Chapter 2
Nik
These heats of hers are going to be the death of me.
As soon as Mags is safely in her room, I throw on a jacket and go for a late-night-turned-early-morning walk. A duet of snoring almost rattles the door to the twins’ room as I pass by, and I chuckle. Those poor boys have no clue.
Mags is clueless as well. She seems oblivious to Kip’s infatuation, and even though Kaden plays dumb, I can tell he’s head over heels, too.
The most fucked-up part of this whole arrangement?
I think I’m even more smitten than the both of them put together.
I could lie to myself, try to convince myself that she’s just that good at what she does, but it’s not some con that has me by the balls. It’s her.
Those cool, grey eyes. The way her nose tilts up at the tip. Her wild pink hair. Yeah, it’s dyed, but who gives a fuck? She looks amazing with it. Most omegas pride themselves on their natural beauty, so I think the dye job is just a big middle finger to her true designation.
It baffles me that she doesn’t have any desire to be an omega.
I’ve known betas who would literally kill to have what she has, but she acts like it’s some huge burden.
She refuses to talk about why, and I won’t press, so I guess it’ll remain a mystery …
for now. Someday, though, she’ll have to fess up.
She can’t hide her heats forever.
As I trudge along the trail near our rented home, I turn towards the beach. At this time of night, it’ll be mostly vacant of tourists, and I can have some time to myself before the next big scam.
I mentally run through Mags’s notes on the next family: The Gradys.
Middle-aged couple, rich, as always, with a twenty-five-year-old omega daughter who just can’t seem to get pregnant, no matter how many breeding agencies they go through.
We’re her last hope, so to speak, which is probably the only reason the Gradys are even willing to try a freelance pack.
That’s where I come in. I have the great misfortune to be blessed—or cursed, depending on how you look at it—with some primo seed. My little swimmers have gotten every omega I’ve been with pregnant, with the exception of Mags, who takes birth control to prevent that.
I shouldn’t agree to this shit. It feels wrong to sleep with other omegas when I’m in love with the woman arranging these sessions. There’s got to be another way to make some cash.
Who am I kidding? I couldn’t talk Mags into going straight in a million years. She’s had this idea of pimping ourselves out as an alpha stud with his beta heat helpers in her head for years, and she won’t take anything else as a suggestion.
It doesn’t help that it’s been a largely successful con so far.
Kaden got us in trouble that one time, and we’ve almost gotten caught stealing valuables on our way out the door, but so far we’ve been able to keep the authorities out of this.
Mags is a smooth talker, and usually the families who hire us are more than happy to pay whatever she charges.
Mags charges quite a lot.
I hope this grift works out. If we can con the Gradys into paying what Mags thinks we’re worth, it’ll help feed us and keep us with a roof over our heads for a while.
Mags just needs to admit that she’s an omega.
That would solve a lot of our problems. I could get a legitimate job, and Kip and Kaden would fall over themselves to help her through her heats when I’m working.
She’s already got them trained, for fuck’s sake.
We could get a nice house, instead of the crappy rental we’re in, one that has an extra room just for Mags and her nest.
These daydreams carry me down the beach to a small cart selling stuffed animals and flowers. There isn’t any special holiday coming up, so the owner’s clients must mostly be young alphas and omegas out for some fun on the beach.
Since it’s the middle of the night, I can’t actually buy from the cart, but I make sure to leave enough cash in the tip jar to make up for the pink teddy bear and bouquet of lilies that I swipe.
Mags will love these.
Back at the house, I place the gifts on the kitchen table at Mags’s usual spot, then start fixing breakfast. It’s almost time to get everyone up and start the job, so I might as well make sure we all have full bellies when we meet the Gradys.
Kip and Kaden come in first, eyeing the stuffie and bouquet suspiciously. Kaden looks at Kip, who shrugs, then turns to me.
“Breakfast and presents? What the fuck did you do?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to be nice.”
Kip snorts. “Mags hates surprises. The food you might be able to get away with, but the gifts? She’s gonna flip.”
I stop chopping the peppers for the omelets long enough to wave the knife threateningly in Kip’s direction. “She’ll like ‘em if she knows what’s good for her. Besides, I’m allowed to do nice things.”
“For the omega marks, maybe. Mags isn’t an omega, and she’s not a mark.”
I school my expression to avoid giving her secret away. “She’s still a woman, and women deserve nice things every once in a while.”
Kip and Kaden sit in their spots at the table and stare at each other, grinning.
“No twin talk. If you have something to say, say it out loud.”
Kaden groans and turns away, toying with his fork while I finish breakfast. Kip snickers, and I threaten him again for good measure.
Finally, just as the bacon finishes frying and the omelets are done, Mags stumbles in. Her hair is a tangled mess, but I can tell from the small pinprick in the crook of her right arm that she took her medicine. Now we just have to hope it lasts until bedtime.
Mags sits at her spot and stares blankly at the gifts. She pokes the stuffed bear with her fingertip and looks at the three of us. “Am I supposed to eat this or what?”
Twins: One. Me: Zero. Damn.
Kip giggles and waves his fork. “It’s a gift. Someone—and I won’t name names—thought you’d enjoy some ‘nice things.’”
While Kip’s goofing off, I test the temperature of the bacon grease. It’s still hot, but not hot enough to burn. I hand Mags her plate, stretching across the table so the pan of grease in my other hand tilts and drips onto Kip’s lap.
“Hey!” He jumps out of his seat and swats at the stain. “Fucker!”
“Oops! Careful, Kip. That could’ve been a nasty burn.”
He scowls at me, but I ignore it. “Mags, does your omelet look good?”
She’s already diving in. I watch her devour the folded egg concoction, eating with all the grace of a feral pig … and I love every second of it. Mags could eat a ham sandwich, and I’d find it sexy. Anything that draws attention to that plump mouth of hers.
One of these days, that mouth will be wrapped around my cock. I just have to be patient.
She belches when she’s done, tapping a fist on her chest to get the last of the gas out. I pat her back to help, and she looks up with a grin. “Thanks.”
The twins chuckle, but a quick glare from me puts a stop to that.
“So,” Mags says once she’s done, “off to the Gradys’ house we go!”
“What are you going to do with the bear and the flowers?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.
She stops for a moment, then jumps out of her chair excitedly. “You can give them to the omega when we meet the Gradys! It’s perfect. She’ll love this crap.”
Ouch.
Mags’s oblivion kills my mood for the rest of the morning. I remain silent on the car ride across town to the Gradys’ manor house, holding the damn gifts like an idiot. I hand them over to the omega, Britney, when we get there, and predictably she squeals and hugs my neck at the gesture.
I could handle Mags hugging my neck. I’d rather not have this skinny young thing hanging off of me. Do her parents even feed her?
Britney Grady is … well, to say slender would be an understatement. I wonder if she doesn’t have some kind of eating disorder, because I can see her ribs through her skintight dress, and her tits are damn near nonexistent. At least Mags has some meat on her.
After introductions are made, Mr. and Mrs. Grady give us a tour of their house while Britney hangs onto my arm.
Her nest is in the attic, which is a little unusual, but when Mr. Grady opens the door to reveal that the nest encompasses the entire attic, with dozens of mattresses, hundreds of fluffy pillows, gauzy curtains hanging from every corner, tiny lights on elaborate strings, and … is that a vending machine in the back?
“It’s …” Opulent. Excessive. Overkill. “Nice.”
Britney preens at the praise. “I designed it myself. It took forever for the servants to get everything just right, but once I directed them, it went much more smoothly.”
Figures she wouldn’t make the nest herself. That’s one annoying thing about the marks Mags picks; they’re lazy and spoiled to a one. I don’t think any of them have had to lift a finger to do their own work their entire lives.
Mags may not like being an omega, but at least she does her own shit.
The tour ends with brunch in their massive dining room. Britney sits annoyingly close to me, trying to feed me the little goddamn finger sandwiches. She opens her mouth for me to feed her, too, but I play dumb and ignore the blatant request.
While I deal with Britney, Mags schmoozes with the parents, explaining how she and the twins work to help their daughter through the days leading up to her heat.
Since my part is obvious, I tune them out. Instead, I watch my secret omega out of the corner of my eye. She’s not showing signs of the suppressant wearing off today, so maybe last night was a fluke.
I hope she can hold out until this con pays off.