Chapter Two
Pace
The door of the bar swings shut behind me, cutting off the thumping bass and the cloying scent of expensive perfume.
Outside, the night air is cool and clean, smelling of wet pavement and distant rain. I’m in a good mood. A damn good mood. Some trust fund baby with more money than sense just paid me a small fortune to put a bullet in his business rival. Easiest fifty grand I’ve ever made.
I tighten my grip on the fat envelope as I pick up my pace. I’m not worried about anyone snatching it out of my hand. I’m a big fucker with broad shoulders and a chest thick with muscle.
I turn the corner, and a couple of betas scurry out of my path, their heads down.
A middle-aged woman glances up as I approach.
Her body goes stiff, her eyes widen as she takes in my size.
Then she darts across the street without looking back, nearly stepping into traffic just to avoid passing too close.
It takes everything in me not to laugh.
Just then, the sky opens up, and a light rain starts to fall. I tilt my head back, letting the cool drops hit my face. It feels good, washing away the stale scent of the bar.
All around me, high-rises stab at the clouds, their windows glowing like warm, arrogant eyes. Rich assholes living in glass cages, looking down on the rest of us. People who don’t know what it’s like to have to fight for every breath.
I pass a couple of sterile, multi-story parking garages, their automated gates blinking with sterile blue light. I’d never pay for parking.
That’s a sucker’s game. I keep walking, my boots splashing in the puddles forming on the sidewalk, until I reach the alley I know. It’s dark, narrow, and smells like garbage and mold. My kind of place.
Tucked away at the very back, almost invisible in the shadows, is my car. An old, black muscle car that doesn’t belong in this pristine neighborhood.
I pull out my keys and hit the unlock button. The headlights flash, cutting through the darkness and illuminating the falling rain and the slick, wet brick of the alley walls. I reach for the driver’s side door, and that’s when I hear it.
A whimper.
It’s so faint I almost think I imagined it.
I freeze, my hand on the cold metal of the door handle. Drilling down all my senses, I listen hard over the steady drum of the rain. There. Soft movement. A slight scuffle of shoes on wet concrete.
Someone’s back here with me.
I toss the thick envelope of cash onto the passenger seat, then I shut the car door with a solid thud. The sound echoes, and I spin, my eyes scanning the deep shadows. My hand instinctively goes to the small of my back, resting on the grip of my pistol hidden under my shirt.
And then I see them—a pair of dirty, white tennis shoes peeking out from behind a dumpster.
I take a slow step forward, my boots slipping through the puddles. As I get closer, the rest of the person comes into view. It’s a kid. A boy.
He’s soaked, his thin clothes plastered to his body, and he’s curled into himself, pressed against the grimy brick.
His head is bowed, his dark blond hair plastered to his forehead.
Even in the dim light, I can see he’s trembling.
He looks like a drowned rat, all big, terrified eyes and a fragile body that looks like it would snap if I breathed on it too hard.
“Hey,” I say, moving a little closer. “You lost, kid?”
The boy jerks, his head snapping up, and the terror in his eyes is so raw it almost makes me flinch. He scrambles back, trying to press himself even flatter against the dirty wall, like he can somehow disappear into it.
“Easy,” I say, holding my hands up, palms out. A universal sign for ‘I’m not a threat,’ even though I’m the biggest fucking threat in this alley. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Do you need help?”
I don’t normally get involved in other people’s problems, but this kid…he looks so fucking broken. It reminds me of being a starving sixteen-year-old, sleeping in the street and fighting off stray dogs for crumbs.
A pang of pity twists in my gut.
I inch even closer, my boots making soft sounds in the puddles. “You got somewhere you can go? Somewhere to get out of this rain?”
Just then, lightning cracks overhead, a brilliant, jagged spear of light that illuminates the whole damn alleyway in a stark, frozen flash. For a split second, it’s as bright as day. And in that light, I see the kid’s face clearly.
The delicate curve of his jaw, his soft, full lips, and the long, dark lashes clumped together with rain and tears. He’s not a kid. He’s an omega.
A grown omega, maybe twenty or so, but with a face so pretty and fragile it could belong on a porcelain doll.
The shock of seeing something so precious hits me like a punch to the gut.
What the hell is he doing out here, alone in a dark alley in the richest part of the city?
It’s insane.
Omegas are rare and valuable, always guarded, always kept locked away. My eyes immediately scan the alley, the rooftops, the dark windows overlooking us. Where the fuck is his owner? His bodyguard? Is this a trap? A setup?
I don’t see anyone. The alley is empty except for me, him, and the rain.
Leaning down, I inch closer to the omega, and he flinches so hard it looks like he might seize up right there on the wet concrete. “Hey,” I say, keeping my voice as low and non-threatening as I can manage. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
He kicks out, a weak, desperate motion that barely connects with my shin. He presses his cheek hard against the rough brick wall, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. A pathetic, broken “no” falls from his lips, and I can see his chin quivering in the dim light.
He’s so scared, but I can’t bring myself to walk away.
I lean in closer, then drag in a deep breath-full of his aroma. And that’s when I smell it. The thick honey scent drifting off him is so strong and thick, infused with an intoxicating sweetness that curls through the air and goes straight to my cock.
It’s the scent of an omega in heat, blooming right in front of me.
My alpha instincts take over. I don’t think. I just act. One second I’m leaning over the small omega, and the next I’m snatching him up, my hands wrapping around his thin, trembling arms.
His eyes go wide, a perfect, terrified blue, as I press his back flush against the rough brick wall. I cage him in, my body a shield against the rain and the rest of the world.
My eyes go dark, raking all over his face, taking in every feature. The delicate slope of his nose, the long, dark lashes clumped with rain, even the soft tremble of his lips.
Every nerve-ending in my body is going fucking wild. I’m filled with lust and power, the sensations roaring in my blood at having a primed, unclaimed omega in my arms.
He’s mine.
This one is mine.
Thick, heavy lust makes my balls draw up while my cock turns to granite, a throbbing, insistent demand.
My mouth waters as I watch a drop of rain slip over my sweet omega’s bottom lip, catching the faint light. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
Then I strike, crashing my mouth to his.
My omega whimpers and cries, his hands pushing weakly against my chest, trying to get away. But the sweet scent of slick grows even stronger in the air, a thick, undeniable perfume that tells me just how much he wants this. How much he wants me.
His mouth is so soft and yielding under the hard press of mine.
At first, his tongue lies flat, a passive muscle in a mouth that doesn’t know how to fight back.
But then, as the scent of his arousal grows, his tongue moves.
It slides carefully against mine, a hesitant, exploratory motion that tells me he’s giving over to the heat, to his desires.
He’s kissing me back, but it’s tentative and clumsy, like he isn’t sure how. Like he’s never done this before.
And that thrills me to no end.
A fresh, untouched omega to ruin.
I break the kiss, and for a second, my omega’s eyes stay closed, his mouth hanging open, soft and swollen, like he’s waiting for me to kiss him again.
He looks so pretty, blissed out, lost to his heat.
Then his eyelids flutter open. The dreamy, hazy look on his face falls away as he looks up at me, replaced by the creeping fear that was there before. His pain is back, etched in the lines around his eyes.
He tries to speak, his voice a ragged, breathy whisper through the pain. “P-please…” he stutters, his trembling hand gesturing vaguely down the alley. “C-can you… take me to a… a clinic?”
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s a short, sharp sound, and I don’t mean to be cruel, but the idea is so absurd it’s funny.
Let him go? Take him to a place where he’ll waste this glorious slick on a fucking vibrator, and then is given back to whatever asshole owns him?
Not a fucking chance. I’m not letting this prize go. Not now. Not ever.
My sweet omega’s face crumbles at my laugh, and I immediately school my expression. This will be easier if he comes with me willingly.
“What’s your name?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
He swallows, his throat working. “Jude,” he whispers, the sound barely audible over the rain. He looks up at me, those big blue eyes pleading. “Please… a clinic. Can you just t-take me to a clinic?”
“I’m gonna get you help, Jude,” I say, my voice dropping into a low, soothing rumble.”I promise.”
I take a small step back, giving him a sliver of space, holding my hands up in a placating gesture. I purposefully don’t say where I’m taking him. I won’t say I’m taking him home with me, that I’m going to make this omega mine.
I just need him to get in the car.
Because once he’s in my car, I’m never letting him go.