Chapter 61
chapter
sixty-one
Jonah gives an evil chuckle, counting the stack of cash he just won.
Or, rather, Avery just won.
“Every damn time,” Serena’s big man mutters, shaking his head with a grin. “The kid never lets me down.”
He’s full of shit. We all know he gives the money he bets right back to Ave. He’s done it that way for years. Though, maybe, this time, they’ll use it to take Serena out instead.
We should celebrate, after her heat. Avery’s debut was a resounding success. Even without a trainer or a coach, he took his opponent down i n two rounds, thrashing him so completely that he couldn’t even stand for the third.
TKO—a technical knockout. I researched all the proper terminology before coming along tonight.
Jonah’s been snorting ever since the other fighter went down. I admit, it was a bit humorous to watch the announcer try to bestow victory on our packmate while he glared daggers at him.
Avery clearly just wants to get home to our omega. The notion is a relief. I’ve never been so worried about anything or anyone before, and my anxiety is becoming intolerable. My Alpha looms nearer to the surface with every breath and only settles when Serena is in my arms.
I have two baskets of our sheets. Worn clothes from all four of us. All the cleaning products are hidden in her bathroom. Watering cans for the plants ? —
My mind restlessly repeats the same to-do list I’ve reviewed a thousand times while we wait outside the locker room. Inside, a medic is stitching a deep gash under Avery’s left eye. He grumbles and growls the whole time but allows it, knowing having an open wound would upset our sensitive darling more than usual.
The doors at the end of the tunnel-like hall swing open, revealing a blond alpha who’s altogether too well-dressed for a place like this.
His eyes scan over us, clearly absorbing every small detail. My tapping foot, Jonah’s fist full of cash. The fading love bites we both have on prominent display.
I don’t see any bites on him, but he has a gold wedding band and the distinctly settled air of a bonded alpha. When he clips closer, my instincts recoil from the scent tucked into the front of his suit jacket. It looks like a powder-blue pocket square to match his suit, but the scrap absolutely reeks of another omega.
I’d forgotten how indifferent I used to feel about their scents, generally. Now, though, everything in me balks. It isn’t Serena, so it’s wrong .
My Alpha and I have been agreeing more and more l ately. At first it was disconcerting, but as time has gone on, I’ve started to take comfort in it.
The certainty feels good.
Neither of us wants anything to do with any omega but ours.
We never will again.
Jonah finally realizes we’re being approached and folds his cash into the back pocket of his jeans. His broad shoulders expand as he squares up to the stranger, sliding his eyes over his outfit and clocking that strange pocket square the same way I did. He’s more subtle than I was, but I notice a slight wince under his dark facial hair.
The alpha comes to a stop right in front of Jonah and me. I sense shuffling behind us in the locker room, but I can’t focus on it with a more direct threat staring me down.
The man’s shrewd, dark eyes jump from my face to Jonah’s. He frowns mildly. “Are you the Thorne Pack?”
All the commotion at our backs suddenly makes sense when a sweaty, shirtless Avery steps between us. His wild, pale eyes flash. “Who’s asking?”
If this alpha is off-put by my packmate’s obvious bloodlust, he doesn’t let on. His head tilts slightly, assessing all of us carefully before he says, “My name is Smith Pierson. This is my omega.”
He extracts a cell phone from his inner jacket pocket, swiping at the screen to reveal a photo.
Of Serena.
All three of us immediately snarl. Is this one of the despicable alphas from that godforsaken club? Has he been following her or watching us ? —
But, no.
I raise my hands to my enraged packmates, leaning closer to the image glowing up at us.
Because it isn’t Serena.
This woman has the same face, the same coloring, and a similarly breathtaking smile—but her eyes are blue. Her hair is curly. And she’s surrounded by other alphas, happily snuggled betwee n them in a way our omega would never allow with anyone but us.
Smith Pierson watches me realize what I’m looking at: his omega. Who is identical to mine.
His mouth pulls into a scowl as he sighs, “I think we need to talk.”