3. Levi
Levi
The tattoo machine goes quiet, and for a moment, the silence rings louder than the buzz.
I lean back on my stool, rolling my shoulder as I glance down at the piece I just finished. Clean lines, solid shading. No blowouts, no ink bleeding. Exactly how I like it.
Another job in the books.
My client exhales, finally relaxing now that it's over. "That's… holy shit, man. That's better than I pictured. I'm glad we went with your idea instead of mine."
I smirk as I wipe down the area. "Told you I'd take care of you."
He laughs, still staring at his arm like he can't believe it's real. "Yeah, yeah. Guess I'll trust you next time."
"Smart move," I say, snapping my gloves off and tossing them in the trash. "Keep it clean. Keep it wrapped. No soaking it. You know the drill."
"Yeah," he says as he pulls his phone out to take a picture. "Seriously, man. Thanks. Can't believe this sleeve is almost done. Can I book my next session?"
I smile as I wheel over to my schedule book. "Not a problem. When were you thinking?"
After hashing out the details for our next appointment, I take his payment, pocket my tip, and see him out. The bell above the door jingles as it closes behind him.
And just like that, I'm alone.
I glance around the parlor, taking in the familiar space.
My space. The walls are lined with designs I've drawn over the years, and picture frames house the tattoos I'm most proud of.
The faint scent of ink and disinfectant lingers in the air.
I check the schedule one last time to be sure that's my last client of the afternoon, then let myself relish the quiet.
It's the kind of quiet I enjoy. Controlled and predictable.
Nothing like the life I've led up until this point.
Which is just fine with me.
My feet pad across the floor to the front. I flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED and kill the lights before I take one last look at the place. Some days I'm here for hours, and some days I'm only here for a few appointments.
I slip my hoodie over my head and smile.
"See you tomorrow, sweet thing," I say to my parlor.
The late afternoon air hits me, damp and heavy. I can already smell the storm brewing. Thunder and lightning have always been a comfort to me. Watching storms roll in is one of my favorite pastimes.
Especially when the air turns electric.
I shove my earbuds in and start down the sidewalk as I pull up my weather app. The exclamation mark framed in a red triangle in the corner of the screen doesn't shock me.
Neither do the words that scroll beneath it.
Flash flood warning in effect for your area.
"Yeah, yeah," I murmur as I navigate away from the app and turn some music on.
That's the thing with summers in Honeysuckle Grove.
If it's not so humid you can't breathe, it's about to pour down buckets.
My head bobs to a tune as I stuff my phone into the pocket of my hoodie.
I set my sights on the diner, my mouth already watering at the thought of a slice of their cherry pie.
Then my phone buzzes a familiar pattern against my hip.
I ignore it… until it buzzes again.
And again.
And again.
I groan as I pause on the sidewalk. I lift my head toward the sky and bask in what's left of the sun. I already know it's my family, and I already know what they want.
Money.
It's always about money.
Never to apologize. Never to take accountability for all of the shit I dealt with growing up. Never to admit out loud they were pieces of shit that had no business having children.
Just to suck me dry of money to fuel their drinking.
I grind my teeth as the buzzing turns into a call.
"Oh, hell no," I murmur as I rip my phone out and look down at it.
Mom.
It's always Mom who tries first.
I send her to voicemail and keep walking, but another text soars through. I know I'll have to say something, or they won't leave me alone. Some people would say it's my fault for using my money to get them off my back.
After all, it's the only thing that shuts them up for a while.
They moved out of Honeysuckle Grove with my younger brother right after I graduated high school, and ever since he graduated and left them as well, they've been blowing me up for money.
It's exhausting, trying to dodge them, and I've been meaning to find a business accountant who can field these calls for me.
I just haven't had the time to talk to Beau about it.
The sidewalk traffic picks up around me, and I step to the side as I open my mother's texts.
There's a slew of them, and just looking at them makes me angry.
Mom: Need money. Urgent.
Mom: Please.
Mom: You can't ignore me forever.
Mom: Come on, you know how your dad is when he gets upset.
Mom: Your brother isn't answering us, either.
Mom: Did you block me? Are you even seeing these? Is that how you treat the woman that raised you and fed you and put clothes on your back?
I huff out a humorless laugh and close the app. Her guilt trips don't work on me. They only work if you were a good parent, and I don't think standing by while my father beat us with belts counts as "good parenting."
I only make it a few steps before another text rolls through.
Only this time, it's Dad.
Dad: We don't have food in the house. We just need forty for the store to get us the next few days.
A growl works its way up my throat. I don't like how it feels.
It reminds me of my father, and I don't want to be one ounce of him.
I crank up my music and shove my phone back into my hoodie pocket, trying to take my mind off my instincts.
Funny how he could be a miserable little shit my whole childhood, but the second they need something, none of it ever happened.
Funny how I'm their "son" the moment their wallets run dry, when I was nothing but a punching bag growing up.
When another buzz shakes my phone, I pull it out long enough to silence it.
Maybe I'll grow the balls to block them one of these days.
The sidewalk stretches ahead of me under a sky gone gray as I turn toward my apartment complex.
I'm not hungry anymore. All I want is to get home and shower off this day.
The air is thick with the approaching storm, thick enough to cling to my skin. I take a slow breath through my nose, letting the familiar path ground me. But silencing my phone doesn't stop the damn thing from lighting up with every text shot my way.
I hate that I can see the light through my hoodie pocket.
I yank my phone out again, ready to shut it off and suffer the walk without music. Instead, my thumb hovers over the messages.
I open them anyway.
Mom: Don't ignore me, Levi. I know you see these.
Mom: You think you're better than us now? Just because you've got your own business?
My grip tightens around my phone.
Mom: You're a deadbeat Alpha, just like your father. You should be ashamed of leaving your parents high and dry like this.
I stop so fast that someone runs into the back of me. I murmur an absentminded apology and step off to the side, staring down at the message. For just a second, the words sit there on the screen, ugly and familiar and way too easy to believe.
The memory of that leather belt slams into me.
Me, sixteen years old, counting the seconds until it stopped. My younger brother yelling, fourteen and still trying to wrestle the belt away. My mother's voice screeching through my skull. The smell of alcohol thick enough to curl my nose.
I swallow down the memory and shove my phone back into my pocket, forcing my feet to move again.
I'm not doing this with them tonight. I've done my part. More than my part, really. I've sent them more money than I care to count over the years. Anything to keep them off my brother's back. I've covered bills. I've handled their emergencies. I've sent groceries.
I'm done being their fallback plan.
The closer I get to my apartment complex, the more my shoulders drop. It's not much, but it's enough. Familiar ground, and a familiar routine.
It's safe.
Or as safe as it gets in my world.
I push through the front door, nodding absently to Mrs. Carter, the building's landlady, as she locks up the office for the night.
"Evenin', Levi," she drawls out.
"Evenin', ma'am."
"Early day at the shop?"
I nod as I press the call button for the elevator. "Early day in the office?"
"Thankfully," she says with a breathless giggle. "Need anything before I head out?"
I shake my head as the elevator doors open. "No, ma'am. You enjoy your evening."
"You, too, Levi."
The instant I step into the elevator, it hits me. A scent. Pungent, warm, and wild. It cuts straight through the humid air still clinging to my skin, a lightning strike to my whole system, and I freeze.
My nose twitches.
What the hell?
My instincts stir. A growl churns in my gut as I press every button on the panel.
My body reacts before my brain can catch up, something deep in my chest pulling tight in a way I've never felt before.
Every time the elevator doors open, I stick my head out and sniff, until I find the floor that's drenched with the salacious scent.
A scent that makes my cock kick.
No.
The sound of my own voice in my head stops me in my tracks. Recognition pours through my body like a waterfall. I step off the elevator onto the floor beneath mine as my nostrils flare.
My cock kicks again at that scent of vanilla and citrus.
"Get back in the elevator," I growl to myself.
I must be near my rut. This has to be nothing. Just some Omega walking through the building and being a tease. That's all.
That has to be it.
I can't possibly have a scent match.
I'm not the kind of Alpha who gets tied down.
"This is stupid," I murmur as I whip around and press the call button. "You just need a shower, Levi. A shower, and some delivery from—"
The scent hits me again like a wave off the ocean. It barrels over me and my pulse spikes. My instincts don't just nudge this time, they shove. Hard. And before I know it, I'm moving away from the opening elevator doors and walking farther down the hallway.
Until my nose guides me to a familiar door.
Why the hell is that lovely scent coming from Nash's apartment?
I raise my fist to knock and pause. What the fuck am I doing?
I can't be doing this. I've got a business to run.
I've got a life that works exactly the way I want it to.
I've got no ties, no Omega with expectations wanting me to bend her over and stuff her full of babies, no family expecting me home at a certain time.
I've got my business, my bills, and my freedom.
That's all I need.
And yet, my hand knocks against the door, moving of its own volition.
"You've gotta be kidding me," I murmur to myself.
The door yanks open before I can knock again, and Nash stands there, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Levi," he says flatly.
I put on a grin as I lean against his doorway. "You always this happy to see me, Sheriff?"
"Now's not a great time."
"Yeah?" I glance past him. "What, you got company or some—"
A loud crash cuts me off.
Something hits the floor inside hard enough to rattle the walls, and Nash closes his eyes. "You're replacing everything you break, Nelly!"
"Maybe if you'd stop putting stuff in my way, I wouldn't have to break it just to walk around this place!"
I furrow my brow. "Nelly? What's she doing in your place?"
Nash scoffs as he shakes his head. "Long story. She's staying in my guest bedroom for a bit."
My thoughts stall. "Uh… why?"
"You know that rundown piece of shit house next door?"
The scent pouring out of the apartment fills my lungs. "Yeah?"
"She's renovating it. Chief Harlan condemned it this morning. She has to stay somewhere else while she finishes the renovations."
Another crash echoes from inside.
"Damn it, Nelly, come on!" Nash calls over his shoulder.
The need to grab his throat and shake him for talking to my Omega like that nearly takes me under.
Wait, no.
Nelly isn't my Omega.
"No," I mutter under my breath.
"What?" Nash asks.
There's just no way. I grew up with Nelly, and she's never smelled like that. I would know. She and I always shared the same bare-bones math classes, just scraping by.
"Hey!" Nelly chirps, ripping me out of my trance. "Is that Levi? I didn't know he was here. Hey, Levi!"
Soft footsteps pad closer, and then she's there, slipping past Nash like he's not even an obstacle.
And then she's in my vision, standing barely to my chest with her hair damp and those little feet of hers bare against the floor.
She's dressed in a tank top and pajama pants with a robe that's barely tied off around her waist.
Her scent hits me full force, and my breath catches. It hooks into my ribs and pulls, and I have to swallow the growl working its way up my throat.
"Didn't expect to see you tonight," Nelly says, yanking my attention from her feet to her face. "Do you live in this building?"
"Yeah," I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. "And I could say the same about you."
I look over at Nash with a perplexed expression, but he just rolls his eyes. A notification trills, and Nelly squeals, yanking her phone out of the fuzzy pocket of her robe.
"It's Knox!" she says, checking the screen. "Gotta go. Be right back. Levi? Always a pleasure."
She moves fast, slipping past me in the doorway. The urge to reach out and grab her makes my hand twitch.
"Not so fast," Nash says, reaching for her.
My instincts snap into place before I can think.
My hand darts out, wrapping around his wrist. My gaze connects with his and he watches me like a hawk. No one touches my Omega without my permission.
She's not your Omega.
At least the voice in my head sees reason.
"What are you doing, Levi?" Nash asks.
I drop his wrist like a hot potato. "Nelly!?"
"Gotta meet Ford and Knox!" she calls back as the elevator doors ding open. "They've got time to look at that roof tonight!"
Roof?
Nash pushes past me, and I stand there for half a second, staring into the empty apartment they just left behind. Then I glance down the hallway just as Nelly slips into the elevator.
I look back into the apartment.
Back down the hallway.
Apartment.
Hallway.
I drag a hand down my face as I reach in and close his door.
"This is a terrible idea," I mutter as I rush after them.
Because the farther away she gets, the worse it is. The pull in my ribs. The pressure in my groin. That need to close the distance and figure out why the hell Nelly Davenport smells like something I can't walk away from.
"She's not your scent match," I whisper to myself as I head after them.
Yet when I catch the elevator at the last second behind the two of them, I settle in beside her just to sate my instincts.
Because something tells me they're not going to listen.