GABRIEL #2
When I close my eyes, I still see that moment when Edgar pulled away from him on the bed, his heated body flushed from kisses, his nipples pink, and that brief glimpse of his parted, wet hole…
Just the memory makes something in me ache.
The question is: if I wasn’t basically in jail right now, would I crawl back to Marcel on my knees and beg for his mercy and forgiveness? Would I really be that pathetic?
Who knows. Guys like me get called paypigs for a reason. Omegas use them without mercy and give nothing back.
I’m consumed by shame over what I feel, over the fact that despite everything he did to me there’s still this pull inside me, this hunger that keeps reaching toward him, desire that was never satisfied, a craving for his attention, for those rare moments when his hand rested on my shoulder.
I wanted him so badly, but… he could never be mine.
Marcel betrayed me.
Closing this chapter for good is the best decision.
Now here I am, sitting in a glass booth on a completely different life path, one that at least keeps me from doing something stupid like reaching out to him again. He crossed the line, but the truth is, I never really knew how to set boundaries in the first place.
Still deep in my brooding, I suddenly notice something unusual.
A small group of people, four alphas in black masks walking together, escorting someone between them, someone also wearing a face mask like he’s afraid of catching something from the crowd.
It’s a strange procession. Those guys look like bodyguards, but who would need four of them?
The person between them is short, but from this distance I can’t make out much else.
The man walks slowly along the rows of booths with alphas, studying the ones still left after six hours, and it has to be said that all the best-looking alphas are already gone, picked out earlier, leaving the more average ones… and me, the only one left from Second Chance.
The group gradually moves closer in my direction, and I can’t help staring because I haven’t seen anything like this here before. Sure, people come in groups, with friends or family to help them choose, but a guy with bodyguards is something else.
You’d think someone like that wouldn’t need this kind of setup to find a mate. If they can afford security, they probably have options. Money tends to attract people no matter how you look at it.
The person doesn’t stop at any booth for long, just pauses briefly at the information boards, reads them, then moves on.
Eventually, he reaches my booth, and for some reason my heart starts beating faster.
This strange, short omega is wearing large glasses that look electronic, faintly glowing blue like there are tiny LEDs inside them.
The mask covers his entire nose and even part of the area under his eyes, tucked beneath the glasses.
It’s almost impossible to recognize his face. His forehead is hidden behind a fringe, so there’s basically no way to identify him at all.
The only thing that stands out is his hair, a dark sapphire shade, maybe navy.
He stops at my booth and fixes his gaze on the information board.
My whole body stiffens with tension, even though I have no idea why. Plenty of people have read my board before, and I never felt this… exposed.
I watch him closely, and at one point he lifts his gaze just slightly and our eyes meet.
A sharp shiver runs through me, and my hands clench into fists.
What is this? Why am I suddenly more nervous than before?
The omega keeps studying my board, and it lasts noticeably longer than with the others.
I slip my hands into my pockets to steady them and wonder how old he might be.
I’ve heard you can tell by looking at someone’s hands. They don’t lie the way a face can.
He’s slim, dressed in a black turtleneck and a dark navy suit with matching pants, understated, nothing flashy.
His hands, hanging loosely at his sides, catch my attention. Even from this distance, about thirteen feet between us through the thin glass wall, they look… young. Yes, young. Definitely not the hands of someone nearing sixty.
Mr. Gessler straightens in his seat and walks over to the guy.
Since the glass booth is connected to the outside area through a speaker system, I can hear them clearly.
"I see this offer caught your attention," Gessler says politely. "I’m happy to provide any information, assistance, or guidance. At the moment, the only remaining contract is Gabriel’s. He’s a young man who made a certain mistake in life, but nothing that would exclude him from being a suitable candidate for any omega. "
He delivers the same speech he uses on everyone, and it’s already getting on my nerves.
The omega slowly shifts his gaze toward him and tilts his head slightly, studying Gessler.
But he doesn’t answer.
That’s… strange.
Then, unexpectedly, Storm walks into the hall. I know he can monitor everything from his office through the camera system, so something must have caught his attention. He crosses the space in long strides and reaches us in seconds.
"Good to see you again! I’m really glad you made it, and look at that, straight to the point, perfect pick. This is exactly the person I mentioned to you. The solution to your security issues!"
The man stays silent, and I have no idea what’s going on.
Is this really the person Storm was talking about earlier?
That controversial match that was supposed to fit me?
I’ve heard that Storm can find good matches for people, Half Mates, High Mates, even True Mates.
If this person were compatible with me, that would be… something. After all, Marcel was my Half Mate, and I was so drawn to him.
The man finally speaks, his voice serious and cold, almost harsh, with a sharp edge to it.
"I would prefer to discuss this matter in private."
Gessler, completely ignored, just stands there staring awkwardly while Storm practically folds in half and says,
"Of course, please, my office."
What just happened?
As the two of them leave the room with the four bodyguards, I stand up because I literally can’t sit still anymore.
Gessler glances at me, but there’s no answer on his face either. He just shrugs and goes back to his seat, resuming his conversation with the police officer.
I feel like I’m sitting on needles. I can’t stay in one place, shifting, fidgeting, running my fingers through my hair. I have no idea what the hell is going on, and I desperately want to know.
About fifteen minutes later, one of the bodyguards who was with that omega comes back and says something quietly to Gessler and the officer.
Unfortunately, they’re too far from the microphone by the information board, and I can’t hear anything through the glass.
Gessler gives me a brief, assessing look, then opens the booth door.
I clear my throat before he speaks.
"There’s a situation. The gentleman who was here earlier would like to speak with you, but not in the booth, in Storm Nolan’s office. Would that arrangement work for you? Would you like to talk to him?"
For some reason I feel even more stupid than when I was turning down the other candidates. Really, I don’t even understand myself sometimes.
Probably red as hell, I answer, "Yeah… I’d like that."
What am I even doing? I didn’t really get a good look at the guy.
What if he’s some kind of kinky freak, hiding behind that mask like that?
Gessler nods toward the officer, and now comes the less pleasant part. The cop puts the cuffs back on me, along with the ankle restraints.
It’s humiliating as hell to walk across the entire hall like this, chained up and exposed to everyone’s stares. They might as well slap a label on my forehead that says criminal… and loser.
Under all those eyes, I’m escorted out of the alpha hall. We pass the omega and beta halls, but we don’t stop even for a second.
We head into a side corridor where the case handlers’ offices are.
There are three alphas standing outside one of the doors, the same masked bodyguards as before, which means he’s inside alone with Storm.
Gessler knocks lightly, and Storm calls us in.
We enter, the officer, Gessler, and I.
In Storm’s small, dimly lit office, the unfamiliar omega is sitting on the couch. He doesn’t bother getting up when we walk in.
Obviously, he has no intention of shaking hands with either of us.
He’s still wearing the mask.
He looks in our direction, but with only his eyes visible behind those blue-tinted glasses, it’s impossible to read anything from his expression.
Storm walks up to us with that wide, salesman’s grin of his, the kind that belongs to someone who knows exactly how to sell people things.
"Unfortunately, we only have two chairs. Mr. Gessler, please sit. Gabriel, you too."
The officer stays by the wall. I sit down uncertainly and glance at the omega again.
He’s watching me through those glasses, still completely unreadable.
But… strangely enough, I feel like I’m picking up something else from him, like I can sense his presence beyond the mask, like there’s some kind of focused attention directed at me.
I can’t see his face, but I know there’s a real person behind it, and right now he’s…
interested. Or maybe intrigued. That’s the only way I can describe it.
How is it possible that I can read that so clearly?
Storm sits behind his desk, looking oddly animated, almost excited.
"Gabriel, you know your situation. This gentleman would like to speak with you and learn more about your case. Are you willing to explain your situation so he can understand your motives and what led to your offense?"
Wow, when he puts it like that, it sounds heavy. "Your offense." Damn.
Three months ago I never would’ve imagined I’d end up here, explaining myself to a stranger.
Feeling my jaw clench, I clear my throat once, then again, but it’s still tight, so I cough louder. Well, if anyone had doubts about whether I’m nervous, they don’t anymore.
"Well, I…" I have to clear my throat again because my voice sounds like I’ve got a bad infection.