Chapter Seventeen PITT
If my omegas are trying to make me hate my job, they come damn close as I stalk back into Ark’s office.
Instead of being engulfed in their sweet scents, I get a mouthful of alpha pheromones, my gaze skipping sourly over the assembled company.
Sinner, his VP, and two other alphas who look like they’re trying out for a biker beefcake calendar are lounging on the furniture, while Ark grinds his knuckles into his desk.
The air smells like scorched leather and ozone, and Ark’s jaw is so tight, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s cracked a few molars.
He looks up sharply as I enter the room, and I nod. The object of his obsession is fine, probably tucked up in bed and riding Wings into the mattress. I give my poor tortured dick a subtle nudge, then take up position behind Sinner’s henchmen.
“So, you trust this new contact?” Ark demands, his voice as rough as road grit.
Sinner is sitting in the visitor chair, his body language somewhere between relaxed and amused. “Enough to send two of my best on the next run.”
“And they’re talking about a shipment big enough to need both our clubs?”
“That’s the word. At least sixty omegas, maybe more.
” He pauses to let that sink in. The most we’ve ever rescued at one time is around twenty, so looping us into a mission of this size makes sense.
But it also makes me uneasy. New contacts are the least reliable kind, and while the hub’s going to be working overtime to verify their information, we’ll still be putting a lot on the line.
“Upwards of two dozen guards,” Sinner goes on, tapping his nails lightly on his knee.
“It’s not gonna be easy, but then, who’s interested in that? ”
The last is said with a grin wrapped around his southern drawl, and my spine stiffens at his smooth charm.
The president of the Flaming Chains has the kind of movie star looks you don’t usually see in a clubhouse, and I’m well aware that he flashed them Abbie’s way at the party.
I was about to go over and put a dent in his toothy smile when Bluff turned up, and everything went sideways.
As in, the Titanic nosediving into freezing waters.
“How soon will they be on the move?” Ark asks, pulling me back into the conversation.
“They should arrive at the warehouse over the next week or so. According to our contact, they’ll then be auctioned off in batches.
” Sinner might be talking about the omegas like they’re cargo, but we can all smell the disgust souring his scent.
“We’ll need to be ready to move before that, or we could be chasing down a dozen different shipments. ”
“Agreed.” Ark pushes off his knuckles and folds his arms across his chest. His dominance is still coming off him in waves, but he manages to hold it back through sheer willpower. “I’ll brief my guys. Let us know when you hear more.”
The meeting breaks up after that, and I lead Sinner and his guys out to the front gate. They’re warming up their bikes when Sinner cocks a brow at me. “Is your butterfly going to be a problem for this club? I haven’t seen Ark so close to losing it before.”
I want to tell the nosy asshole that it’s none of his business, but I know he’s more interested in the health of our alliance than Ark’s love life. “They have a long history, but Ark always does what’s best for the Flyers.”
He gives a dubious shake of his head. “I know what it looks like when a guy is all in. Your pres needs to sort this, and fast.”
“We’ve got it under control.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but since my next argument involves punching him in his face, I step back and let the prospects see him out the gate. When I get back to Ark’s office, he’s leaning against the front of his desk, his arms still crossed over his chest. “All quiet out there?”
“Yep. Jackpot was hanging about earlier, but I think he’s crawled back into his hole.” I grind my teeth at the memory of him looming over Abbie and Wings, his scent sour with frustrated lust. “He’s sticking his nose in all the wrong places, boss.”
Ark grunts, his eyes flashing as they meet mine. “I’m aware. If this new contact pans out like Sinner is promising, we burn him. No hesitation.”
I breathe a silent sigh of relief. There are still a few Vipers clinging to the Flyers like toxic ticks, but taking Jackpot out of the picture should drive the rest of them away.
“And what about Bluff? The brothers are gonna have questions. We need to move on this quickly.”
Ark’s face darkens. “They’re scent mates. He ignored club etiquette, but he was driven by his instincts. What more is there to say?”
A fuck ton, but I choose my words carefully, given the veins throbbing in his temple.
“Well, is he back officially? Is he still up for VP?” I pause, remembering the pleading look in Abbie’s eyes as she asked me to protect her new scent mate.
Fuck me. “Are you giving them your blessing, or is he in line for a tune-up?”
Under the Flyers’ rules, violation of club discipline results in various penalties, depending on the severity of the infraction.
Suspension involves stripping a full patch member of their colors, while demotion forces them back to prospect level.
Since Bluff isn’t officially a member yet, physical discipline makes the most sense, and a tune-up is code for straightening him out with a beating.
Since that job will fall to me as club enforcer - and Bluff is technically the mate of the woman I’m courting – I need to make sure I’m following the law right down to the last goddamn letter.
“Fuck!” Ark growls, raking a hand through his scruff. “No, he’s not getting a beating, though he damn well deserves it. And VP only matters if he wants it, and he’s never shown any interest in it before.”
An icy fear pinches the base of my spine. “You think he’s gonna try to get Abbie to leave with him?”
“No clue.” Ark sighs, his shoulders drooping as he reaches for the glass of whiskey beside him. “You’ll probably get more out of him than I will.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
I leave on stiff legs, that icy chill now spreading through my bloodstream.
Why didn’t I think of this before? If Bluff isn’t interested in joining the club, then he’s going to want to take his scent mate with him.
Where the hell does the asshole even live?
It’s not something that was on my radar before, but now it’s at the top of my need-to-know list.
I jog downstairs, only slowing as I reach the basement door and his scent washes out to greet me.
It’s got dark honey tones, but Abbie’s fragrance has already taken root, giving him a sweet peaches edge.
Jealousy thrums through me, and I can’t keep the scowl off my face as I kick the door shut behind me and stride over to his cage.
He’s sitting on the bench where I deposited him earlier, and while there’s sweat on his brow, he somehow manages to look like he’s right at home in his flannel shirt and dusty jeans.
“Comfortable?” I growl as I grip the bars and stare in at him. “You really know how to steal the spotlight, don’t you?”
“I didn’t come here to steal anything,” he says mildly, like he’s sitting in church and not locked up in the club basement. “Abigail is my scent match, and she consented to my claim, so I didn’t break any rules.”
“Except for club etiquette, which says civilians don’t come in here and do as they fucking please.
” His black eyes drift away from me, towards the door, and I feel my hackles rise.
“Besides, she prefers Abbie or Butterfly. Something you’d know if you came round and courted her like a normal fucking person. ”
“Is that what you’re doing, Pitt? Courting her?
” He doesn’t wait for my answer, since it’s probably obvious from the green-eyed monster riding me like a gargoyle that I’m heavily invested.
“The thing is, normal doesn’t work for me much anymore.
And that’s not just because I was in the desert too long.
” He curls his hand into a fist and taps his knuckles against his temple, right above the thick curl of scar tissue.
“TBI. Got blown against the side of an armored truck and it turned my brains to soup for a while.”
Ark told me about his injuries, of course, but this is the first time I’ve been face-to-face with the guy.
I thought he’d look like every other snake eater with a desert tan and a bad case of PTSD, but this guy has more in common with a wolf that’s spent a hard winter in the woods.
“You still knew how to avoid our security. And tonight wasn’t the first time you came onto club grounds, was it? ”
“Is that really what you want to know?” He gets to his feet, and while he’s not quite as tall as me, he has the wiry, hardened muscles of a guy who’s used to fighting without rules.
I know a thing or two about waging war in dark corners and dirty alleyways, but I’m pretty sure I’d be coughing up blood before I put him on his ass.
“Ask me whatever it is, so I can get the hell out of here.”
It’s the first sign that his composure is cracking, and I give him a nasty grin. “Don’t like cages, soldier boy?”
“I’ve known a few,” he says slowly, “but I’d prefer to be locked upstairs with my butterfly.”
I can’t quite hide my sour reaction and he nods, like he’s seen right through me. “So, you want some kind of guarantee I won’t steal her away from you?” I glare at him and he shrugs. “I can’t give you that until I talk to Ark, but if he can find a way past this, I’ll do whatever’s best for her.”
He must be done with the conversation, because he turns away and returns to the bench.