Chapter 6 – GEO
Chapter
Six
GEO
" O h, fuck. Not him again."
The familiar woman's voice cuts through the chaos of the cramped underground passageways of my little empire. Candy. One of my best "waitresses."
And judging from the pissed tone in her voice, I'm gonna have to break a few bones. Almost noon, so it's about time.
Been a slow morning.
I duck under a low-hanging bundle of contraband electronics beneath the flickering neon signs flashing over the shortcut to the bar. The ground here is tacky with spilled synth-booze and old blood.
Just another Tuesday night in paradise.
A pair of alphas slink past, eyeing me warily.
Smart. One look at me is enough to tell most people not to fuck around.
I'm tall even for an alpha in these parts—six-nine, according to the last wanted poster—and burlier than the average asshole who haunts these parts, even if there's nothing particularly flashy about my battered leather jacket and denim getup.
Never been a fan of suits.
The eye patch probably helps. There was too much fucking damage for a prosthetic, and covering it up results in less annoying comments.
And I'd rather the odd omega I bed here and there as time permits didn't puke into my mouth while she's knotted and riding my dick. Wasn't exactly an enjoyable experience the last time.
For either of us.
Other than that, I don’t give a shit. Anyone who's survived a little maiming and mayhem in the Outer Reaches has his marks. Sure, mine’s worse than most, but it is what it is.
What does get to me is that the fucker who took my eye is still walking around with all his significant pieces intact. But these shady assholes don't know that. I bare my teeth in what could generously be called a smile and they scurry off like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
I'm not in the mood for trouble tonight.
I round the corner toward my pride and joy. Pandora's Box. Pun absolutely intended.
Well, as much pride as a grimy underground strip club can inspire. But it turns a tidy profit, and more importantly, it's an endless font of information. Amazing what people will let slip when they're three sheets to the wind and distracted by a pair of tits bouncing in their face.
The thumping bass grows louder as I approach, but I still catch a scrap of conversation from Candy and one of my other girls huddled by the staff entrance.
“Swear to god, if he doesn't stop bitching about the music, I'm gonna put nightshade in the next scotch he orders."
"That creep who grabbed your ass?" the other girl—Bree, I think, but it's hard to say when this place is a revolving door—asks.
My hands curl into fists reflexively. Looks like I might have some bones to break after all. But Candy just snorts.
"Nah, I handled that asshole myself. Fucker won't be using that hand for a while." There's a vicious satisfaction in her voice that makes me grin. "I'm actually talking about the pretty one. Keeps crying into his drinks and moaning about some omega who dumped him or something."
Well, shit. That piques my interest for an entirely different reason.
"The one with the angel face and golden hair?" Candy asks. "Damn, what a waste. I'd climb him like a tree if he wasn't such a sad sack. I'd be afraid of him crying into my cunt instead. But hey, he tips like royalty."
"Honestly, I'm surprised he even likes omegas."
"Yeah, but I heard he goes both ways. Wouldn't mind bein' the beta sandwiched in between those?—"
And with that, I've heard enough. These girls have no standards. Or maybe I'm just getting older.
Even before I stride into the dimly lit bar, I know exactly who they're griping about.
What I don't know is why the hell he's here.
Even though my sense of smell is fucked, the sickly sweet stench of cheap perfume and sweat still manages to burn my nose as I push my way past a three-sided cage containing a gyrating voluptuous beta and the throng of men trying to stuff bills through the bars.
Any other night, I might stop to appreciate the view, but apparently, I've got company.
My eye is immediately drawn to the bar. He's easy enough to spot in this shithole. Like a fairy tale prince wandered out of the pages of his fae fantasy and got lost in an apocalyptic tragedy.
A familiar cascade of golden hair—not what you'd expect from his name—spills over broad shoulders, attached to a lean figure slumped over the bar amid a sea of empty glasses.
Even from here, I can see his hand shaking as he raises his current glass to his lips and throws his head back, amber liquid sloshing over the sides.
"Another," he slurs, waving the now-empty glass at my long-suffering bartender. "I have nothing left to live for."
I groan, already feeling a headache building between my temples. I should've known things were too peaceful lately.
Too—dare I say it— normal .
Raven.
Mercenary, information broker, and the biggest pain in my ass this side of the Outer Reaches. Also the prettiest, and he knows it, which makes him even more insufferable.
I stalk over to the bar, snapping at the bartender. "Don't you dare pour him another drop."
The bartender, a burly beta named Brick, looks relieved. "Boss, I swear I was about to cut him off. He's been here for hours."
I wave him off. Not his fault. Raven can be... persuasive when he wants to be.
Which is most of the time.
At the sound of my voice, Raven's head snaps up. His blue eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, lock onto mine and sharpen with recognition.
"Daddy!" he shouts loud enough to wake the dead, lunging up from his seat with alarming agility for someone who's ingested enough alcohol to kill an elephant, and his arms are around my neck before I can step back and let him eat floor.
I stumble backward as Raven's full weight slams into me, his arms locking around my neck like a vice. Crazy fucker's stronger than he looks, especially drunk off his ass like this. I can barely smell his usual ritzy cologne over the booze.
"Son of a fucking whore," I growl, shoving him off me. He staggers, nearly toppling over before catching himself on the edge of the bar and giving me a wounded puppy look. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? I'm not your fucking father. We're not even related."
"Maybe not by blood ," he whines.
"Or marriage. Or adoption, or any of the other ways to be related," I remind him.
He slumps back against the bar and pouts as if he's not the deadliest fucking shot this side of Surhiira. "I'm emotionally devastated. I needed to be around family right now. I need support ."
He reaches to snatch a glass from another patron who's walking toward the stage. The man turns back sharply and looks like he's about to throw down, but then he catches sight of the revolver resting openly on Raven's hip and thinks better of it.
I snatch the glass out of Raven's hand and a drop of liquid sloshes onto the frilly white collar of his open shirt that looks like he just robbed a poet's corpse. I swear, this fucking lunatic's gonna be the death of me.
"Enough of that," I snap. "You're drunk enough."
"First I lose the love of my life, now rejected by Daddy,” he laments, digging a hand into his golden waves. "Life is a cruel mistress."
"The love of your life?" I echo dryly. "You wouldn't know a committed relationship if it fucked you in the ass."
His eyes narrow sharply. "I'm a changed man, Geo. A Lothario like you wouldn't understand."
“A Lothario? Me ?” I echo with a dry laugh. "That's rich coming from you."
I catch Brick's confused glance from behind the bar. Great. Just what I need—more bullshit rumors floating around about me and this walking disaster.
Fuck it, I'm clearly not gonna get rid of him anytime soon. I grab Raven's shoulder and muscle him toward the bar exit. "Come on. We're taking this to my office. You get an hour, then you've gotta go."
"Wonderful," he says, brightening so quickly I'm starting to wonder if the bereaved lover boy thing was just a mask.
Who am I kidding?
Every aspect of his personality is.
I catch a few stray glances from some of the alphas we pass as we press through the teeming masses packing every inch of the labyrinth that is the black market.
Raven hangs off my arm the whole time, prattling away, but I'm too irritated to hear anything he's saying.
He doesn't stop when I try in vain to shrug him off, either.
They're all going to think I'm fucking him.
As if I need more complications in my life.
Raven finally lets go of me and struts on ahead, picking his way through the crowd with feline grace. He knows his way through these damn corridors better than I do. But when he stops outside the battered metal door to my office and taps in the code, that's a bridge too far.
"The fuck?" I cry. "I never gave you the code."
"Are you forgetting I used to live here?" he asks dryly as the keypad chirps and lights up green. He pushes the door open and strides in like he owns the place. "FYI, you should keep your codes somewhere more secure than your desk."
"It's in a hidden fucking drawer!" I bellow.
He ignores me, looking around at the mismatched furniture and picking up a throw pillow with his fingertips, his aquiline nose wrinkling slightly in disdain. "I see you've… redecorated."
"Your mother ever tell you if you don't have anything positive to say, you should just shut the fuck up?" I ask, leaning against the edge of the sofa.
"Don't know, closest thing I ever had was a Madame," he muses, squinting around the room as if he's trying to focus. "It… isn't as sticky as it looks like it would be?"
I take a deep breath. If that's his attempt at nice, I'd rather him just be an asshole.
"Raven, why are you here?" I demand, lowering my voice. "And what's all this about you getting dumped by some omega?"
I'm expecting him to tell me he fell for one of the girls at his club who turned out to have a jealous husband who doesn't like to share. He's always had a thing for other alphas. To be fair, he likes omegas, too.