Marchetti Auto Salvage
Cliff
Adam’s fist connects hard with the punching bag. The impact is a dull, heavy whump of leather snapping tight over packed sand. The chain overhead rattles, metal links clinking as the bag jerks backward a couple of inches before swinging back toward him.
The evening sun slides in through the high windows in long, dusty beams, catching on suspended particles of brake dust and smoke. The overhead fluorescents buzz, and a breeze drifts in from the open bay doors.
“Again,” I say.
Adam exhales through his nose and resets his stance, throwing a couple of hard punches.
The beta looks good like this. He’s wearing only a pair of fitted jeans, showing off his lean waist, broad shoulders, and cut abs defined from hours in the gym.
His dark blond hair is damp at the temples, the longer strands curling around his ears. I admire his tight body, watching as a sheen along his collarbones catches the light as he pivots.
He’s fucking gorgeous.
Adam angles his body and throws a left hook, making the bag sway sideways.
"Don't lean," I say, stepping closer. I drift behind him, setting my hands lightly on his hips and nudging him a fraction to the side. “You need to keep yourself centered. If this were a real fight, someone would knock you off balance the second you tipped like that.”
“Like this?” he asks as he resets his stance. Then he swings.
Power rolls up from his legs, through his core, into his shoulder. His fist lands with a deeper, more satisfying thud. The chain above the bag rattles again, swinging wider than before.
“That’s it.” My fingers tighten slightly at his hips. He’s moving so fast, his body strong. I love days like this. I feel so useless when he has a flare, but it makes these good days like this that much better.
“Perfect form,” I say.
Adam glances over his shoulder at me. That slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. "Is my form perfect?" He cocks one brow as he inches back, pressing his perfect ass against my groin. “Are you sure? Maybe you should show me again.” He wiggles, grinding into me.
My dick instantly grows, a thick, heavy ache pushing against the zipper of my jeans, and I know he can feel it.
Such a fucking tease.
“You are in a mood today.” I lean down, curling my upper body around his sweat-slicked back. “I fucked you for two hours this morning. Did you not get enough?”
Adam’s eyes flash as he turns his head toward me. “Never,” he says in a breathless whisper as his gaze falls to my mouth.
His scent is so clean and bright like sun-warmed cotton and a hint of salt. It fills my lungs, and it’s all I can do not to bury my face in the crook of his neck and inhale until I’m drunk on him.
“You know,” he says, his voice deep and sexy, “smelling your delicious chocolatey scent in this heat has me thinking about that thing you do with your tongue.”
I smile against his neck and push my hips into him, making him feel every inch through my jeans. "Well, maybe if you're a good boy, I'll do it again."
"Seriously?" an annoyed voice cuts from across the garage. "Can you two not do that in front of me?"
Perrin straightens from where he's leaning over the open hood of the '72 Chevelle. His cheeks are flushed red as he stares at the engine, refusing to look at us.
Adam turns toward his brother, instantly delighted. "Do what?" His voice lifts, teasing.
“You know what,” Perrin says flatly.
"I really don't," Adam says, all innocence, pushing back into my cock one more time before he steps away from me. "We were just talking."
Perrin finally lifts his gaze, and the expression on his face makes it clear that he’s not in the mood.
He and Adam are twins, but the resemblance only really lands if you catch them side by side.
They have the same warm brown eyes and same sharp cheekbones.
But Perrin's built heavier, softer through the middle, with a quiet presence that contradicts Adam’s wild energy.
Perrin's hair is curly and lighter, kept short along the sides with an undercut, the curls on top falling forward across his forehead.
“I really don’t want to watch you two fuck,” Perrin says with an exaggerated groan.
"You didn't seem too bothered being in the same room while I was getting fucked last night," Adam says, clearly wanting to rile his poor brother up, "Or is that because Cliff was balls deep in your—"
"Stop," Perrin says firmly.
"I was going to say—"
"I know exactly what you were going to say." Perrin points the wrench at him. “Stop being an ass, or I’ll throw you in the car crusher.”
Adam's grin splits wide, and he looks so damn pleased with himself I almost let it go on longer.
Almost.
"Enough," I say, catching Adam by the back of the neck and squeezing gently. The beta settles immediately, still smiling, but he finally shuts his mouth.
Relieved, Perrin exhales through his nose and drops his attention back to the engine block. The pair rarely bicker, but when they do, it’s usually because Adam’s being a dick.
"The starter motor is done," Raff calls from under the car, before anyone can start it back up again.
The dolly squeaks as he pushes himself out from under the chassis.
Then the alpha sits up, plants his boots, and rises in one easy motion.
His work shirt hangs open, allowing the dark tattoos covering his chest and arms to catch the fluorescent light as he stretches his back, dark lines shifting over muscle.
"We're gonna have to replace the whole thing." He tosses the shop towel over his shoulder and looks at me.
"No saving it?"
"Not a chance." He rolls his neck once, his alpha scent drifting through the garage as he moves. Sage and sunflowers. It’s an unusual scent for such a big, imposing alpha. "I'll reach out to Colin and see if he can get us the parts."
The office door on the far side of the building swings open, and Odette steps out.
She’s wearing tight, dark-wash jeans and a low-cut, emerald green silk blouse that does absolutely nothing to hide her curves. Odette is the kind of woman who likes to show off her assets, and at her age, she’s earned the right.
“Alright, boys. I’m out.” The she-alpha shuts the door behind her, then adjusts her designer purse on her shoulder.
Her hair is a striking pixie cut of pure white, silver that gleams under the fluorescent lights, styled with a deliberate, artful messiness.
She looks amazing. Not “good for her age”. Just good, full stop.
"Night, Mama O," Adam calls, grinning over his shoulder at her.
"Goodnight," Perrin’s already crossing toward her.
Odette leans in and the beta kisses her cheek. “Goodnight, sweetie.” She raises two fingers at Adam in a wave, and he presses his hand to his chest like she's blessed him.
She stops at Raff next, and he stands still as she takes his jaw in one hand and pulls him toward her so she can kiss his cheek.
"Goodnight, Ma," he says quietly.
She releases him, and her eyes find mine as she moves in my direction. She looks me over once, as if she's running a quick check to make sure I'm still in one piece. Then she glances toward the calendar on the side of the tool chest.
“Are we open tomorrow?” she asks. “I saw something marked on your calendar.”
“Nope,” I lean in and kiss her cheek. Her sharp cinnamon scent fills my lungs, familiar and slightly sweet. “We’re running a few vans up to Angelica. She ordered three more, so it’ll take all of us to get them to her. We’ve also agreed to pick up a shipment of some meds for her along the way.”
"Three more vans?" Odette's dark gray eyes widen. They're the exact same color as Raff's. "I swear that she-alpha goes through more damn vehicles." She shakes her head in disbelief. "Where are you dropping them at? The boarding house in Calina?"
"We're taking them to the Morder," Raff says. “It’s somewhere outside of Greenwood this month.” He's not looking at either of us as he talks.
His eyes have drifted across the garage to where Perrin is bent over the engine, one hand braced on the frame, the other working a socket wrench into a tight space.
Raff watches the beta, his gaze tracking the line of Perrin's back, down to his ass. Raff stares, licking his lips before he finally reaches for his parts catalog.
Odette rolls her eyes as she turns back to me. “You're dropping them off at the black market? Isn’t that a little,” she frowns, trying to find the right word, "unusual?"
"It’s a little out of the ordinary, but it’ll be okay.
" I give a small, one-shouldered shrug, trying to make light of it. But I do understand Odette’s concern.
Pulling up to an open field packed with hundreds of alphas isn't exactly a low-profile handoff. But Angelica pays well, so I don’t give a shit where she wants them delivered.
“I heard from Patrick that several of their rides got picked up in a sting down along the border,” Adam says. “She lost a whole fleet.”
That makes Odette throw her head back and laugh, a raw, throaty sound that fills the garage. "Serves Angelica right for driving south," she says, waving a dismissive hand. "It's not worth it. I’m a northern woman. I’ll die a northern woman."
I smile, but I don't say what I'm actually thinking, which is that it's easier up here for people like us. The laws are looser, the harsh winters keep any travelers away, and everyone is too busy minding their own dirty business to look too hard at anyone else's.
Nobody wants to pull at a thread when they know their own seams are showing.
“You boys be careful.” Odette gives me a pointed look, adjusting her purse. "And don't get sucked into all that chaos and decide to buy yourself an omega while you're there."
That makes me laugh, a real, deep chuckle. "Not a chance," I say, shaking my head. "I have zero interest in a high-maintenance woman."
"Hey," Adam smacks my stomach with the back of his hand. "Omegas can be men, too, you know."
My grin widens as I turn to him. "You're right. And I definitely don't want another high-maintenance man. I already have a house full of them." I reach out and slap his ass, the sound echoing loudly in the garage.
Adam yelps and jumps, rubbing the spot with a pout. “Brute.”
But Perrin actually looks offended, his light brows drawing together. "I'm not high-maintenance.” He frowns.
I quickly hold up my hands, my expression innocent. "I was talking about Raff."
I wasn’t.
Raff’s face breaks into a wicked smile, and Perrin rolls his eyes, a small huff of a laugh escaping him as he turns back to the engine.
“You boys be good.” Odette says, then she turns, her hips swaying as she makes her way out the open bay door.
I watch her make her way to her black car parked next to my old pickup. The second she starts the engine, the energy in the garage shifts back to work. Adam gets into position and starts throwing punches at the bag, Perrin leans back over the engine, and Raff thumbs through the catalog.
But my mind drifts to the Morder as I stare at Adam’s tight body move, his abs flexing as he bobs and weaves. I’ve been to the black market a few times, dropping off all kinds of shit for Angelica, and the whole thing doesn't sit right with me.
Every time I leave that damn place, I’m left with a weird feeling, like something is sitting wrong in my chest, and I don’t know why.
After all, the Morder isn't that much different from the Academies where rich-pricks normally get their omegas, but it still feels wrong.
I get that omegas aren't built the same as alphas and betas. They can't be independent. They need to be cared for and protected, and when they’re lost or have undesirable features, they’re not likely to find a pack.
The Morder helps them find alphas that will care for them.
I wish it didn’t make my skin crawl.