Chapter 4
Kyan dragged me down another dark hall. At this point, I was sure he was taking me in circles, so I didn’t know which direction was which. Finally, we crossed an archway, and to the left, a door was already opening. A waft of cleaning solution tickled my nose, the lemony scent singeing my nostrils.
Even if I’d never met them, I knew what each Alpha looked like. I was as familiar with them as I was with the back of my hand, after having studied their pictures for an embarrassing length of time.
Broad shoulders that almost blocked out the wide frame tapered down to a slim waist. His brown hair was clipped into a buzz cut, and a scar graced the corner of his eyebrow, caused by an old injury a few inches higher.
Down his left arm, black ink stretched out from under his T-shirt sleeve, the thick, curving smoke leading down to his wrist, where there was a candle.
His nostrils flared, and the light from the hallway allowed me to see his pupils dilate, whiffing my Omega scent.
An Alpha’s weakness—Omegas . . . I could use this as a bargaining chip.
My attention snagged on the flexing of his arms. I wouldn’t lie and say they weren’t attractive; otherwise, why would I have held on to their pictures longer than necessary?
Heat flushed my cheeks, and I looked to the side. Why was I flustered? It wasn’t like they could read my damn mind.
“Are you going to move?” Kyan drawled, his hand on my arm tightening until it pinched. The wound on my other bicep pulsed, reminding me of its painful existence. I bit back my hiss.
Sinclair’s nose flared, and the corner of his lips twitched before he backed away, allowing Kyan to haul me into a huge lounge area, while a glass wall spanned across the entrance. The door shut behind me with finality.
I pressed my lips together. A table sat to the right of the space along with a black leather sectional, and glass end tables framed with iron. The ambient lighting cast from the embedded fixtures overhead illuminated the room.
Kyan released me with a small shove, and I stumbled onto the white rug in front of Elias Greymont. The only carpet I’d seen throughout the entire establishment. He stared down at me, his face set in a contemplative mask, one eyebrow slightly raised.
I straightened and smoothed my hand down the stolen leather jacket. I lifted my chin and met his eyes. “Kept me waiting long enough.”
The corner of Elias’ eye twitched, and whatever anger flitted over his features dissolved with his smirk. So, he wasn’t as unflappable as he portrayed himself. That could work in my favor.
A snicker from behind me brought my attention to Sinclair. He and Kyan stood behind me, and nerves turned my stomach. No, nerves! I gritted my teeth and returned my attention to Elias.
“Why are you here?” he asked, abrupt. I held onto my nonexistent patience.
“You know why.” The words almost stuck in my throat.
“Can’t say I do,” he drawled.
“Are you here to audition for a job?” Sinclair asked from behind me.
The humor in his tone rubbed me the wrong way.
I hadn’t expected the accent despite knowing his files stated he’d been born in New Zealand .
. . but his sounded watered down—Americanized.
“Hello?” Sinclair snapped his fingers. “Answer the question.”
I studied the smirking curl of his lips.
Did they truly not know, or were they playing with me?
“I need help.”
“And you think we’ll help you?” Elias chuckled. “After you tried to ruin us?”
What am I doing here?
Doubt tried to take over, but I stamped it down. I had nowhere else to turn to.
“I’m not stupid,” I bit out. “You have shady shit going on—” I cut myself off and took a breath.
Pissing them off right now wouldn’t help my case.
“But, I shouldn’t have published the article without going through the proper channels.
” That didn’t negate the fact it was true; still, I didn’t say that.
“I—I’m sorry.” The apology hurt coming from my throat.
A sharp whistle from behind me whipped my head around.
“You’re being accused of Lyndsy Summer’s murder.
” Sinclair’s voice was heavy with humor.
“Holy fuck. Who did you piss off?” He swiped at the screen of his phone.
“Video evidence of Briar Rivera being the last one to meet with Mrs. Summer Bourne.” He clicked his tongue and looked up at me. “You’re fucked, mate.”
“I didn’t kill her,” I blurted.
“Seems like you’ll have a hard time proving that.” Sinclair looked amused to be delivering the news.
“Thanks,” I said, tone dry, and turned back to Elias. He was the one making the calls.
“I need to get out of the country. I know you have connections to get me out safely.” Our gazes held, his with a dare. “I’ll do anything.” The phrase exploded from the desperate pit in my stomach. I wanted to gouge my eyes out, but I kept still.
“Anything?” He cocked his head, interest and an odd glint of anger peeking through.
“Yes.” I held his gaze, knowing what I was insinuating.
“Even whore yourself out?” Sinclair interjected, stating the fucking obvious.
Elias sent him a withering glare, and Sinclair muttered something behind me.
“We can get pussy whenever we want. Why would we need yours?” Elias turned his intense focus on me, his green irises telling me nothing.
He . . . had a point.
I was left mute, my embarrassment swelling. I wouldn’t cry—I refused to.
Desperation drove me to my knees.
“Please,” I whispered, swallowing the encroaching emotion. One of them sucked in a breath behind me.
I bit my trembling lip, shoving down my pride. I’ll escape with their help. If I kept chanting it in my head, it would be true.
Anger sparked in his gaze, and he bit out, “Sin.”
Footsteps thudded near, and my hair was grabbed in a harsh grip. It forced my head up, and my eyes clashed with Sinclair’s mocking gaze, which contrasted the sneer on his lips.
Why were they so angry?
“Get her out of my sight,” Elias intoned. I felt each syllable as keenly as a knife to my heart.
“No,” I shouted and grabbed Sinclair’s pants, hooking my fingers inside the rough denim.
If they forced me out of here . . . I would die.
I knew it as clearly as I knew my own name.
Elias growled, the menacing sound sending a thrill of fear through my veins.
My heart thundered in my ears, and I felt like I was floating over myself, watching me clinging to the Alpha.
I knew what I was alluding to, but my hands acted before my brain could catch up.
“Let her,” Sinclair snapped at Elias, the corner of his mouth twisting even more.
I swallowed with effort.
The bulge under the denim twitched, and I took the invitation, yanking his zipper down so his cock bobbed free.
Of course he doesn’t wear boxers. The thought was floating and secondary, because I was reeling over his size.
I could already feel myself gagging, but his girth wasn’t the only concerning thing; it was the piercings.
I’d never seen one pierced, never been with someone with this.
Four gold beads poked out from the tip of his cock, evenly spaced, and reflecting the light, like it had a mind of its own. A magic cross piercing?!
I took a quick glance at Sinclair, and his shit-eating grin screamed his smugness.
He expected me to run scared. I set my jaw, not letting that affect me.
I leaned forward and flicked my tongue around the jewelry.
His eyes widened, and he inhaled with a sharp burst, so I repeated the motion, licking and tonguing the tip until he glistened with my spit.
Each curl of my tongue not only elevated his breathing but also caused a deep, intense need in my core until slick dampened my panties.
With my head pulled back the slightest bit, I took the thick, red, pulsing cock in hand.
I looked up at him once, took in his taut expression, and leaned forward, sucking him into my mouth.
He passed the barrier of my lips while I swirled my tongue and settled into a bobbing rhythm.
I swallowed the precum on my tongue, and it warmed my throat.
It tasted good . . . like an Alpha. Squeezing my thighs together was the only way to ebb the throb that bloomed in my clit. Salty and masculine . . .
I moaned, rubbing my tongue against the smooth shaft. The more I had him on my tongue, the more I wanted. Twisting my hand, I glided it along his shaft, right above his swelling knot, while I ducked my head up and down. A strip of dark blond hair led to his belly button, the thin trail sexy.
I shivered and drank in his features. His eyebrows bunched close, causing a furrow between them. I flattened my tongue against the bottom of his tip, swirling it around the two beads on that side.
Sinclair’s breathing hitched, and his nostrils flared, lip curling to bare his teeth. Every inch of me clenched.
He reached down and cupped the side of my head with his large hand. Our eyes clashed, his brown, angry glare softening at the corners while his lips relaxed with obvious pleasure. He grazed his thumb along the crest of my cheek, and my heart fluttered.
My teeth grazed against his shaft, wringing a grunt from him, but it also seemed to rip him out of the softness.
His expression shuttered, and the gentleness left so quickly, I must have imagined it.
His fingers twitched, and he suddenly had a hard grip on my hair, sneering.
Sinclair forced me down on his cock until he hit the back of my throat.
I gagged, my hands raising to his thighs, instinctively pushing away, shooting pain through my injury.
But as much as I tried to retreat, he didn’t allow it.
“Take me,” he hissed, and shoved my mouth down again. I gagged once more, with the tip of his cock prodding down my throat.
Sinclair groaned, his mouth parting, and that was the last I saw as tears stung my vision.