Chapter 39 – JUNIPER
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
JUNIPER
T he dress feels like wearing someone else's skin.
It's made of expensive silk, clinging in all the places that make me look delicate instead of deadly.
I stare at my reflection in the vanity mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back.
Soft pink fabric that makes my skin look like porcelain, hair pinned up in some elaborate twist that took Elias an hour to perfect because apparently he has hidden hairdressing skills, and makeup that transforms my face into something innocent and breakable.
Perfect bait for the sharks we're about to swim with.
The shadows cluster in the corners of the room, whispering their approval. Pretty little doll, they sing. Pretty little trap.
"You look gorgeous."
Carlisle's voice makes me jump, which pisses me off because I should have heard him coming.
But he moves like a ghost when he wants to, filling the doorway in one of those designer suits that makes it look like the fabric was woven just for him.
The all-black ensemble makes his golden hair look even brighter, those blue eyes sharp as the knives I know he's got hidden under that perfectly tailored jacket.
"I look like a porcelain doll off the clearance rack," I mutter, adjusting the neckline that shows just enough cleavage to be enticing without being obvious. Because apparently omega trafficking has a fucking dress code.
"Not clearance." He glides into the room with that confident stride that makes everything he does look choreographed. "The finest boutique in Paris, perhaps. Though I'll admit, you don't quite look yourself."
His fingers trail along my bare shoulder, and I suppress the shiver that wants to follow his touch. "No?"
"I prefer you in leather combat gear," he murmurs, moving to stand behind me so we're both reflected in the mirror. His hands settle on my waist, thumbs brushing the silk. "Or my shirt." His lips find my ear, breath hot against my skin. "But my absolute favorite is nothing at all."
"Naughty boy," I accuse, but I'm already leaning back against him, my body responding to his proximity like it always does.
"Guilty as charged." His teeth graze my earlobe, and my knees go a little weak. "Though I wouldn't mind seeing those assassin pants you promised. The really fucking tight ones."
I laugh, spinning in his arms to face him properly. "Maybe after we murder everyone at this auction, I'll model them for you."
"Such a romantic." His hand cups my face, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "Promising me fashion shows and mass murder. How did I get so lucky?"
"I got hired to kill you," I remind him. I pull him down for a kiss that starts teasing and quickly turns hungry. His tongue slides against mine, and he tastes like expensive whiskey and psychopathy, my favorite flavors.
He backs me against the vanity, hands sliding up my thighs, pushing the dress higher. "We have time," he murmurs against my mouth. "The auction doesn't start for another hour."
"My makeup?—"
"I'll fix it." His fingers find the edge of my underwear, and I'm about to tell him to fuck the mission and fuck me instead when?—
"Are you seriously getting handsy right now?" Bane's voice booms from the doorway, and Carlisle pulls back with a dramatic sigh.
"Your timing is impeccable as always," Carlisle says, straightening his tie like he wasn't just about to finger-fuck me against the furniture.
Bane fills the doorway like an annoyed grizzly bear, dressed in tactical gear that makes him look even more massive than usual. "We're ready to go. Don't get your pheromones all over our girl. She needs to smell unclaimed, not freshly fucked."
Our girl.
My heart does this stupid flutter at the term, and I hate how much I love hearing it. Like I belong to them. Like I'm theirs.
Which I guess I am, in every way that matters except the one that would make it permanent. But marks can wait until after we've dealt with whoever wants us dead.
"Fine," I huff, smoothing down my dress and checking my reflection one more time. Carlisle is right. I don't look like myself. I look like the mask I had to wear for so long, but this time, I'm putting it on willingly. "Let's go play dress-up and commit some mass murder of sick freaks."
"That's my girl," Carlisle purrs, offering me his arm.
I link my arm in his and freeze as soon as we step into the hall at the sight that greets me.
Felix.
Holy shit, Felix in a suit should be illegal in several countries.
He's standing in the hallway looking like every wet dream I've ever had came to life and decided to wear Armani.
The charcoal grey suit fits him perfectly, highlighting his lean build, making him look sophisticated and dangerous in equal measure.
His silver eyes catch mine, and there's something in them that makes my mouth go dry.
"You clean up nice," I manage, trying not to drool openly. And I can tell the alphas are having the same problem, except in their case, they have to worry about a knife in their balls.
He adjusts his cuffs with those elegant fingers that have killed more people than I can count. "Had to look the part. Beta handler to a high-value omega requires a certain... aesthetic."
That's when I notice it, or rather, don't notice it. The sharp chemical tang of artificial alpha pheromones is completely absent even though we're going on a mission. He smells like winter mornings and Felix, but muted, dampened down to beta levels by the suppressants.
"No alpha cologne today?" I ask, moving closer to him.
He shrugs, but there's something vulnerable in the gesture. "Didn't feel the need for it. Beta works better for the cover anyway."
My chest tightens with hope. The fact that he's not hiding behind that alpha mask feels like progress. Like maybe he's getting more comfortable with who he is, with us, with this life we're building together.
"Well, you smell fucking scrumptious as any classification," I tell him, pulling him down for a kiss that's softer than the one I shared with Carlisle but no less intense.
"And you look exquisite, as always," he says, stroking a strand behind my ear as he lets his gaze drift over me appreciatively. "Although, I do prefer you in red."
"Likewise," I purr, kissing him deeper.
"Again?" Bane groans from behind us. "You really can't keep your hands off us, can you?"
I pull back from Felix just enough to shoot Bane a wicked grin. "What can I say? You're all very touchable. It's not my fault you're walking around looking like a buffet of daddy issues and dangerous men."
Carlisle barks out a laugh. "I'm putting that on my business card. Carlisle Thoreau, Daddy Issues and Dangerous Men Buffet."
"Can we focus?" Bane says, but his hazel eyes are warm with affection even as he tries to be the responsible one. "We have an auction to infiltrate."
Felix offers me his arm, and I take it, letting him lead me toward the front door where the others are waiting.
Archer's dressed like security, all black tactical gear and earpiece, looking every inch the yummy bodyguard.
Elias has gone for sophisticated patron, a navy suit that brings out his eyes, silver hair styled back in a way that makes him look like old money.
And the car I see waiting outside the door that makes me stop dead in my tracks.
"Holy shit," I breathe, rushing past the alphas and up to the car, practically pressing my face against the window. "Is that?—"
"Bentley Continental GT," Felix finishes, and there's actual appreciation in his voice. "W12 engine, zero to sixty in 3.6 seconds, top speed of 208 miles per hour."
"Carlisle procured it for the occasion," Bane explains, looking vaguely annoyed at the extravagance. "Said it was completely necessary."
Carlisle twirls the keys with unnecessary flair. "We need to show up in style. We need to look like we can afford you."
The leather interior smells like money, and I run my hands over the seats with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts or really good weapons.
"I want one," I announce. "In red."
"That can be arranged," Carlisle purrs.
"Murder first, luxury cars later," Felix reminds me, but he's running his fingers along the dashboard with the same appreciation.
"You've all got your positions?" Bane asks, shifting into mission mode. "We'll be right behind you at all times. You're never alone, understand? Archer and I will be security, Elias and Carlisle are posing as buyers."
"Roger that," Felix says with zero inflection, even though I can tell he's absolutely making fun of Bane. Something that goes over the burly alpha's head, but not the others, judging from the way they're trying not to snicker.
"Understood, Daddy Bear," I say, leaning up on my toes to kiss his cheek.
Bane goes beet red. "What are you?—"
"Tactical kiss," I deadpan. "Very important for mission success."
Elias actually chuckles, and opens the door for me. "Be good and be safe," he whispers, leaving me with a soft kiss that takes my breath away.
The door closes and Felix starts the engine. "Ready?" he asks, looking over at me.
"More than ready," I assure him.
We start down the road, and I see the headlights of two very nondescript SUVs tailing us. Strange how that actually makes me feel safe.
Felix is silent on the drive, but I'm not as eager to break it as I probably would be under different circumstances. Tonight is our first mission out since meeting the pack. Our first foray back into the world we escaped, even if it's only temporary.
When the theater finally comes into view, my heart rate kicks up a notch.
It looks innocent enough from the outside—an old theater that's been converted into an upscale venue, all art deco architecture and subtle wealth. But I know better. The shadows know better. They're screaming now, recognizing this place for what it is.
Souls for sale.
"You sure about this?" Felix asks as he pulls into the valet line. "Once we're inside, we're committed."
"I've been sure since the moment they told us what this place was," I say, checking my reflection one more time. The innocent omega looking back at me is a mask, a weapon as deadly as any knife. "These bastards have been operating for too long."
Felix squeezes my hand, a silent reminder that he's here, that I'm not alone. "I know, but you can still back out," he says quietly. "No one would think less of you."
I turn to face him, letting him see the steel underneath the silk. "I'm not backing out."
The valet opens my door, and I slip into character like putting on a second skin. Demure omega, eyes downcast, movements careful and docile. Felix exits behind me, immediately taking position as my handler, protective but not possessive, professional but not familiar.
He presents our invitation to the doorman, a burly alpha who looks us over with the kind of assessment that makes my skin crawl. But the invitation Felix presents him is perfect, Carlisle's connections coming through once again, and we're waved inside.
The lobby is adorned with marble and crystal, beautiful in the way that expensive things often are. But underneath the perfume and polish, I can smell it. Fear. The lingering scent of omegas who've passed through these doors and left into yet another hell.
The shadows cluster closer, their whispers turning to snarls.
Time to hunt.
Felix's hand finds the small of my back, steadying me as we move deeper into the building. "Ready?" he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.
I think about the weapons hidden under my dress, the plan we've rehearsed a dozen times, the pack that's infiltrating alongside us. I think about every omega who's been sold in this place, every life destroyed, every horror perpetrated.
"Let's burn this fucking place to the ground," I whisper back.
His lips quirk in that almost-smile that makes my heart race. "That's my girl."
And we walk into hell, ready to become the demons.