Chapter 10
Ophelia
The days that pass are exhausting and filled with tension—both sexual and the other kind. The kind that has me dying to spill all my worries and fears to the patient alphas who confuse the shit out of me.
They've been walking me to and from work with less and less commentary about my neighborhood, though Sully can't help but brush his shoulders or fidget with his sleeves when he spends more than five minutes in my building. The comments about my employment haven't stopped, but they're getting a clearer picture of the club, or at least my relationship with Red, and it helps curtail some of their more considerable judgments.
They've been thoughtful and kind—three of them anyway, since I haven't seen or spoken to Theo since we met at the gala while he was dancing with another woman.
Fantasizing about what it would be like to give in to them and then getting mad at myself for even considering it takes up whatever bit of mental energy I have in my reserves. It's a daily war inside my head, and however patient the guys are, they can see my inner turmoil and seem to be fighting with their own alphas to try to fix the problem.
After what the OFA and the Olcene Pack—just another high-society, wealthy alpha pack—did to my sister, to my family, there's nothing left for them to fix.
I think the guys assumed my initial hesitance toward them was because of the newspaper articles and that Enzo's explanation was enough to make things right between us.
Though I admit it helped, I can't get past their status. Mel caught Asher at my apartment the other night after he dropped me off, and I finally told her everything. She accused me of judging them just as harshly as the world judges me for my designation as an omega. I hate that she might be right.
I keep circling, and though it's only been a few days, I'm feeling less angry and hurt and more… confused. If I forgive them for someone else's wrongs, and they aren't, so far, forcing me to mate, to bond, like I thought they would… I'm finding space to imagine what my life would be like if I gave into this, to them.
It's frustrating. Fortunately, I don't have much time tonight to overthink the drama that is my life.
Tonight, I've got drops to make and omegas to help.
Asher's the one who walks me home after work, and I can't help but notice how we both linger like teenagers, every small brush so innocent yet so monumental. His fingertips barely skim my arm as he gently squeezes it to say goodnight, and I shiver beneath his touch, but just as I have the past several days, I ignore the reaction, and so does he. Kind of. His nostrils flare, and even though I'm wearing blockers and slick-wick panties, he's keyed into me.
Once I regain some semblance of brain activity, I practically shove him out the door, take another scent-blocking pill, shower, and get dressed in my baggiest, darkest clothes. Shuffling through my pill drawer, I count out my stash, noting that I need to stock up on everything.
Though it's late and dark out, and the broken street lamp by my stoop is unlit, I still peek out my living room window, pulling the makeshift sheets-turned-curtains back. When I don't see any signs of the alphas lingering, I flip my hood up, zip up my backpack, and sneak out of my apartment.
The clinic is a twenty-minute walk from my place, right on the edge of South Loop at the southern tip of downtown. It's an underfunded heat clinic, but I trust my contact. She works hard to ensure the omegas that end up in their care aren't taken advantage of like at other clinics.
Vetted alphas can assist with an omega's heat if they don't want to ride it out alone and aren't on heat suppressants. The clinic and the omega should have a list of preapproved alphas in strict confidence.
But there are cracks in the system, and I know more than one omega who relied on the safety of a heat clinic only to find out later or have vague memories of an alpha they never agreed to let in, taking them during their heat.
Some people—alpha's, mostly—assume an omega begging for a knot in every hole wants it any way she can have it. It's just not true, and after our heat passes, if we find out an alpha we never wanted, and in some cases have already said no to, has taken our bodies when we were too lost in lust and need to say no or didn't have the clarity to give consent, it's just as violating as if we'd said 'no' while lucid.
The South Loop heat clinic isn't like that, thanks to Red and his brothers, and though I've only had one heat due to a gap in my suppressant supply and never had to use the clinic myself, I'm so grateful to them for watching out and policing our neighborhoods. No one fucks with an omega in South Loop that doesn't have to answer to the Dante Pack.
I hurry down the sidewalk, not caring that I look like I'm trying to hide something. Everyone on the streets this time of night is trying to hide something. I ignore the prickling sensation of being watched and hurry on, clutching my backpack higher on my shoulders.
I toss a few dollars into old man Waylon's upside-down hat, where he sleeps on the corner of C-Street and Fifth, quickly darting past traffic and continuing on. It's a quiet night, and apart from the few random footsteps of others out doing whatever nefarious thing they're up to, it's warm, and I feel good.
The clinic is wisely unmarked—an innocuous, run-down, red brick building hidden between a laundry mat and a cell phone repair store, although everyone around here knows it's an omega clinic. I bang on the big green metal door at the back of the darkened alley, the sound echoing down the empty street.
Janey cracks the door a few minutes later, the familiar buzz unlocking for me after she sees me through the security camera. It's cool inside, and though the entire building is doused in de-scenting air filters, the faint aroma of an omega in the heat carries in the air.
It's never bothered me before; just another small way I know finding the Constantines has fucked with my head. A flash, an image of me in heat in the throes of passion with all four men, makes me stumble. I shake off the image and follow Janey down the hall.
"You good?" She calls out.
"Yeah, sorry," I reply, my voice cracking.
"Good news. We accidentally got a surplus, and I was the first to unload the shipment, so I've got an extra two months' supply in here." She hands me a large box, heavier than usual.
"Holy shit, this is amazing. I'll probably stash this at Queenie's to be safe, though."
Janey, an older beta nurse, is aware of my and Dante Pack's distribution setup. They provide a safe space for omegas under the legitimate guise of a strip club, and Janey and I supply the pills.
We stuff everything in my backpack, though it's much more full than usual, making it obvious I'm smuggling something. Nervous, which is inevitable, given my nightly activities, I text Cass, who's managing the club tonight, letting him know I'm on my way. Not all my clients work at or come through Queenie's, but most do, and if I can unload at least half this at the start of my night, the better.
Half an hour later, I'm banging on another back door in a rowdier part of South Loop. The sound of a beer bottle smashing on the ground at a bar next door sets my teeth on edge. Fortunately, the door swings open a minute later.
One of the beta bouncers opens the door, nodding at me. I duck beneath his big bicep and slip down the long, narrow hallway toward the office. Sultry, bass-heavy music shakes the walls, and I pass the dressing room with half or fully-naked women stalking around in eight-inch heels, lively this time of night. I'm jealous of girls' ability to balance. Red's right; I'd never make a dime in tips next to these girls if I tried to dance on stage. I'm more of a holey flat-sneaker kinda gal.
Even though I work at Queenie's, on nights when I'm doing deliveries, I feel like a crusader, not a clumsy server, and for some reason, it fills a small space in my soul.
I knock twice before letting myself into the office.
Caspian sits behind the massive desk he shares with his packmates, fingers threading through his long dirty blond hair, staring at the mountain of paperwork in front of him like it called his grandmother a slut.
"You okay, boss man?"
He grunts. Cass always had a little crush on me, but being firmly planted in the sister category by Red and Iggy, we both ignore the light in his eyes when he looks me over before responding. "That was quick."
"Got a large shipment, figured I'd come here first."
"Ah. Thought maybe you just couldn't wait to see me. I could smell you a mile away, you know. Is that block getting stronger?" He fake coughs, waving his hand in front of his nose.
"Very funny," I gripe, taking a seat and swinging my bag onto the desk, blocking his stack of paperwork. "What are you doing, anyway? Taxes?"
"I wish. No, I'm going through the dancers' schedule requests for the season. It's like Tetris but way less fun."
"Good luck with that."
His eyes narrow, giving me a pointed, amused glare. "Thank you so much for your offer of support."
I smirk, unzipping my backpack. "Janey had an extra stash this week."
Cass whistles as I unload the boxes stuffed with silver packets, shrinking my backpack down to size once more.
"Roxy's gonna freak. This is awesome, Ophelia. Hang on, let me get you some cash." He wheels around in his office chair, ducking low and unlocking the safe. Counting out the money that will replace what I paid Janey, he folds it up and sticks it in an envelope.
Most of the girls who get pills from me leave cash with whoever's in the office, and we make the exchange whenever I get my hands on merchandise.
"You okay to carry this around or…"
He has the decency to wince, but I'm not offended. Omega or not, it's a lot of cash to carry around at night. And even though these streets are sketchy, I feel confident I can get home in one piece without getting robbed. Besides, if anyone fucked with me, I have a feeling I have more than the Dante Pack at my back now, even if I haven't made peace with that particular set of brothers.
"I'm good. Thanks, Cass." I stuff the envelope into my backpack and stand while he follows me to the door.
"So… Red told me about Constantine."
I glance up, relieved there's no trace of jealousy in his eyes, only curiosity. "Yeah… it was a surprise."
He nods slowly, scratching his thick beard. Caspian's blond, built like a Viking, and looks like the descendant of a Nordic god, though he's got some red curls in his beard, which I think make him look distinguished, if slightly adorable.
"Weird to think of you all packed up."
"I'm not packed up," I bristle.
"Aren't you?"
I grumble dissent, and he chuckles as I leave the office and head down the hall. He calls out, "Stay safe, Phe. Call if you need anything!"
I wave my hand in the air before pushing through the door and back out into the night. It's nearly midnight, and though the bars are still open, the night is winding down. I have one more drop tonight, and I'll make the rest tomorrow.
Taking the long loop back toward my apartment, I find Stella on the street corner where she always is this time of night, unless she's with a John.
She sees me coming, and her stiff shoulders soften.
"Hey Stella," I greet, and we embrace. She leans down from her impressive high-heeled height to kiss my cheek. Stella's one of the omegas I know that was taken against her consent at a heat clinic. She's tried to live a normal life as an unbonded omega, but life's a current she's constantly riding against.
Now, she sells her body to alphas, and I know she makes bank doing it. Whether she enjoys it or not, I don't know, but the heat suppressants I supply her with keep her from ever having to be at the mercy of an alpha in that way. It's her choice to be with them, not theirs.
We hide in the shadow of J's Convenience Store while she opens her flashy, purple-studded purse, which matches her purple high heels. We're not being discreet, but I'm not worried about cops in this neighborhood. The other girls who work this corner, though betas, already know the score.
Just as she tucks cash into my bag after taking her boxes, a firm hand grips my arm, and I scream. Stella screams, too, but the moment the cedar scent hits me, I relax, even though I know I'm in trouble.
"Oh my god! You leave her alone!" Stella smacks her purse upside Sully's head, but the moment Enzo comes into view, she loses confidence and shrieks. "Omigod, Omigod!" She keeps screaming.
"It's okay, Stella, I know them," I try to reassure her, but her omega nature is reacting to these two alphas who are taking control. Sully drags me toward their SUV, idling on the street corner. Some of the girls are peeking in the car, checking out the luxury, but as soon as we approach, they all jump back.
"I'm calling Red!" Stella shouts as I'm shoved into the backseat of the car. I guess Enzo's driving. It's just the two of them, but they don't trust me not to hop out with how tightly Sully clutches my arm. I try to tell Stella I'm okay and not to call Red because I know he'll freak, but the door slams shut, the girls are screaming, and no one is thinking rationally.
Sully is shaking in anger, the scent overpowering as soon as we're closed in. My omega is shrinking in fear, the acrid burn of Sully's cedar scent tinging the air, and the only person keeping their cool is Enzo.
"You mind telling me what the fuck you think you're doing?" Sully snaps.
I try to pull out of his grasp, and only when I whimper in pain when he realizes he's gripping too tightly does he let go. He opens his mouth as if to apologize but snaps it shut, his eyes wild in anger and disbelief.