1. Ava
Chapter 1
Ava
Two years later
This place is disgustingly rich.
I adjust my oversized sunglasses, pushing them higher on my nose as I pretend to read the glossy magazine spread across the wrought-iron table.
I absently trace my fingers around the rim of my cappuccino cup—not really—I’m doing it while I glance around at what I can steal.
“Looking good, sweetheart.” Seb’s voice crackles through the nearly invisible earpiece nestled in my ear. “How’s your view?”
I resist the urge to smile, keeping my face carefully neutral as I murmur, “Crystal clear. The birds are tweeting.”
Just in case someone intercepts our very secure line, we talk in code. ‘Birds’ is our code for the wealthy marks who are dripping in jewels or ‘tweeting.’ Jewelry we’ve come here to liberate.
Around me, the bustling streets of Monaco pulse with pre-race excitement: the chatter of spectators and the distant roar of engines.
The air crackles with anticipation.
A Bugatti Chiron, its sleek black body gleaming in the Mediterranean sun, pulls up outside the hotel opposite. The purr of its engine draws the attention of everyone nearby.
As the butterfly doors swing open, I can’t help but lean forward slightly, curiosity piqued.
A tall, elegant woman emerges first, her stilettos clicking against the pavement. She’s draped in Versace. I saw the same dress on the Paris catwalk. But it’s not the dress but the necklace adorning her neck that really catches my eye. The string of diamonds that glitter around her throat is a stunning piece, and it looks like it could easily fund our life for the next year.
“Seb,” I murmur, knowing he’ll pick it up through the comm, “we’ve got a songbird wearing quite the tweet.”
“Roger that,” his voice crackles in my ear. “Any sign of a nest?”
“The hotel I’m staring at.” I glance up, letting him see the name of the hotel via the camera on the arm of my glasses.
“Okay, give me five minutes,” he says.
Seb will now hack into the hotel camera and get the number of the nest.
A man steps out from the driver’s side of the Bugatti. Despite being older, silver-haired, he has the confident air of someone used to having his way.
His suit probably costs more than most people make in a year, but it’s the watch on his wrist that draws my attention. A Rolex that I know will cost a fortune. Not as much as the car he drives–but enough to know there’s a lot more in his nest.
“Oh and Seb,” I breathe, a smile tugging at my lips. “The nest is looking very cozy. Full to the brim, I expect. We need that room number.”
“I’m on it.”
I watch as the couple makes their way into the hotel, already mentally cataloging their valuables and potential security measures.
This is the reason we’re here, after all.
The thrill of the hunt, the challenge of outsmarting those who think their wealth makes them untouchable.
I can feel the vibrations through the soles of my feet before I hear the roar of engines being warmed up. The sounds echoing off the buildings, and punctuated by the enthusiastic chatter of tourists and locals alike.
I turn a page in my magazine, using the motion to scan the crowd again.
That’s when I see him.
A newspaper is folded under his armpit as he strides into the café like he owns it—and for all I know, he might.
His hair is dark, almost black. He is tall, broad-shouldered, and has a jawline that could cut glass.
The surrounding air practically crackles with alpha energy. My omega instincts flare to life, a warmth spreading through my core that I ruthlessly squash.
Alphas are not for me.
But my body doesn’t seem to get the memo.
I don’t hide that I’m an omega, but I’ve taken preventative measures since I left Garrett. I don’t want an unexpected heat or for my perfume to suddenly start emitting.
Too many omegas have disappeared in the middle of shopping, while working out or simply running, and never seen again.
Alphas, or more likely packs of alphas, will steal an omega who isn’t theirs. But an omega who makes their nose twitch at the same as their cock, now that’s a recipe for disaster. Or a damn nightmare, and one she probably won’t escape from.
After two years of harsh training, I’m strong enough to fight alphas, and I’m an expert with a knife. But despite that, I have to prevent my scent from ever dispersing in the air.
I still don’t have a scent, though—My stepfather took care of that—But I know the anti-omega vaccination won’t last forever. And I don’t want to suddenly find my scent enticing an alpha, or god forbid, a matching scent alpha.
So I take neutralizing injections regardless of not having a scent.
My heart rate picks up as he approaches the counter, his deep voice ordering an espresso. The barista practically trips over herself to serve him.
As I listen to his low timbre, slick warms between my thighs. I squeeze them together.
Right now, I’m glad I can’t distinguish smells from alphas. I can smell the scents all around me, like the sea ahead or the smell of fuel coming from the race cars zooming around the Monaco track.
Unlike other omegas, my body still doesn’t react to alphas scents—pheromones or their unique perfume.
But I’m not blind—I know an alpha when I see one.
I remove my glasses, placing them on the table before pressing my hand against the back of my neck. I glance at him again as he checks out the pastries.
He’s much older than me, but gorgeous. Tall, and dark from the tan his skin sports. Even the silver streaks in his black hair don't detract from how handsome he is.
I force myself to look away, back to my magazine. But I can feel his presence, like a gravitational pull I can’t escape. There is something about him that makes my mouth water.
“Ava?” Seb’s voice in my ear makes me jump. “You okay? Your heart rate just spiked.”
Seb tracks my body when I’m on a job. I’m not a timid little omega. Not at all. My past has hardened me. But Seb still worries that something might trigger the one thing that has up to now eluded me as an omega.
My heat.
I clear my throat softly. “Fine. Just … saw a potential mark.”
That’s when I feel his eyes on me.
I look up, right into the piercing blue gaze of the alpha.
For a moment, the world falls away. There’s just him and me, locked in a blazing stare that feels like it could ignite the air between us.
He takes a step towards my table, and panic flares in my chest.
No, no, no.
This isn’t part of the plan.
I can’t …
I’m not attracted to an alpha. I lie to myself.
The screech of tires and the roar of an engine fade into the background as he rests his hand on my table. The movement draws my attention, but I’m slow to look at his face.
Instead, my gaze is fixed on the Patek Philippe adorning his wrist. Its intricate design catches the sunlight. I smile. It looks like a limited edition, precious, and making my fingers itch with professional interest.
“Pardon me,” his voice cuts through my watch-induced trance. His cut-glass English accent, though a touch stuffy, seems to fit right in with the opulent surroundings of Monaco. “But I couldn’t help noticing you from across the room.”
I finally drag my eyes up and meet his gaze, and I force a polite smile.
“Oh?” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. “And what exactly did you notice?”
He leans in slightly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “A beautiful woman, alone in Monaco? It seems … unusual.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Perhaps I prefer the company of fast cars to that of slow conversations.”
His laughter fills the air with a rich timbre that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Ouch. Though I assure you, my conversations can be quite … stimulating.”
“I like my own company.” I pick up the cherry and almond tart in front of me and inhale. Wondering if this could be my scent. “And cake.”
“It smells delicious,” he says. “Like you.”
I hold back my reply that he can’t smell me, nobody can, when his phone buzzes.
His head turns as he glances at his phone, breaking our connection.
A flash of annoyance crosses his features as he tells me, “My apologies, but duty calls, I’m afraid.”
“It was nice, but brief.”
“Enjoy your dessert. We’ll continue this conversation later.” He drops a card on the table and writes his hotel and room number on the back.
Arrogant.
Then he smiles as he turns and walks to the door.
He pauses, before I hear a curt, “Yes.”
And with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd while I’m trying to stop my heart from racing from the encounter.
Seb’s voice crackles in my ear again. “Ava? What just happened?”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Nothing important,” I mutter, even as my eyes track the alpha’s retreating form. “Just sizing up a potential target.”
I pick up the card. Black with nothing on it but the hotel he's staying at and his room number.
There are some benefits to being an omega. The most important is that it makes alphas do stupid things.
But as I turn my attention back to our original plan, I can’t shake the small, traitorous part of me that is hoping that I cross paths with the alpha again.
And as I turn the Patek Philippe over in my hand, I smile, doubting our next encounter will be so friendly.
The roar of engines continues.
People are disappearing from the side street as the practice laps of the Formula One fly around the Circuit de Monaco.
I gather my things, heart pounding as I press my large black hat on my head and slip away with the crowd and get ready to do what we came here for.
As I weave through the throng of people, Seb’s voice comes through again. “Ava? What happened to you? Your body went wild. Heart rate, blood pressure … Everything soared.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse.
“Nothing,” I lie, pushing thoughts of intense eyes and that voice aside. “Just checking my starting locations for tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, the winning driver will take around two hours to start and finish the Grand Prix. And then most of the people watching will move onto the various events, but we haven’t factored that in. Two hours is all we are giving ourselves to get the job done.
Our first target is a Prince, no less, and that should thrill me, but I can’t shake away the feeling that something has shifted. Like the carefully laid plans we’ve been working on for months might be about to unravel in ways I never could have predicted.
I stride forward, a flash of familiar broad shoulders in the crowd catches my eye. The alpha from earlier is across the street, engaged in what looks like an intense conversation with another man—tall, broad shouldered, wide chest—another alpha.
I narrow my eyes as I stare at them as an uneasy feeling settles in my stomach because I’m sure I recognize the other man. There’s something about him that doesn’t fit with the usual crowd here.
He’s too … alert.
Far too aware.
“Ava?” Seb’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “You’ve gone quiet. Are you sure everything’s okay? You're worrying me.”
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. “Yeah, just … thinking. We might need to adjust our plans a bit. I’ll fill you in later.”
“Okay. Get back to the yacht, and we’ll relax until tomorrow.”
“Roger that.”