Chapter Ten
CHAPTER TEN
EVERYONE OVER THIRTY knows what a pull between Fate Matched mates feels like. Whether they’ve experienced it themselves or heard about it from someone they know, the knowledge is always there. Lingering in the back of their mind and waiting for the moment a spark ignites in their soul.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, I wonder if the omega sitting in the backseat feels it, too. Is there clawing need rampaging through her body from the connection between us? Tearing my eyes away from her, I focus back on the road ahead.
When Pack Graves invited Omen to hang out, I had initially planned to stick close by, but after hearing her voiced concerns about their budding romance, I headed back to the bus. If she doesn’t feel pressured to leave for me, perhaps she’ll stay and explore things with her pack.
Not that I am pushing her to bond with them. I know better than most what it’s like to have fear hold you captive.
My eyes flick back up to the mirror to look at Bea again. I have never believed there is an omega for me out in the world. The weight of my sins seems too heavy to burden someone as sweet as the woman sitting behind me.
Parking the car by the bus, I step out and open her door, gripping the metal a little too tightly as her intoxicating Pina Colada scent teases my nose when she slips past me. The softly murmured ‘thank you’ brushes against me like a sweet caress.
Fuck, I need to go for a run.
My feet pounding the worn trails around the RV park helps clear my head of my growing infatuation. The strain of my muscles is distracting enough to leave exhaustion in its wake. I don’t push myself to the point of passing out, just enough to deter the reactions I have to Bea.
Regardless of the turmoil this connection may bring, I am one hundred percent focused on my job. I am here to protect Omen Powell from the vile cult who may still hunt her. My attention will never waver from our task, no matter how much my instincts may try to demand otherwise.
Slipping back on the bus, I take a cold shower to wash the sweat away. Ignoring the ache in my cock from the lingering hints of her scent in the bathroom. This tour is going to test every ounce of my self control.
Dropping onto the couch, I watch as Ridley washes the dishes from the quick lunch he’d thrown together for us earlier. This asshole is one of my only friends, and not by choice. When the DAU paired us together for an assignment a few years ago, he’d barreled into my life with an easygoing attitude and refused to leave. I’ve been stuck with him ever since.
The way he watches Bea makes me think he feels it too, the connection. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to shake him all these years. He’s part of her damn Fated pack too.
When the curtain separating the living area from the sleeping area opens, I damn near come in my pants like a fucking teenager. Bea steps out in a bubblegum pink crop top that dips in a low v, framing her breasts perfectly. A sheer magenta cardigan hangs off her shoulders, matching the floral miniskirt hugging her wide hips. The white knee-high boots she’s wearing seem to highlight the stretch of her bare leg between them and the bottom of her skirt, which is entirely too fucking short for her to be parading around in.
My instincts blaze to life, possessive rage burning through me so fiercely I’m afraid I’ll lose control. Where the fuck does she think she’s going dressed like that? When I growl out that exact question, she fucking ignores me. Only answering when Ridley also asks about her plans. She wants to go to the festival afterparty? In a skirt short enough I can practically see the panties she’s wearing underneath?
“No, I’m going to find a knot to ride.”
I don’t think, my instincts taking control as a vicious growl vibrates in my chest. I’m across the room before I can process what is happening. My palm wrapped around the little brat’s throat and pinning her to the wall.
Standing close enough our bodies are millimeters from pressing together, I drown in her scent. The flutter of her pulse beneath my fingers betrays exactly how she feels about my obsessive display. Those gorgeous, midnight blue eyes dilate to the point they’re almost black. I bet if I inched that stupid fucking skirt up and slide my fingers along her cunt she’d be leaking slick down her thighs for me.
Fuck, I need to get a hold of myself. She might be mine, but I won’t saddle her with my trauma. Convincing my alpha of that, though, is an entirely different story.
Ridley leans beside me, his presence not even registering as a threat, which confirms my theory about his connection to her. Shit, we’re in trouble. This is going to be the longest, most difficult eight-week tour of our lives.
He spews some bullshit excuse about her safety that has her palms slamming against my chest. I let her push me away, forcing my instincts back into the tight leash I keep them on. His words must have worked, though, because she stomps toward the back of the bus.
She pauses at the curtain, looking back at us over her shoulder and letting an evil grin fill her face. “You want to play this game? Fine, let’s play. I hope you aren’t sore losers.”
The tension slowly releases from my body after I hear her nest door slam shut. I run a hand through my damp hair, fighting for enough control to not storm back there and show her exactly who she belongs to.
“Fuck, she really needs to stop running from me,” Ridley grumbles from beside me, blatantly gripping his dick as he mutters a prayer for patience.
Ignoring him, I slump back onto the couch, keeping my body angled to see the back of the bus in case Bea tries to slip out the door when we’re distracted. Ridley sits beside me, grabbing the controllers for the game console he brought along and passing one to me. We let our jealous anger out on the characters on the screen, wiping out map after map of enemies.
Bea doesn’t leave her room for the rest of the evening, not even to use the bathroom. A small part of me feels bad for overreacting. I don’t own her. Hell, I don’t even want to bond her, but my instincts say otherwise. And fighting against them is going to take every ounce of willpower I’ve amassed over the years.
Sweat soaks my skin as I slow to a stop outside the tour bus. I slept like shit last night, my instincts still haywire from the encounter with Bea. I’m waiting for a call from Omen, who had slept over with Pack Graves last night. Then we’ll be back on the road to head to the next venue for another Primordial Covenant show.
Stepping onto the bus, my body comes alive. A warning I can’t place until a muffled groan comes from the back of the bus. My feet carry me through the curtain, dragging me toward the nests like a fish being slowly reeled in. The shower is running, but the bathroom door stands ajar, Ridley clinging to the frame so tightly his knuckles are white.
I follow his gaze, heat searing through me when I spy Bea’s open nest door. She’s on her bed, every inch of her sweet skin exposed. My cock hardens so fast it’s painful as I trace the curve of her breasts down to her spread legs. The force of her scent hits me hard enough to make my knees shake.
A moan slips through her parted lips as she works a knotted dildo in and out of her soaked cunt. Each thrust makes an obscene squelching noise that threatens to undo me. Faster and harder she moves, the fingers of her other hand playing with her clit.
Her thighs tense as she comes, pulling the toy out so we can watch as slick leaks from her opening, down to the bed below her. Then it’s right back inside of her, pushed until the fake knot is straining against her. I’m enraptured as I watch her pussy lips stretch around it. It isn’t nearly as large as a real knot, but the sight is still wondrous.
She’s sweat soaked and panting, her chest heaving and jiggling her breasts with each exaggerated exhale. Her dark blue eyes flick to each of us, a smirk on her face as she climbs to shaky feet and stalks toward us. We’ve both moved closer, hovering just outside of her nest to watch her get herself off. She stops in the doorway. “If you’re going to be a cockblock, you’re going to suffer alongside me,” she demands before slamming it closed in our faces.
“Fucking hell,” Ridley groans, his forehead hitting the wood with a solid thunk. “This omega is going to be the death of me, but damn, will I enjoy every second.”
I ignore him, shouldering past him to claim his shower before he can voice a complaint. My clothes rip from my body with a little too much aggression, the seams straining beneath the force.
Stepping beneath the warm water, my hand finds my cock immediately. The image of Bea in her bed, legs spread wide, is seared into my memory. Every inch of her skin, every bead of sweat, every breathy moan that tumbled from her lips. I relive all of it as I stroke myself. One arm braces against the shower wall to keep myself upright as I work myself faster, squeezing tighter in pulses, the same way her perfect cunt would as I fucked my cum into her.
I watch my release spurt onto the floor, swirling down the drain with the water. My knot still aches, begging to sink deep into our omega and lock us together until she’s so full of our scent she’ll never get rid of it.
Grabbing the scent canceling soap Ridley and I use when we’re working, I lather my body in it and try to force the lingering remnants of Bea’s slick scent from my mind.
Our omega is playing with fire, and none of us can afford to get burned.
“You feel it too? The pull?” Ridley asks as he leans against the bus beside me, hands in the pockets of his gym shorts. Milwaukee is still cooler in the evenings this early into the summer, so he actually has a shirt on for once. The vanity this asshole has is annoying as hell. Always taking fucking selfies at the gym to show off how fucking toned he is.
I glance at the open bus doors behind him, wondering if the omegas inside can hear us. The blaring sound of the reality singing show they’re watching would likely drown us out, as long as they don’t come to find us. Bea is still pissed about me not letting her go to the after party two nights ago, so I highly doubt she’s willing to be in the same room, let alone seek me out for something.
“Yep.”
Ridley waits, peeking at me from the corner of his eye, but I say nothing else. What is there to add? We both know we can’t do anything about it while we’re assigned as their bodyguards. He also knows I wouldn’t take the risk of bonding with her.
“You’re an idiot,” he grumbles. My eyes narrow as he pushes off the bus and stretches, arms raised behind his head. His usual stupid grin is on his face when he turns to face me. “She’s our Fate matched omega. She is literally made to handle us, trauma and all.”
I grunt, crossing my arms over my chest, and let a scowl settle on my lips. Fate may have made her for us, but a lot can fuck up relationships, even ones written in the stars. I refuse to be the reason that sassy, innocent omega inside loses her spark. Attaching my trauma to her would do exactly that—slowly drain the life from her eyes and replace it with the same bone-weary exhaustion always clinging to me.
Ridley shakes his head, clapping me on the shoulder as he heads back inside. He doesn’t get it. Growing up in a huge pack filled with love and support, he doesn’t fucking get it.
I try not to let the memories of my youth resurface, but when my mind is in turmoil, like it is now, they come roaring back anyway.
Rifling through the cupboards, I try to ignore the hunger pains pulsing in my stomach. There has to be something here, something forgotten. The front door slamming open sends me crashing to the floor where I perch on the counter. My heart races, hunger pushed aside and replaced by fear. Is it my father, or someone here looking for him?
I scramble to the back door, ducking outside seconds before he stumbles into the room, grumbling about the open cupboard doors. He doesn’t close them, just unloads his beer into the fridge and pats his pockets to make sure his latest stash is still inside. I barely breathe as he walks back to the living room, unsteady and bouncing off the walls as he goes.
He’s probably already had a hit or started drinking early. Drunk or high are the only two states of mind he’s in nowadays. When he’s high, it’s usually fine. He does his thing and passes out on the couch. When he’s drunk, that’s when I’m in trouble.
My face reminds him too much of my mother. Of the pain he felt when he lost her. Cancer is a fucking bitch, and I miss momma too, but it ain’t my fault she’s gone. Something he seems to think every time he’s had too much to drink.
Watching him down half a beer in one go, I slip down the steps and across the backyard. It’s best to find somewhere else to be for a while. At least until he passes out.
Glancing down the smelly alley running behind our shitty little house, I try to think of somewhere I could hang out for the night. I don’t have any friends at school since none of the other parents want their kid around the local drug addict’s son. The library is already closed for the day too. Maybe I can convince Old Man Jensen to let me have a sandwich if I fix his lawn mower for him.
Tinkering is the only thing that gets me through the days. There’s nothing like the feel of an engine coming apart in your hands, listening to it purr when you put it back together again. It’s also the only way I have to make money. I’m too young to get a job yet, at least for another year or two. The only options for someone my age around here are odd jobs for the neighbors—which doesn’t work out when they’re all disgusted by your family—or to get in with the local gang and become a runner. And there’s no way in hell I plan on getting involved in that shit.
Jogging down the alley, I knock on Mister Jensen’s door, hoping the old man isn’t asleep in his chair. When the door creaks open, I let out a silent sigh of relief. He scowls down at me, but steps aside and opens the door. “Straight to the garage,” he mutters as I slip by. I nod, keeping my head down as I make my way there.
I already have the top off the mower and the engine lying in pieces around me when he appears with a small sandwich and a glass of water. Doing my best not to cram the entire thing in my mouth at once, I study the parts lying at my feet. Sometimes I wonder if people are like engines too. If maybe when momma died, some piece of my father broke and no one bothered to fix it.
Not that it would be easy to do. People aren’t as easy to put back together. If they were, I wouldn’t be hiding out down the street, working for food to ease the ache in my empty stomach.
The sound of another door slamming startles me from the memory. I tense, waiting to see who it is, but when I watch a guy on the road crew heading to the campground’s showers, I relax. Staring up at the dark sky, I let the echoes of pain my memories pulled to the surface fade back into oblivion where they belong.