Chapter 13
“There’s a closet with good ventilation that’d work well as a server room over there. You could hook up the wifi here and have a cable run—that isn’t an included utility, so you’ll have to sort that yourself,” the beta leasing agent said, using her company-branded pen to point out the amenities.
Or I guess, possible amenities.
The rent for the space really didn’t cover much more than the floor and walls. Even the ceiling felt like it was only included because this was the third floor of a four-story building.
I wrote down her suggestion in my notes app as I continued to toddle after the agent. It certainly wasn’t the nicest or newest building I’d ever been in, but there was a lot of space, outlets, and a working bathroom.
Which, by some miracle, was actually included in the listing price.
There were a few cracks in the walls, and the previous tenant had left the place in a horrid lime green that made my head ache, in need of an immediate coat of paint. But there was something here, for sure.
Good bones, I think that's what the people on those house flipper shows usually said, at least.
A little bit of decor, a firm hand evicting some spiders, and some lighting that wasn’t the buzzy fluorescents overhead, and this place could really be a vibe.
And, I wouldn’t even be standing here on the dusty blue carpet—both in color and cleanliness—if it wasn’t for the pack.
I couldn’t believe how much money that stream had cleared. I knew that Tara did well with her raunchier content, that I could be making a lot more if I wanted to do more than softcore… but until last week, I didn’t realize exactly how much of a wage disparity we had.
Her alpha was fucking loaded. I assumed all the last-minute vacations and fancy clothes were presents. Consider me triple jealous that she not only had the relationship that I wanted—an adoring alpha and a bond—but was also making her own money too?
Bad bitch moves.
I’d always stuck to a strategy that was about the parasocially emotional connection.
Teasing and taunting more than offering up a 4K view of my pussy online.
I knew it was making me less money, but if I’d known it was studio space-level kind of dollars, I probably would’ve fingered my ass and bought a new car forever ago.
It definitely wasn't something planned to do all the time, but I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t see the appeal and wasn’t sorely tempted to make a career change.
At least temporarily… But, SLCK'd streaming wasn't where I wanted to be forever. And I didn’t want to get used to the thrill of easy cash flow. It’d served its purpose to get me through college and supplement me while I was getting used to being a single-income household again.
The math, though? It was tempting.
I could easily pay for all the equipment I’d need with just a few more nights like that. Have butts in seats several months ahead of schedule.
Be making my fucking game.
Would they watch again? I wondered, my mind wandering as the leasing agent talked me through the neighborhood.
I wasn’t sure I’d have the courage to do something like that if it wasn’t for their coaxing and praise. And, if I was honest… the idea of them watching me together was so addictive that I needed to replace it with something else immediately or I was going to be perfuming everywhere.
When I got off stream last night to that photo of Joon's hand, well… I had to get off again in the shower.
We’d texted a bit this morning, but it was casual. The weather, how we slept, that kind of thing. I wanted to ask if they’d liked it, if they’d fucked while watching me like I’d been fantasizing about while I made myself cum for them over and over again, but it felt a bit like crossing the line.
I wasn’t their girlfriend; I was an entertainer. Knowing them IRL didn’t change that.
Even if I’d spent my heat with their pack.
And even if Joon and I had mostly made up since the club…. I didn’t know where I stood with either of them as far as flirting went, and inserting myself into their relationship didn't feel like a good way to open that channel of communication back up.
Especially not after making out with both of them within twenty-four hours.
That didn’t stop me from delving into the realm of possibility, though, my fantasies extending beyond the stream into my memories of Halloween.
The way they touched each other was so magnetic.
Indi's hands raking through Joon's hair, forcing themselves down the omega’s throat.
"Do you have any more questions?" the agent asked, offering me the kind of annoyed yet still polite smile that told me she’d asked more than once.
"Could I get the application?" I asked, clearing my throat. “And I need to send you the proof of funds, right?”
Come on, Eva, be a professional for like, five seconds.
"Yes, if you just write down your e-mail, I'll get it sent to you."
She passed me her clipboard and pen, and I scribbled down my information before handing it back.
"Thank you. What did you want to use the space for again? A tech start-up, right?"
"Yeah, kind of,” I said with a smile, the first buzzy sparkles of pride making my chest feel light. “I’m opening a company that makes video games."
"I see," she said, glancing around thoughtfully. "Then this would be a good space for that, big and open, good for collaborative work environments. Though… between you and me, honey, I’d recommend getting some security installed beforehand."
My brows pinched in confusion. "Why? It’s a keycard entry downstairs, right?”
"It's perfectly safe," she assured. "And the area is being renovated,” a nice way that middle-aged betas with silver bobs said ‘gentrified’, “But if you're going to have loads of expensive equipment, I’d consider it a necessary expense."
"I see…”
"But!” she said, returning to her brisk, bright manner.
“You really have nothing to worry about. I’ll just send over all the info, you fill out a couple of forms, and I’m sure I can get you approved like that!
” She snapped her fingers, long red nails catching the light.
“Just let yourself out, hon. I’m going to head downstairs and get this sorted. ”
“Okay, cool! Thanks,” I said, taking one more glance around the room.
This could be the origin story, the place that news articles pulled photos of as the start of my gaming empire. Or I could crash and burn horribly and be forced to leave the industry as a complete disgrace, but who was thinking about that?
My idea was solid. There was a huge player base that was being deeply underserved in the horror game market that I had my finger right on the pulse of—omegas.
Out of the hundreds of titles on the market, there were only a couple dozen that portrayed omegas as anything other than a victim, someone who needed saving.
Fuck that.
Omegas could be badasses too. Not everything had to be about stupid alphas and their toxic tropes about being tough and strong that only they could relate to.
I wanted to build something different, and I knew I could.
Though I didn't have as much technical knowledge as I would’ve liked, I did know what people wanted to play, and I was sure I could sell it.
It just needed to exist.
I had one more potential location on the list, but I had a feeling that this was going to be the one. The price was right, and for the most part, it ticked all my boxes.
On the way out, I took a couple more notes on my phone. Well, I was taking notes until the screen went black. It, like my car, probably needed an upgrade. But I didn’t mind the short battery life for the most part.
It was a little annoying, but I had a charger in the car, so everything would be fine.
Still, with the heavy front door of the building slamming shut behind me, I found myself walking a bit faster—that comment the realtor made had me just a little nervous.
In a few short minutes, I was rounding the corner for the paid parking lot that I’d left Dorothy in, digging in my bag for my keys. When I looked up, it was with a scream.
They’d killed her.
The bastards had murdered Dorothy.
All four of her windows had been smashed out, glass littering the inside of the car and mixing with the gravel below. But it wasn’t just the windows; parts of the body were dented, too. They just flailed the bat or crowbar or whatever they used to bludgeon my beautiful old girl to death everywhere.
And now my car was destroyed.
Totaled.
The new windows alone would cost more than the entire thing was worth in parts.
My throat was tight with tears, vision already starting to blur.
What should I do?
I needed to call someone. If not for help with this mess, at the very least for a ride. But fuck, of course my phone was fucking dead.
As dead as Dorothy.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sobbed, finding my phone cable blissfully in one piece among the wreckage. It was pretty long, so if I got it plugged in and the car on, I’d be able to get enough charge to call somebody without hurting myself.
Trying to be at least a little smart, I wrapped the bottom of my shirt around my hand and carefully opened the handle. The rest of the ruined window crumbled out of the frame to the tune of the shards hitting the ground near my feet.
I’d thrown the cable carelessly over the center console, so it was draped onto the passenger seat, or maybe that was whoever broke in.
I wasn’t exactly keeping tabs on how I left a piece of wire every time I got out of my car.
I tried to be careful as I leaned over to grab it, but my blurred vision was making things more difficult than they needed to be.
Using my sleeve, I rubbed my eyes, trying to dislodge the wetness enough to see clearly so I could grab the stupid cord without injuring myself.
Leaning deeper into the car, I finally managed to hook my finger around the edge of the cable and pull it up, but as I did, my finger grazed one of the pieces of glass with a sharp sting.
"Fuck!" I yelled, more in shock than in pain, and pulled it back towards me quickly.
I stood at the edge of the open door and turned on the car’s battery before I plugged in my phone, waiting for it to turn back on.
Upon inspection, it seemed like there was just a small slit in my finger, a single bead of blood appearing between it.
I stuck it in my mouth as my screen powered on, and I was able to get into it.
With a few taps, I was dialing Tara. God, this was so stupid. Not five minutes ago, I had been ecstatic about potentially finding a place for my studio, but now it seemed I was going to have to replace my fucking car, and it hadn't even broken down.
As Tara's voicemail played, I couldn't stop the continuing barrage of tears. I opened my texts and started scrolling through. Should I call Jason? No, I didn't really want to deal with him right now.
My fingers hovered over Joon's name. I could reach out to him. Would it be awkward? Sure, we seemed to work things out, but calling for something like this seemed like it was too far.
This probably wasn't better, but I quickly added Indi, Joon, and Cameo into a group chat and sent one big message. Then they could ignore it if they wanted.
lombardi pack gc
hey, so my car got broken into, and I'm stuck. I tried to call Tara, but she didn't answer, and I didn't know who else to text.
I stared at it, figuring it would take a while to get a response. But the typing dots cropped up almost instantly.
Joon
OMG are you okay?
INDI
we're at home but we can pick you up. Send me your location.
With a few taps, I sent a pin.
Stalker
I'm already out and close. Be there in a few.
I blinked in surprise. I hadn't expected Cameo to be the one rushing to help, but I did feel warm all over that he was.
Someone was coming.