Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
TALLY
T he way he rests his leg on one of the ropes accentuates how nice his butt is.
And that’s the moment I realize I have to tap out. It’s not an option anymore. I need to go and get some rest, or I’ll be throwing myself at him, and I’m pretty sure that’s not something he wants.
All during training, I’ve been on a roller coaster of emotions, going from one extreme to the other.
A look from him, even the smallest smidge of his attention, and I’m soaring like an eagle.
In the next moment, though, it’s painfully obvious he’s in his head, distracted by something else.
And that makes me hit the ground like a turkey.
“Hey.” I’m speaking and escaping at the same time because not only am I exhausted, I know how these trainers are. They’re all motivation, and “you can do it,” or they’re trying to find the reason you’re not matching their energy. I don’t need that right now. I need to get away from him.
He turns and his eyebrows pull together, but he stays quiet. Still fucking distracted.
“I’m going to tap out. I’m done.” I stop once there’s a good distance between us. Where the air is easier to breathe without his scent clouding my thoughts. “Thank you. I needed a good workout. Maybe I can set up another session with you via the app. But I kind of need your name for that.”
The wave of awkwardness I feel is worlds apart from how he’s feeling. I’m an eyes person, and right now, all I can read in his is disappointment for some reason.
“Or not,” I mumble, clearly reading the situation wrong.
Racing off before he can answer, I’m near the treadmills before he even moves. I don’t need to look where he is; my ears are attuned to his steps because my stupid Omega is in hyperdrive.
I seriously need a cold shower and some carbs, followed by ice cream. Perhaps all three at once.
Forgoing a shower here for a million reasons, all tied to the Beta, I grab my bag, stuffing everything inside, only leaving out my hoodie and phone. As I lift my phone, an alert lights up the screen, and then there's a steady stream of them, all training sessions with Tynan.
Tynan. My Omega sighs.
And that’s my final straw. Pulling my hoodie on and leaving the hood on to hide in, I walk over to the reception desk, stopping but not looking at him. I mean, I glance at him quickly, but I focus on my phone as I speak.
“I’ll have to see what my schedule is like. I can accept or reject these appointments in the app, right?”
“I’ve given you options.”
Obviously. The twenty or so sessions he put in for me kind of gave that away.
“Cool,” I mumble before lifting my eyes and looking at him properly, holding my hand out to do what I should have done before I started acting like a lunatic.
“Tynan, I’m Tally. Like I said before, I appreciate your help tonight.
When I get home, I’ll go through these.” I hold my phone up with the hand he isn’t still gripping.
His touch is warm. Super warm and does things touches shouldn’t do. Pulling my hand free, I’m out the door before I can embarrass myself any further, and the whole time, my Omega is lamenting my control.
I haven’t been thrown like this for a while. The way he’s gotten under my skin is disarming. Now I just have to work out why. Besides the scent-matched thing.
There are a lot of people on the street, and I weave my way through the crowds, all about to hit the clubs by the looks.
Seeing everyone carrying on, talking about the night they’ve got planned, takes me back to Genoa.
Fun times with Alphas occupy my mind all the way back home, giving me something besides trying to figure out who’s following me to focus on.
Once I’m safely locked inside, with food heating in the microwave, I send off a quick email to Joe to let him know I’m still alive.
Then, instead of sitting out in the main room, I sit in bed with my takeout container in my lap. I intentionally sit in the dark while I eat, and it doesn’t take long—perhaps only five minutes of waiting—before the lights come on at my neighbor’s place across the street.
Tynan’s home.
I seriously have to fight with myself not to climb out of bed and stand in plain sight while holding a sign saying “do you recognize me now?” I mean, it sounds perfect in my head, but then I get caught up wondering what his reaction would be and miss the chance.
It takes a while to fall asleep. My cheek throbs and my legs are jumpy after running too hard on the treadmill. I’m starting to drift off when I get an alert on my phone.
The message comes from a false account. At first glance, it looks like a notification for a sale at an Omega store. The first few links are real, taking you to the actual store, but it’s the one second from the bottom that I click on.
Even then, the information I’ve been sent appears like a news article in case anyone is checking. And, yeah, my contact is going to extremes, but at the same time, the people I’ve been assigned to bring down are known for being thorough themselves.
An event is coming up. An underground auction with everything a player in the criminal world would want. A night sure to bring together some of the bigger players.
Lucky for me, I’ve already got half a foot in the door because I’d put money on this being the same thing that Walsh spoke to me about.
I lie back down, spending a few minutes deleting the message from my browser history, as well as doing a general sweep for any cookies that might have attached themselves to my accounts.
Instead of being more wound up at the news, the promise of something happening is like giving me a cup of warm milk. I’m out before the count of ten.
In the morning, Walsh messages me with the details for the job. Sending him back an appropriately gushy thank you message, as well as confirming I’ll take him up on his offer of “paid protection,” I clear out any unnecessary distractions—i.e., one-on-one training with Tynan.
The next couple of days pass with me sucking up to Walsh while I work my shifts with Johnny, and me avoiding Tynan at the gym when I work out. At night, I stay far away from the window.
Wednesday arrives, and I spend the morning at a beauty salon, getting a wax, then a spray tan—at Walsh’s suggestion, of course.
After grabbing a smoothie, I use the free bus to loop around the city a few times, before catching a cab to the post office to collect a parcel that was couriered especially for the event.
I already know what’s inside the bag, and it’s not a new dress from Boho, as the packaging suggests.
I don’t open it until I’m ready to leave for the event. The tap device is small, one of the newer models.
Walking to the mirror in panties, a strapless bra, and tall heels, I spin around, pulling my hair up and letting it fall down before practicing a couple of bends in front of the mirror.
There’s nothing to see; the small listening device stashed in my panties is impossible to see.
I picked out a couple of stitches on the ribbon that sits on the side of my hip.
Thankfully, the inch of fabric is wide enough to slide the device inside.
Leaving the transmitter on, I get dressed in the uniform Walsh handed over yesterday when he walked me out after my shift.
It’s pretty much what I expected—a strapless white lace bodysuit that’s high cut to expose plenty of skin, even when coupled with the tight black pencil skirt.
The slim black bow tie around my neck finishes off my uniform.
I don’t need to check in the mirror to know I’m going to be flashing my cheeks to the world anytime I reach for something.
It’s absolutely freezing outside, but Walsh was insistent that I don’t bring anything with me.
No phones, no jackets, nothing. Thankfully, I only have to wait a few minutes at the place where we agreed he could pick me up.
I mean, there’s no way I’m letting him know where I live.
I don’t trust him as far as I can kick him.
He leans across the front seat to open the door for me. “You scrub up real good, Tally.”
I swallow down the snark that burns on my tongue as I shut the door. I don’t need to check to know he’s still by my side; I can feel him looming way too close. Fumbling with the seat belt, I pull it up high and twist around accidentally-on-purpose, whacking him on the shoulder.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” I gasp, adding even more distance between us when I turn and lean my back against the door.
“Whoa.” He rubs his arm, a playful smile on his face. “You been working out, girl? You’re looking fit and strong.”
He’s flirting. JFC. He’s flirting with me.
“You smell good too.”
Thank God, I get saved by the bell. Quite literally. His phone rings, and he mutters under his breath, settling back in his seat as he answers.
I tune out his conversation. There’s nothing exciting, and Walsh, no matter how important he thinks he is, is the lowest of the lows. Pretty much on par with me, if I was actually a desperate waitress looking for fast cash.
Thankfully, we have to pick up girls on the way.
I’ve never met the other three, and since Walsh is still on the phone, we don’t get the chance to be introduced.
He doesn’t stop talking, even when he pulls to the stop at a gate surrounding a huge warehouse.
In front of us, there’s a couple of other cars waiting to be checked by security, but given the clientele coming, it makes sense and is to be expected.
The guard checks the boot, then shines a torch in our faces before standing on Walsh’s side to check his driver’s license. The level of organization, including guards with a list of people working tonight, is exactly the event I’ve been waiting for.
After the security check, he parks, and we get out to trail behind him.
Just before he opens the back door, he spins around.
“You all keep your fucking mouth shut about anything you see here tonight. You ain’t to listen to any private conversations, either.
I swear, if I find out you’re out there telling people what happens behind these doors, there’ll be consequences. ”
“Oh my God, of course, Walsh,” one of the other girls says, kissing arse effortlessly.
I basically say the same thing as she does.
“Honestly”—he jabs his finger at both of us, stopping us from continuing—“watch yourselves, and stay out of the way. You’re here to serve drinks to important men. Don’t let me catch you doing nothing but that. Right?!”
We’re all wide-eyed and nodding, even before he finishes being menacing and moves on to being disgusting. “Now, do Daddy proud in there. I’ve got a big bonus for each of you later if I’m happy with how you act. Yeah?”
I follow the other girls, giggling at the obvious suggestion. If it were up to me, I’d be punching him in the dick, then dropping him to the ground to cuff him for being a slimy fucker.
And then I prove what a goddamn actress I am by not reacting as we walk through the first room. One side is stacked floor-to-ceiling with cages full of animals. Pets, judging by the anguish in their eyes, and the other side has fewer cages, but the dogs inside are obviously fighting dogs.
I want to throw Walsh to the fighting dogs, but sadly, the next room gives me the reasons not to. This one has both men and women sitting bound on the floor. I don’t need to see their eyes to feel their fear.
As soon as we walk through a door to both the back rooms, he slams it shut behind us.
And it’s figuratively what I have to do, too, shutting away what I saw, or I won’t survive the night.
But dog fights, the skin trade, and public slayings are a part of this world—hopefully my being here will make a difference.
Walsh waves at the guards we pass. They’re placed strategically and armed with the latest weapons, all wearing black polos marked with “security” over the front.
Another corridor leads us to the warehouse.
It’s been set up like you’d expect from a gaudy black-tie event.
Black curtains hang down from the ceiling, hiding the industrial building.
A fake floor has been installed, a DJ booth set up in one corner, and two bar areas stand almost diagonally opposite to each other.
“Stay here,” Walsh says to me before he flicks his hand at the other girls for them to follow behind. I watch as he delivers them to the bar areas they’re going to be working. I thought we’d be working in pairs, but I got that wrong.
The bars are all set up, by the looks. Honestly, no expense has been spared. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were in a nightclub.
Walsh returns a few minutes later and walks me to the most extravagantly staged area of the room—the VIP section—staying behind me as I duck under the gold rope. The whole time, his piggy eyes are on my backside. I feel his gaze burn like poison ivy.
“Told you I’d look after you, Tally. You’re my VIP girl for the night. Anything they want, they get.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder, and that feeling of wanting to punch him in the dick returns with a vengeance.
I lean my head against his shoulder. “You’re amazing.” But then I’m taking a step, not too obvious, out of his space. “Wow, Walsh, you set this up? It’s crazy.”
“Pretty flash, ain’t it?” He goes to follow me in, but I block the entrance behind the bar by moving the bin.
“It’s all good if I set this up a little differently?” I say, already shuffling bottles.
And then, thankfully, his name gets called, and he’s racing away before he says another word.