Chapter Eight
DYLAN
Iwoke up refreshed but achy. The sheets still bore the remnants of my heat, much to the delight of the omega in me, but I wasn’t all sticky and gross. My chest hurt a bit, though. I hadn’t had the chance to pump before my cycle swept through like a tornado.
Sadness crept in, dimming the sated glow.
My baby still wasn’t with me.
Caine’s scent was everywhere. On my skin, on the bed.
His pheromones and his cum. Irritation swarmed in my gut.
He’d fucked me even when I didn’t want it, but .
. . he’d obviously taken care of me. I was conflicted, and it pissed me off even more.
He’d left again. The realisation hurt, and I didn’t know why.
I hated him, and I hated it even more that my body had begged for him last night.
I hadn’t had a heat in a year. It should have come every six months, but because of not eating enough and the pressure I was under, my body must have felt it wasn’t the right time.
Being here now, in close contact with the father of my child, it must’ve changed its mind.
I’d spent so long stressed and on edge, and I still was, but for some fucked-up reason, my instincts saw this as a safe place.
With my Alpha.
I scoffed. He wasn’t my anything. Just a gangster I was using to get Minnie back, and then he’d be nothing to me again.
That scent, though. Dark and earthy. The room was saturated with it, and I couldn’t help burying further under the duvet just to bask in it.
I was out of my heat, but the effects lingered in the background like a shadow—a cloak of warmth and pleasure—and it had me hankering to stay here and roll around in my rumpled, fragrant nest all day.
How could one scent be so appealing?
The guy was also exactly my type in appearance. Strong. Muscular. Tattooed. And those grey streaks in his dark hair . . . the salt and pepper beard? Criminal. It should be illegal to be so handsome but also the biggest twat alive.
With a resigned sigh, I whipped the covers off me, in case my impulses took it one step further and I started fucking purring.
I got dressed in the clothes I brought with me—a simple baggy T-shirt and ripped jeans.
I’d wanted to avoid the Alpha while I was here, at least until he brought good news, but it irked me knowing he’d taken advantage while I was in that state.
I was here for one reason and one reason only, and it wasn’t to milk his knot.
I asked Brian, my appointed bodyguard, where the bastard was, and he looked hesitant, but I supposed the impatience on my face encouraged him to rethink.
He escorted me through the hall and down the spiral staircase I’d trudged up to get to my room four days ago.
I hadn’t paid much attention then, but it was pretty grand, very fairytale-esque—or “mafia boss with more money than sense.”
We traipsed along another hall, through a couple of doors, up another set of stairs, along another damned hall—how fucking big was this place?
—and eventually we reached a door that sat alone at the end of a corridor.
“Is this the west wing or . . .” I joked, flapping the collar of my T-shirt to cool the sweat.
Brian shook his head. “The east,” he corrected. “You’re in the west wing.”
“Ah.”
I glanced around. There were no guards here.
We’d passed at least six on the journey—two being stationed at the end of the hall near my room.
Stiff, poised, and alert, all wearing the same black suits with blue ties, all super imposing.
Like statues. They were all betas, judging by the lack of scent, and I didn’t doubt there’d be more of them posted around, skulking in the dark.
I guessed the big bad leader of the pack didn’t need a bodyguard.
Though there was a camera above the door, its red light trained directly on me.
I didn’t bother to knock.
“You knotted me without my consent,” I announced in greeting. Caine was sitting behind a desk, his eye already on the door. As if he’d known I was there.
A woman stood beside him—tall, muscular, her blonde hair tied into a slick bun. There was an earpiece over her right ear, and she was decked in the same outfit as the other guards.
He does need one too.
“Leave us,” he said, in that emotionless tone of his. The woman dipped her head and advanced toward the door. She offered a nod to me too before leaving, shutting me in.
The scent was even more potent here.
I tried to ignore it.
I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to step any further into the room.
It was menacingly big, like the rest of the house, and his desk was positioned at the very far end—angled away from the windows, and dramatically shadowed as if to add an extra touch of intimidation.
I had to raise my voice to make sure it carried.
“Well . . . what have you got to say for yourself?”
His elbow was on the desk, his head balancing on three fingers. The other hand stippled the wood. “You expect an apology?”
“Uh, would be nice, yeah? Or I don’t know, some fucking accountability, but hey . . .” I threw up my hands. “That’s on me. I should’ve known better. That shit’s not your strong suit.”
His face remained impassive, but there was a twitch in his jaw as if he was grinding his teeth. Good. “I didn’t even touch you,” he droned. “I coaxed you through your heat, I cleaned you up, and I left.”
“Oh yeah? Then why was your scent all over the bed? You think I’m stupid.” It wasn’t a question. I already sensed his opinion that I was some dumb omega with only air in my head. Well, fuck him.
“I’m not made of stone,” he answered, and he could’ve fooled me. “Believe me or don’t. I don’t care, but I didn’t touch you. Your heat broke, and I left you alone as you wished.”
He seemed resolute and it had me wavering. It was the scent, making me more agreeable. “But I was knotted?”
“A toy, and a well-timed gust of pheromones.”
There was a knotting dildo on the side table when I woke up, now that I thought about it, but it had felt real. At least, I thought it had. I’d been too out of it to know for sure, but since it’d curbed the heat so quickly, I’d suspected it couldn’t be fake. “But—”
“I have no intention of knotting you,” he cut in. “I made that mistake once already, which in my opinion was once too many. At least be assured in that.”
The wind was leaving my sails. “You said you didn’t touch me . . .”
“I did not.”
“Then how did you clean me?”
He levelled me with a flat look. “My mistake. I didn’t touch you intimately. Though, contrary to your beliefs, I’m not a complete heathen. I washed you with a damp cloth since you were so covered in slick and cum.”
I felt my face heat.
I tore my gaze away.
“Fine.” It didn’t matter anyway. My cycle was over, and hopefully it wouldn’t reappear for another six months, and by then I’d be out of here, never having to look at his dickish face ever again.
“I have something for you,” he said, drawing my eyes back to him. I narrowed them in suspicion, but then a surge of hope swelled in my chest.
“You found Minnie?”
“Not yet.”
I wilted. “What is it?”
“Come here and see.”
I almost didn’t budge, just to be a shit.
I don’t know why I didn’t, actually, but my feet were moving toward his desk before I could dwell on it.
The pheromones grew heavier the smaller the gap became.
I didn’t suspect he was releasing them on purpose; I was just extra sensitive to them right now. “What—”
He sat up straight, reaching into his drawer, and pulled out . . .
“Is that a knife?”
He set it on the desk, closer to me. “Top marks.”
My brow furrowed. “Why are you giving me a knife?”
“To protect yourself,” he spelled out as though it was obvious. “Should the need arise.”
“No, nuh-uh, absolutely not.” I retreated a step. “I don’t want to be involved in any of that shit.”
“Then throw it in your nightstand and never look at it again. You’re protected under this roof, but . . .” He tilted his head and clicked his teeth. “Should you wander . . .”
I picked it up, against my better judgement. It was light, sheathed in a black pouch thing, with a sapphire on the hilt. “I won’t be going anywhere,” I asserted. “Not until Minnie is with me.”
“Keep it anyway.” He swept out a hand. “You never know when you might need it.”
“Can I use it on you?”
A darkness flared in his eye, and I swallowed the urge to grin smugly. “You can certainly try.”
Before my dick reacted to the challenge in his voice, I looked down, my gaze catching on his hand. He wasn’t wearing the brace, which usually covered the pointer and middle fingers on his right. The skin looked tough, the digits slightly misshapen, as if they’d been broken and not set correctly.
Was that a condition of the job? Battle scars and a bad attitude?
Caine leaned back, his hands drifting to the arms of his office chair, his chest inflated. Alpha posturing. I snapped my eyes back to his face instead. “Was there anything else?” he said, his voice laced with cold threat. “Or did you get what you came for?”
“I—yeah.” I sniffed derisively. “Guess I’ll go back to my room, which absolutely stinks of you.”
A smirk played on his lips, and it was possibly only the second time I’d seen him break his stuffy composure. “You’re welcome.”
I flipped him off as I stormed out.
I had just managed to air the last of Caine’s scent from the room when Brian rushed in.
“Your daughter’s been found,” he reported, and my pulse thundered in my ears.
I leapt to my feet, aiming for the door, but paused to snatch up the knife Caine had given me from the bed before racing into the hallway. I tucked the knife into my pocket, and Brian followed me as I descended the stairs in a hurry, my mind a cyclone of anxious and enraged thoughts.
Was she safe?
Was she hurt?
Who the fuck took her from me?