ELIANO
I can’t sleep for half the night. One reason is that Storm’s house is small, and I’m an alpha with excellent hearing, which means I get to listen for hours to moans, gasps, and all kinds of sounds while Storm and Damien are having passionate sex.
They do not care that I’m literally on the other side of the wall.
Their enthusiasm is pretty much completely out of control.
Those sounds trigger a reaction in my own body, so eventually I can’t take it anymore. I head to the bathroom and take care of it myself. Because why not, I imagine the mouth of a certain rude beta wrapped around my cock, and that helps me finish the job with a satisfying release.
After that, I finally manage to fall asleep once the erotic groans fade into softer murmurs, but I wake up early anyway, around six in the morning.
At least I can take a proper shower here and use real shampoo. Last night, Storm and Damien put together a full backpack for me, with things Damien bought after he drove me to the house.
It’s so nice of them. At least I won’t be traveling completely empty-handed.
I go through the backpack, which is stuffed to the brim with jeans, T-shirts, long sleeves, hoodies, socks, and black boxers.
Damien also bought me a toiletry bag and a few other small things that might come in handy.
I’m genuinely grateful, even if he did keep me up half the night, orgasming every ten minutes and letting me know about it with loud cries of pleasure.
While I’m sitting in the kitchen, going through the contents of the backpack, Storm walks in unexpectedly. He looks energetic and in a good mood, the reason for it being very obvious.
"Getting restless already?" he asks, grinning, giving off a relaxed vibe.
I yawn loudly and meaningfully, but he seems clueless. "Honestly, yeah. I can’t really sit still. I was wondering if I could drive over to the detention center and follow the prison bus. That way we would arrive together at the port."
Storm hesitates for a moment, then nods. "I think that can be arranged."
Then he scratches his chin and adds, "There’s just one thing.
Keep in mind that Salt might be pretty… off.
He felt insulted that you didn’t accept the contract right away.
He likely got hit with a bit of what’s called True Mate Rejection energy.
That shit can hurt badly and linger in the system for a good week, so keep that in mind. "
Oh, well, I shrug.
"Sorry, but I still don’t really buy the whole True Mates story. I’m doing this because it suits me at this point in my life. I need to disappear from Rocco’s radar, and an isolated island sounds perfect."
"Is this really all there is for you?"
"Pretty much, yes. At least for now."
"Fair. But I have to tell you one more thing. After you left the building, I found a True Mate for my last client. Four out of four. Think about that. Seems I’m not wrong," Storm says, taking a sip from his coffee cup and grinning again, with open arrogance.
"Hate to break it to you, but nothing has been confirmed in our case yet," I say with a sour smile. "And our situation is different. A beta-alpha pair, so if I were you, I’d dial back that arrogant attitude." I cut him a half-amused look.
"Arrogance is my middle name," Storm replies, crossing his arms over his massive chest.
With his face flushed, Damien walks into the kitchen, looking positively radiant. Again, hardly surprising. He spent half the night eagerly taking dick, and apparently it does wonders for his complexion.
They immediately pull each other into an embrace, exchanging wet, smacking kisses, tongues pushing into mouths, lips making obscene sounds, hands wandering all over their bodies.
Gosh, I hate public displays of affection so much, so I look away. That kind of future feels impossibly distant to me anyway, and I see no point in torturing myself.
But this is their house, and I’m just a guest here, a stranger they invited, someone they bought a whole fucking backpack of stuff for, so I wouldn’t dare complain.
Eventually, Storm pulls away from Damien’s mouth and looks at me.
"I’m lending you a car. I’ve got this old beater thanks to my cousin Nate. Total junk, but it runs. I doubt he’ll mind if you borrow it. You can leave it at the port, and we’ll have it transported back."
"Thanks so much. I appreciate it."
"I’ll call the center now and check that there won’t be a problem with you driving there."
"Sounds good."
Fifteen minutes later, I say goodbye to Damien and we head out. Storm drives his new car, and I take his beat-up car that rattles the moment I turn the key.
It feels strange driving alone. In the past, whenever I was behind the wheel, I was always accompanied by soldati. Being completely alone in a car is almost liberating, but also stressful, so I’m relieved when we finally arrive.
I immediately spot the prison bus parked and waiting outside the facility.
Storm and I get out and walk into the office to check in. The employee on duty already knows about my case, and a moment later Mr. Gessler appears with his usual sour expression.
"The warden wasn’t thrilled, but I convinced him it might be better if you arrive at the port together. Mr. Gomez will be waiting for you there. No point in dragging this out," he adds, looking like he’s made some grand personal sacrifice.
Storm shakes his hand. "Thanks for the help. And you, Eliano, good luck. Here’s a phone, a burner, a pretty good one. Call me if you need anything. I’ll save my contact for you right now, but I have to get going, I’ve got a pile of formalities to wrap up at Fate’s Choice."
I take the burner and shake his hand. Mr. Gessler stays behind to oversee Salt being transferred into the custody of the convoy.
I wait for a moment near the entrance to the building and watch as three alpha guards step out from behind the guard booth and head toward the bus.
Mr. Gessler is already there, talking to the driver, an older beta.
I am close enough to hear them when the tallest of the alphas speaks up.
"Why did you agree to let that alpha accompany the convoy? You know this is a violation of security protocol."
"At this point it no longer matters, because their marriage contract has already been finalized. Salt is transferred into Mr. Gomez’s custody the moment he leaves the detention center. Beta Activation operates under its own procedures. I called and made sure this would not be an issue."
"Prisoner transport should not involve civilians," the tall alpha repeats, frowning and folding his arms across his chest. "If anything goes wrong, the responsibility will fall on you."
In this particular situation, Gessler’s abrasive personality works exactly as it should.
"You are not here to make the rules. The program representatives are," he reminds him coldly. "Your job is to deliver him safely. Mr. Gomez is responsible for the entire operation, so focus on doing what you were assigned to do."
The alpha shoots me a murderous look, and something about his behavior sets me off. I grew up in a fortress full of mafiosi. I know men like this well. I can smell trouble from a distance, and something here does not sit right with me.
A moment later, two betas escort Salt outside.
He is carrying a suitcase, and it is obvious he had no idea I would be here. I see the shock hit his face in real time. He goes pale, then flushes, then pales again, his brows knitting together as emotion crashes through him.
"Hey, Salt," I say lightly as I approach. "How are you? Storm lent me his car. I’ll follow you to the port."
"Whatever," Salt mutters, his lips slightly pursed as he quickly looks away, though a deep blush lingers on his cheeks. From the rapid beat of his heart, I can tell he is not only surprised but upset. Some of that anger Storm mentioned earlier is clearly bubbling to the surface now.
He is dressed in civilian clothes, which catches my attention.
A black leather jacket, a dark navy T-shirt with a white artistic splatter across the chest, and black skinny jeans.
He looks even more edgy like this, his hair loose and neatly brushed.
My gaze drifts over him, and he flicks a brief glance back at me.
The two betas lead Salt toward the bus, giving me my first real chance to see him without the baggy prison jumpsuit.
From behind, I notice his long, shapely legs, narrow hips, and pleasantly rounded ass, almost as if he has a slight anterior pelvic tilt.
My eyes linger there for a moment longer than they should.
The driver takes paperwork from Gessler, most likely confirming the transfer, and Salt is seated inside. He does not look back. No farewell glance. Fine.
The three alpha guards board the bus after him, while the beta guards return to the detention center.
That strikes me as odd. Beta prisoners are always handled by guards of the same subgender, and the realization that this is off makes me even more alert.
Maybe I’m overly suspicious, but that’s also part of my mafia upbringing.
We’re drilled in almost paranoid caution.
Everything can be a trap, and no one outside families tied to ours can ever be fully trusted.
It’s almost a reflex to analyze people’s behavior in simple terms, whether they pose a threat or not. And now that mechanism is kicking in.
The bus pulls away and exits the fenced grounds of the detention center.
I stay close behind it, occasionally drifting slightly to the side so I can keep an eye on Salt’s dark blue head as he sits by the window, staring outside.
We drive for about fifteen minutes and nothing happens, yet a strange tension builds in my chest. My nerves feel stretched tight, and I cannot explain why.
Something is wrong. I just do not know what.
From what I overheard during the driver’s conversation with Gessler, the trip to the port should take about an hour. That leaves forty-five minutes.
My entire body simply refuses to settle.