of the corridor, it opens, and a guy walks in with a clipboard in hand and a phone tucked against his ear. I freeze, but he barely glances at me as he passes, and I catch the door before it shuts. There is a small table outside with some bottled water and a few more clipboards stacked on it, and I snatch up one of each. At the last moment, I grab a baseball cap that someone left behind, and twisting my hair into a messy bun, shove it down on my head.

I walk with no awareness of where I’m going, the passing faces a chaotic blur. I just want to get as far away from that horrible room as I can, and those alphas who will probably kill me for hurting their precious porn star. I can feel the wound on my cheek like a red flag, but I keep my eyes on the clipboard, the brim of my cap pulled low. But my few glances at my surroundings reveal Lily Luscious’ name scrawled across almost every surface in vivid pink script. It seems that everything at Sultry Studios really does belong to her, my scent included.

Fuck that.

The curse feels good, and I let it reverberate in my mind as I stride across her lot. Just like my father said - before he apparently sold me - nothing matters except for my own selfish interests. And in this case, that means getting away from this awful place and back to Dex and Kane.

And I don’t care if I have to go through an entire closet of bright pink pumps to do it.

I keep walking until the crowd thins to a trickle. The smart people in pink and black polo shirts have been replaced by workers in overalls and worn jeans. Slabs of what I think are background scenery are stacked beside forklifts and wheelbarrows. The air is dustier back here, but also cleaner too, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see a chain-link fence ahead of me. Beyond it is thick greenery – a park, or maybe even a forest - but my excitement turns to a groan when I spy the razor wire looped across the top. If I try to climb that, I’ll tear myself to pieces. But if I turn around now, chances are I’ll walk straight into Marcus and the rest of Luscious’ security.

My only choice, it seems, is to hide out in the trailer parked next to the fence. All the other ones are parked closer to the studio, but this one has a dumpster on one side and a rusted truck on the other. Something about it feels defiant, like it would prefer to be parked under the trees instead of on this dusty corner of the lot. And instead of the familiar pink and black color scheme, the exterior is painted a cool mint green. There’s a small name engraved on a plaque – Rowan Vale – and I pause, wondering who that is. Not that it makes any difference, since I’ve run out of other options.

“Hello?” I crack the door open just enough to call out, but my greeting is met by silence. Relieved, I quickly step inside and latch the door behind me. The interior is lit by two small lamps, giving the room a warm glow, and I wonder at the instant feeling of safety, like I’ve crawled into a deep, warm den. Maybe it’s the turquoise velvet sofa and leather armchairs, or the line of potted plants next to a glass tank filled with tropical fish. Or maybe it’s because whoever lives here has been baking the most delicious cookies I’ve ever smelled…

Omega, but without that heavy sweetness that leaves a cloying residue inside my skull.

Almond cookies, or maybe gingerbread…

The scent draws me further into the trailer, over to the small kitchenette. To my disappointment, there’s nothing cooling on the bench, but I don’t give myself time to wallow. Instead, I creep towards the bedroom, peering around the door to make sure the occupant isn’t asleep. The bed is empty, but I linger, staring at the rumpled sheets. For some reason, they’re calling to me, so tantalizing that my mouth actually waters.

But I force myself to cross the room without touching the bed, only stopping when I reach the bathroom. It’s small, like the rest of the trailer, but there’s a tub in the corner that could easily fit two. I hurry to fill it, dumping a combination of bath bombs and scented oils into the water. Lavender, bergamot, and orange fill the air, intensifying in the thick steam. While it fills, I strip off the borrowed baseball cap and the blue uniform from the clinic. I set the cap on the counter, but roll the rest of the clothes into a ball and stuff them into a trash can. When I’m done, I step over the edge of the tub and plunge into the water. It’s scorching hot, but I force my head under, my hair floating around me like dark tentacles in a lake.

My heart is still hammering with adrenaline, but peace, of a sort, envelopes me. Bubbles pop against my tender cheek, and it’s so hot I can’t feel my toes, but I close my eyes and sink deeper.

It’s time to make a plan.