Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Dante
N o one’s touched her.
In the past fucking week since I got her the damned drugs, no one’s touched her.
Instead, we circle around her, sexually charged buzzards, waiting for her to crumble down so we can pick and suck at her bones.
It’s not pretty imagery, I decide, but apt.
“Stop wiggling your fucking ass.” I glare at what might be one of the finest asses, high and rounded, small but hand sized, fun and perfection.
Lizette twirls to face me, long, dark hair whipping out, and I’m fucking regretting the insistence of her in a ponytail.
“Fuck, I’m old.” That fucking ass wiggle slides into my blood, pumping to areas I don’t want blood pumped to. Shit. And she looks young like that. Too young. “Not to mention perverted.”
Her being only twenty-one makes me a pervert, that’s for sure. And?—
“Darcy. ”
The snap of her name fails to make the blonde leap to my side. I glare at her, but she just gives me her fuck you look, the one that’s pretty much telling me she’s on the fucking ball with my mood, and I should handle it myself.
Honestly, I briefly fantasize about tossing her out of the pack, but Darcy’s beyond vital.
Still. I am one of the alphas. I’m motherfucking Dante. “Darcy.”
With a sigh, she stomps over. “You do know we’re down two girls. One’s sick and the other’s a lazy bitch who, if she doesn’t decide who the better place of employment is, will find herself out of a job.”
“Fire her ass?—”
“I will if I can’t sort it tomorrow, big boss man” —she’s pushing it— “but…” Darcy, swipes on her tablet. “Emma’s good.” She goes back to Sierra and the logistics of tonight.
“Lizette,” I growl. Because the hot little number’s wiggling more. And the worst thing is? I think she’s actively trying not to.
What the fuck did I do to deserve to be landed with a na?ve omega?
“What did I do now?” Lizette asks. “Other than having an ass and walking.”
“Stop it.”
She stomps over to me, tray in hand, and she puts one of her fists on her boy-short clad hip, the halter showing off way too much cleavage and pale belly. “I have to walk, Dante,” she says. “It’s part of the job.”
“Go back to doing the bussing.”
“I don’t want to do the bussing.”
I’d stand, but she makes things hard. I cross my legs and thrum my fingers against the table. My tablet sits there, and I’ve got work to do but this…I need to fucking deal with her.
Lizette, the angel from either heaven or hell.
“Last time I checked, I’m the fucking boss. ”
Her cheeks flame, and I know she’ll be a prize for the men who come here. A prize they can’t touch. One they’ll beat off about and for some reason, it makes it just as bad. It makes me want to rip them to pieces.
“Three bosses.” She holds up three fingers.
“You and I both know this is my pack, Angel. I share the power, yes. I chose wisely.” This time. “But when it comes down to the line, my word is the one with the most clout.”
She puffs out a breath, gaze sliding to me, dark eyes a wild storm, but then she nods. “How am I going to be a valued member of this pack if I don’t help? Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
No. What I’m doing is fucking torture, that’s what I’m doing. Telling her how to move, to get as much money in tips without compromising herself, how to bend—walk?—
“You’re a guest. Not a trialing pack member.”
“Dante, I…what am I going to do out there? After I stop being a guest? There are people after me. If I run, it’ll be fine for a while, but when I go into heat? When I run out of drugs?”
She can’t stay with us permanently. It’ll be too chaotic. And she’s such a fucking trouble magnet. The visit from the Council told me that. Fuck, the way they danced around, dragged it out. That woman, Susan, was hoping for a glimpse of her, an excuse to poke deeper.
Pity, I’ve got some of the best and dirtiest lawyers. Two of which are pack members. They don’t interact with us too much in public, but they’re loyal beyond a money bond.
Last night, Reaper told me he took someone out who was poking into things and asking questions about a girl who could only be the one trying not to glare at me.
Turn her loose and she’s in their clutches. Keep her and we court more and more trouble.
But I put that aside. Consider her.
“Not my problem.”
“Yes, it is. You took me. ”
“Saved you. And if you want to be a member of our criminal pack, then maybe start doing what I fucking say and stop wiggling your ass.” I stop, take a breath. “Okay, let’s start again. I’m one of your patrons, had a little too much to drink.”
I haven’t forgotten rule number one, but I’m biding time, especially because she’ll have to deal with patrons up there.
I’m not sure I want her that exposed.
That seen.
I leer at her and raise my coffee cup. “I’m also handsy…so, how do you deal?”
“Well—”
This time I stare at her tits and the sweet cleavage that way too much on display. “No. Show me. Action time, Angel. Action.”
Later that evening, after Knight’s peptalk that honestly made me want to hit him up the side of the head—what the fuck is it about Lizette that makes a wild freak like Knight so fucking gooey like some kind of lovelorn teen? —I leave him to the first shift.
It’s on my damned feed on my tablet.
He’s got first shift because it’s quiet, and I prefer being up here on the public floor where the early deals with the Unholy Trinity are done. I can also keep an eye on the fucking people in here.
I flicker a glance at Julien who’s off to the side, watching, waiting. And he comes over.
“Dante?”
“That troublemaker who owes?”
A muscle works in his jaw. He knows who I’m talking about. A gambler who keeps promising payback but keeps going over. He’s not affiliated here, but he is at our gambling club in the bowels of the Hollows.
“Not paid?” he asks.
“Owes nearly seven hundred thousand as of this afternoon and hasn’t paid back a dime, not since the first time we rolled him.”
“The guy should be good for it. Rich as fuck.” Julien’s eyes narrow, and he rubs a tattooed hand over his big, broad chest.
I lean back. “Rich as fuck is usually just polite speak for douchebag.”
“Aww, come on, now, Dante, don’t give douchebags such a bad name.”
“Gutter dweller?”
Julien's face splits into a smile. “He lives in a condo in the Park.”
“Christ, he’s not even where we have our home.” His daddy lives near where we do when we’re not here in our hub. I thought the gambler still lived at home, but…
You learn something every day.
“Not surprising,” I mutter. “The Park’s for rich poseurs who want to make a statement.”
And our complex is an old converted fifteen floor building, landmark, gorgeous, and built like Fort Knox, harder to get into than a spinster sister. We live where the real rich are, and in the heart of the corrupt, the old money, the big names most don’t know about.
I like being amongst the enemy and those who despise us. I’m not even sure most of them are aware of who and what we are.
But this guy… He’s a nobody, a kid of the rich and powerful, and thinks he’s got power himself.
His daddy wouldn’t care if he dropped off the face of the planet. The dude’s got other kids. Plus a daughter. And this kid is a delta. Daddy likes his alpha son and omega daughter.
Other than driving myself insane watching the wiggle of Angel’s ass, one I doubt she can get rid of, I’ve been going over some books and diving into the backgrounds of our clients deeper than usual.
“The guy’s fucking rich and he thinks he can fuck with us?” I laugh. “Fucker.”
“Probably thinks we can’t fucking touch him, Dante. Daddy’s got clout.”
“Daddy’s got a lot of clout, but nothing we can’t handle. And daddy really doesn’t give a shit. Even if he did…” I shrug. “Fuck his daddy.”
“Rather not,” Julien says.
I look at him. “We don’t get busy until later. Can you take care of him?”
He nods. “Reaper care, or mine?”
I contemplate it. “Take Reaper, see how it plays out.” He starts to turn when I grab his arm. “After you collect. And take out any cameras first.”
“Got it, boss.”
When he goes, I watch Angel on the feed, and I watch fucking Knight watching her. Shit, he’s got it bad. I want to blame it on the bite, but I’m not entirely sure anymore.
With a sigh, I make the footage small and bring up the research from Reaper.
I frown. It’s all legend shit that people don’t hold with anymore and it’s not like Reaper to give me stuff like this. So, I sideline it for later.
If he gave it to me, it’s not for fucking fairytales, that’s for sure. He’ll have a reason.
He always does.
“Dante?”
I look up as Mason puts a glass in front of me and brandishes a bottle.
“Fuck, yes,” I say. He pours, and I thank him, before picking it up and taking a swallow of the caramel-edged whiskey .
I look into the mirror behind the bar, right as a shadow passes over me in the low-lit space.
Reaper’s there, right behind me, and that man’s more than able to bypass anyone’s awareness levels, but for some reason, that shadow, more felt than seen, made me look up.
He’s not looking at me. His gaze is riveted down. On the device on the bar. That small corner, where Lizette serves the few customers who are in.
“That wise?”
“Fuck if I know.” I wait until he takes a seat, his cigarettes in one hand. Black sweater, jeans. Tattoos adorning at his neck and that fucked up face garnering long glances from a woman a few seats down.
She’s seeing a man, one with a marred beauty that makes her think romantic thoughts. The haphazard buzz cut, the quality clothes in black. The tattoos, she’s guessing, travel all over him. The blank canvas expression she can paint all sorts of fantasies on.
He doesn’t seem to even notice her.
Right until she gets up to come over.
Reaper turns, and though I can’t see him, I’m guessing there’s death and destruction given in that expression because she recoils. “Not interested,” he says.
She scrambles back, and when he turns to me, I get the last vestiges of his look. It’s not violent. It’s just…empty, endless night and devoid of humanity.
I grew up with him. I know his history. Know what he’s been through.
And fucking little Lizette looks at him like he’s anything but a living representation of death. She looks at him like she understands him, too. And she looks at him like she looks at Knight. With want, tangled lust and emotion.
And me?
She hates me and wants me, too.
“You were rude to a paying customer, Reap. ”
He frowns. “I was?”
“The woman?”
“Wasn’t interested.”
He wants to light up which means something’s on his mind. He keeps pulling a cigarette half out before pushing it back into the packet. Then, finally, he takes it and places it behind his ear.
“Did you look, Dante?” he presses.
“At the old folk tales?”
He sighs and nods at Mason, who sets down a glass of golden rum for Reap. “Yeah. There’s one?—”
“I didn’t take you for the big bad wolf and witches in the woods kinda guy.” I sip my drink.
“Knight’s research into a reversal came up with some tales.”
“Fuck me, Reaper. We don’t go around trading facts and evidence for stories.” I glance at the screen just in time to see Lizette sidestep an ass-reaching patron who I want to see parted with his fingers, cock and balls. I make a note to find out who he is and maybe arrange a talking to with a fist, or five.
“You’re a real ass when you’re unfulfilled and frustrated,” Reaper barely looks at me.
“I prefer you strong, silent, and a psychotic killer. Not Mr. Chatty.”
Knight would volley insults merrily. Not Reap.
He ignores my words.
“I’m not asking you to believe anything. But fairytales are warnings, or explanations for things people way back didn’t understand.” He takes a breath, downs his rum and hits the bar with the glass for another.
“There’s a story of the Never Ending. A girl born of two alphas, whose families only ever produce alphas and is the most beautiful in the land. On her eighteenth birthday, she’s discovered not to be an alpha, but an omega. And her scent’s so potent she causes wars, makes alphas fight to the death. Makes even betas want her. She’s locked away, but stolen by a renegade alpha. Her powers wreak havoc on his pack and he chooses two other alphas to share the burden?—”
“Burden?”
“But it doesn’t work. They fight. They end up consulting an oracle who says they must all mark her or kill her to end the line and restore order in the world. But if they mark her, then the three are bound to her for eternity. And no one can touch her. She’s safe and theirs.”
I stare at him. “Are you saying we should kill her?” Is he saying this is true? It’s us?
He continues. “This lot decide to mark her, but they’re stopped, then all ejected from society. And die.”
“So…happy ending?”
“It’s a fairytale. They’re always fucking gruesome.” He takes a sip. “It’s old, and it’s one of those obscure ones.”
“It’s fantasy. This kind of shit is full of the power of three and seven. And oracles and their ilk. What’s the point?”
“Point is the bond. The mark dulls her scent to others, but to us, it’s the same. She’s powerful, and as a pack with three alphas—maybe it wouldn’t hurt if we marked her, too.”
Now I’m probably gawping at him.
“That’s the stupidest thing… Fuck, Reap. The story isn’t real.”
He takes in breath, checks his phone and then nods. “I know, but I got to thinking about the elements of it. The real bond works in the forever way if she bites us back.”
“We don’t want that,” I say.
He shrugs. “It’s an idea.”
“You want her to bond with us?”
“If she doesn’t bite back, if we prevent her, then it’s a strong, almost unbreakable bond.”
“Fuck, Reaper. The mark’s still on her from Knight.” I take a gulp of my whiskey. “And you want to add more. ”
“We have to do it soon, if we do.”
I grab his arm. “So what? We tie ourselves to her? We treat fucking Lizette like she’s this Never Ending?”
“Listen to me, Dante. If the three of us bite her? It’ll really mark her as ours, but without her claiming us, she can still leave.”
Suddenly, my head jerks up as I get what he means. “But only if we release her. Once we work out what the fuck the Council is up to.”
“And if Ghost’s with them now.”
If we mark her, it’s strong, protects us and her, and also claims her. But there’s still the get out of fucking jail card. The claiming isn’t complete if we just bite and she doesn’t return the favor.
Fucking Reaper, leading me through fairytale land.
“Yeah. Okay, I see it.” I take another swallow and shake my head. “Should have led with the bite theory. Are you going with Julien?”
The change in subject doesn’t bother Reaper. “There’s an illegal, and I mean dirty, dangerous, illegal name in the shipping yard. We’ll get him there.” He gets up. “Think about it. The mark from all of us.”
When he puts his cigarette between his lips and heads out to meet Julien—another bouncer’s on the door, here nice and early. I glance at my device.
The club’s filling up enough for me to go down to the lower level.
“Out,” I say to Knight by way of greeting.
“Fuck you, dude. I’m enjoying the eye candy.”
He glances at the stage as one of the girls comes out, but his gaze drifts back to Lizette.
“Enjoy it through my device.” I hand him the tablet. “We’re swapping places, as planned.”
Muttering, Knight leaves and I lean against the bar, watching her, making sure she’s following my teachings .
Watching her ass in those too short booty shorts is dangerously easy. The shiny black does all kinds of sweet and filthy things to the shape of her ass. And when she turns, it shows off her thigh gap, the hint of camel toe.
I narrow my eyes as someone drops a napkin and to the fucking bump and grind, she bends to pick it up.
Oh, fuck. I don’t think she’s wearing panties.
And that’s when a man reaches out and slides a hand up between her thighs.
Not just any man.
A dead one.