7. A Spark Within A Ruthless Butterfly
A Spark Within A Ruthless Butterfly
~ICARUS~
“ W here the fuck is Kenji?!”
“Hello to you, too, Jackass,” I calmly reply before taking a lengthy inhale of my cigarette.
I’ve been in a good mood tonight.
Truthfully, I’d be in a better mood if I got to see that little Omega at this event, but alas. We not only came in late, but I promised to be on “watch” duty.
Keeping an eye on the premises to ensure no fuckers try to bring trouble to us, particularly Kaiser.
You’d think the secret Mafia heir would have his cult of security fuckers to keep him all safe and protected, but nope.
Not Kaiser Alastor, son and heir of the top Yakuza in Japan, the Yamaguchi-gumi.
When he immigrated here ten years ago, they had to make a new “birth certificate” using Kaiser Alastor as his new English name. Honestly, Kai Yuzaka Yamaguchi-gumi flows so much nicer, but again, whatever keeps his heart beating is in his family’s best interest.
With how cunning our pack brother is, matched with being a billionaire investor with far too many connections, I can see why he doesn’t bring security around. He not only knows his worth, but he’s very confident everyone in this fucking country knows it as well.
And dares them to try to pick a fight with him.
The last fucker who did couldn’t be buried six feet under because he became nothing but a pile of ash. Then, the wind came by, and voila.
Bye bye, stupidity.
So, standing watch is a precaution of mockery more than anything. Anyone with bad intentions knows my pack is around, whether in half or entirety. Regardless of the options, you mess with us at your own expense. If you die, all I can say is oops.
Nate lets out a long growl before he takes a few deep breaths.
“Can you please tell me where Kenji is?” he asks, far nicer than his yelling ass a few second ago. “And good evening.”
“That’s much better,” I praise him because he, of all people, knows I don’t take that childish bullshit. You’re pissed off at the world? Cool. Take your frustration on someone else who gives a fuck, because I certainly don’t.
You have to have a stern boundary of ‘no fucks given’ as a talent manager because everyone and their aunties and uncles will do anything to get under your skin to get what they desire.
I’ve proven, despite my age, that I’m no pushover.
I’m also extremely successful and ensure every artist under my belt hits platinum in three months or less.
Nate hit it with his first record in twenty-nine days.
“As for Kenji, he’s inside with Kai, doing our Alpha duties of attending these stupid forced get-togethers in hopes of finding an Omega that thrives off our maddening energy,” I casually summarize like it’s no big deal.
It’s a shame to say none of us give a shit about these events anymore. At the peak of our young adulthood, we used to hope to meet an Omega who saw us for who we were and not forms of financial abundance and opportunity in their midst.
Going to these events invited those prickles of nervousness and excitement, thinking this was going to be the chance. The grand opportunity to be loved and meet someone on the same wavelength.
I never expected it to be harder than we envisioned because when we looked at so many of our peers, they found their Omegas as if their lives were pitched to be the latest Netflix love story. One connection and boom, they’re happy and bonded to a woman who glows in their presence. Who looks so divinely delighted and content with this group of Alphas who only care for her.
As a unit, they look complete. Whole. Then, everything seems to work out in their favor for several reasons.
The government supports any initiative they wish to launch as a whole pack, whether that be a business or a charitable organization. Loans are approved without a glimpse of what they need funds for, and housing for ‘complete’ packs is available in the nicest plots of land.
The moment babies are born, their whole education is funded, and daycare and nanny services are available without a lengthy waitlist.
Essentially, having an Omega in your pack is a blessing in our society that encourages our unity. Without one, you’re left at the end of the stick, hustling and fighting like so many other Alphas to make a name for yourself to attract the leftover Omegas who are being extra picky.
Now with this new movement, shit is about to hit the fan when it comes to finding an Omega who isn’t a gold digger.
“As for Kenji, he’s inside with Kai, doing our Alpha duties of attending these stupid forced get-togethers in hopes of finding an Omega that thrives off our maddening energy,” I casually summarize like it’s no big deal.
“It’s not over yet?” Nate seethes. “We have shit to do. I need to rehearse with Kenji.” I know that’s not the reason why he wants Kenji around. He needs help with his rut, and Kenji is the only one he’ll let touch his peenie weenie to get him off.
Personally, I don’t care if I don’t fit the “aesthetic” that gets Nate off. I do enough as his manager, best friend, and packmate. It’s where I draw the line because there are only so many hats I can wear before things get murky.
We’ve been friends for so long because of my boundaries and limitations. You can’t put two control freaks with anger problems together and think they’ll last long without butting heads. The only difference between Nate and me is he enjoys showing off his lack of control in the anger department.
While you’ll never know my buttons are pushed until it’s far too late to earn forgiveness.
“Kenji is walking around, and Kai is sitting at our table, entertaining a bold Omega who thinks they can get a word out of him that doesn’t revolve around ‘hello, goodbye, and Mhmm,’” I summarize.
“And where the fuck are you?”
“Where do you think?” He’s in such an ass mood tonight, I can’t help but toss his energy back to him again and again. The tour has to be stressing him out, especially with every show officially selling out.
The resell tickets were through the roof the last time I checked.
The preorders for merch sold out, and even the waitlist had to be cut off when we surpassed 50,000. At this point, I think a pop-up would be necessary to hype up the fans, but if Nate can’t take a chill pill for a few hours, we’re going to have a problem.
“Enjoying a smoke while doing jack shit,” Nate mutters. I’m sure he can sense my smirk with my added silence because he adds, “Smiling like a stupid idiot.”
“If you need to be fucked, just say that,” I conclude. “Not my fault your rut blockers are only making you into an antsy bastard who paces the tour bus like you’re walking the fucking Great Wall of China, which would take you about seventeen months, give or take a rest day.”
Tidbit facts like this always make my day. Like who sits on their ass wondering how long it’ll take to walk the entirety of the Great Wall of China?
Me.
When I’m leaning against the wall of one too many alleyways.
Trying to ignore how much I want to be laid up with an Omega .
Not alone, filling my lungs with smoke and additional blockers that will keep my Alpha senses from going berserk because of my lack of sexual relief.
“Fuck you,” Nate whines. “And I’m not on the fucking bus.”
“For once,” I comment. “Did you leave it clean?”
“I didn’t do fucking shit,” he huffs. “Mallory can clean the mess I made with the groupies. That’s what we pay her for.”
No. We pay Mallory to make sure the tour bus doesn’t reek of Omega after Nate has a sex marathon that doesn’t even fulfill his needs.
Yes, she’s one of the best cleaners specializing in ridding Omegas scents from literally anything, but she’s a smart businesswoman who only tolerates Nate because she’s doing me a favor. She’s also alive thanks to Knox, which is why aiding us when we’re on tour is an earned privilege I don’t take lightly.
Neither should Nate.
“I pay her,” I remind with a dominant tone. “Devalue her enough and you’ll realize what it’s like dealing with cleaners who get paid to leak your shit to the public.”
“No one would dare do that shit.”
“Because what?” I prompt and wait for him to give me a valid answer that makes him “oh-so-scary” to the world. Heck, an alley cat has a better chance of being frightening than Nathaniel Morelli. “If you believe people aren’t plotting your downfall after every single show of yours sold out in five minutes, then you’re living in a world of pure delusion, Nathaniel.”
“Get off my back,” he snaps.
“Grow the fuck up,” I toss right back. “I don’t give a shit if you haven’t fucked good Omega pussy in months. You tame that attitude problem of yours when it comes to Mallory and anyone else who has to clean up your bullshit daily, or else I’ll gladly tell them to back the fuck off and see how fast a scandal with your name on it will be on the front page of the Sun.”
I know he wants to argue because I can hear him inhale a prepared breath.
“No fucking excuses, and don’t bring that rotten attitude on me tonight, or you’ll be fucking sorry,” I threaten because I really won’t let him get me riled up tonight.
I’m not like him, who has the Golden Knot Elite Club on speed dial for whenever he needs five to ten hired Omegas to come sign his NDAs and give him a night of sucking and fucking.
He grumbles something under his breath, which has me growling.
“I. Will. Hang. Up,” I emphasize every word, and the silence proves he heard me loud and clear. Good. “Now, is there anything else you need? Last time I checked, Kenji had a phone. Just like Kai. You can call them and see how far you get asking them for shit.”
“Ugh, no,” he grunts in frustration, panicking that I will hang up on him. “You know Kenji ignores my phone calls, and Kai is so fucking awkward on the phone. Says Kon-chi-whatever, and that’s it. Fucking silence!”
“こんにちは,” I say it fluently before adding, “It’s Kon’nichiwa. You already know English and Italian. Shouldn’t be hard to grasp the basic greetings of other languages. You’re set to do a tour there next year if your American tour goes well, so try to learn.”
“If?” Of course, he grasps that specific word. “It will do well, Icarus! It has to because we can’t fuck up. I worked too fucking hard these last twelve months to get this big break. Nothing can fuck it up!”
It makes it seem like he did everything.
If it wasn’t for me pulling a bunch of strings to get him on tour, he wouldn’t have happened.
Nate’s music deserves to be headlined across the world with that resonating voice that somehow touches young and old heartstrings.
Nate’s personality, however, is where doors close faster than the New York subway line.
I put up with it because I know Nate’s true intentions. I know the agony and pain he’s gone through thanks to the deception of many who used him for clout and left him with crumbs in this lethal industry. I get him and his trauma, but in our unapologetic world of entertainment, everyone goes through shit to make it to the top.
No one is special, and if you think you are, you’ll find out rather quickly you’re nothing but an ant trying to make it up a hill.
Not be squished along the way.
“Which is why you should be careful sleeping with all those Omegas,” I grunt in reminder. I really can’t fathom his lifestyle. I get it, yes, but fuck. Random pussy every night without knowing the woman’s name? Fuck that shit. One-night stands are fine and dandy, but I can’t stick my dick and fight a knot without knowing the Omega’s name. “Just because they sign NDAs doesn’t mean shit. Did you make sure they signed the ones I created for you?”
“Ugh, I got a few of them,” he grunts like I’m the problem.
“Nate.” He really doesn’t get the dangerous game he’s playing. “If an Omega comes on national television saying she’s preggo with your baby, the entire tour is fucked.”
“D-Don’t say that!” he hisses. “We’re not manifesting that shit!”
“You fucking will if you keep playing games, thinking this is exactly that. This is your profession, Nate. I can’t keep protecting you if you won’t do the bare minimum of protecting your fucking self!” He doesn’t understand how tiring all of this is. “You don’t want to manifest a scandal, thinking you’re untouchable, when you won’t even get these unknown bitches to sign a fucking paper I created and legalized to protect your musical ass! Be fucking for real, ass!”
“Th-That’s what I pay you for, though!” he argues, which only further ticks me off.
“You want to bring payment into it? You don’t pay me enough!” I emphasize and laugh. “I have a five-hundred-page waitlist of artists begging to have me as their talent manager. I have multiple seven- and eight-figure music corporations begging for me to be employed even one day a month to aid in managing the best of their best. I have TikTokers who have 100 million followers wishing for a shot to have me map the perfect plan to make them into an all-star in their genre of music and talent. Don’t go bringing pay anything in our conversations ever again, or I’ll triple my rate.”
I can hear the audible gulp from here.
“Which I’m well aware you can’t afford.”
With Nate, you have to drill him until he remembers he doesn’t come from wealth and fortune.
His parents are normal, humble individuals in this world compared to his delusional ass, who is honestly crazy seventy percent of the time. Arguing over this when I still don’t know what the purpose of this call was is utter madness.
“Get them to sign the moment you finish talking with me because I ain’t cleaning shit up for you if anything hits the fan, Nate,” I elaborate, as though it’s not the 100th time doing so. “I let you do a lot of bullshit because you’re our pack leader, and I know the pressure of us not having an Omega nag at you all day and night, but I want you to sit down and think for a second. You searching for an Omega who’s slept with easily five Alphas a day minimum is what you’re looking for?”
“N-No!” It’s dawning on him now how it looks. “I’m just playing around.”
“Playing around can only go on for so long, Nate. So long before it becomes a problem that needs to be fixed,” I acknowledge. “Play games now. Have all the sex you fucking want if it keeps your nagging knot in a rut so you can be in the studio and on stage when you have to perform to thousands of fans. However, it can’t become an addiction, Nathaniel. We’re going to find an Omega eventually, and I ain’t hurting her heart by thinking she isn’t the apple of our pack’s eye.”
Yeah, I can be a douche to the female population majority of the time, but no way do I envision myself hurting my Omega by allowing her to think she isn’t the only woman I want in my vicinity. We’re all allowed to play games right now, but a time will come when we meet the one for us, and I won’t dare fuck it up.
“Understood?” I eventually requested.
“Understood,” he repeats in muttered defeat.
“Now, do you need me for anything else aside from complaining, wanting Kenji, or rubbing in your eventful sex life?”
I know he wants to argue, but he holds his tongue because I really will hang up on him if he doesn’t answer my question properly. My tolerance can only go so far.
“I rejected the submitted piece,” he reveals.
Frowning, I try not to spiral into work mode because I ain’t working tonight. I deserve the night off, and I plan to do that the moment Nate is off the line.
“Why?” I finally ask because there’s no point in complaining about how this is the twenty-fifth song he’s rejected.
“Icarus, the lyrics don’t work. Not with the melody and how it’s supposed to be soft and passionate in the beginning and loud and heartbreaking at the end. The first part wasn’t bad. I did a few recordings and shit, but the last part flops. Falls too short on the stick. I think it was fucking eaten by a dog because the impact just ‘poofs’! You can listen to the samples I made yourself, but fuck. It’s a no.”
Nate is talking in “artist” mode. Most people will listen to what he says and not understand shit. However, I’ve worked with Nate long enough to understand his process.
“What’s the song called?”
“A Spark Within a Ruthless Butterfly.”
“Ruthless,” I whisper while trying to hone down on the hidden meaning. “You’re trying to project a woman who looks fearless and rough on the outside, but the world forgets she’s still fragile and beautiful on the inside?”
“Yes!” He exaggerates like I’m the first one to understand him.
“What’s the spark supposed to signify?”
“I don’t know…” he whispers, and his voice gets even softer. “When you’re tough to the world, you end up creating invisible armor that shields you from all the pain and hurt that’s thrown your way every day. No one gets to see the real you, but what if someone ignites that tiny spark? That flicker begins to fizzle to life, and it peels away those layers of protection. Just enough that the world has no choice but to see how a simple connection can reveal such pure vulnerability. Beauty and grace that’s only unlocked between them.”
Like an Omega entering the lives of a Pack after thinking she wasn’t worthy of such a life.
The heartfelt message needs to be woven into the lyrics properly or else the meaning is lost in the melody. I can see why Nate’s struggling because unless the lyricist has experienced something of such capacity in their life, they can’t possibly write the raw beauty in the song. The arrangement also has to be just right, and that needs to be envisioned by the one writing it.
If they’re unaware that the beginning needs to be soft and vulnerable, they’ll start it loud and maddening, which only ruins the hyped energy when it lowers to a tender, passionate composition at the end.
Tricky.
“Fine.” I can’t argue with him when I can envision the dilemma at hand. “I’ll figure it out tomorrow afternoon. I don’t work tonight, but it’ll be on the top of my list to find a new set of lyricists and see what we can come up with.”
“Can’t we contact that Vesper dude?”
I roll my eyes before taking an inhale of my cig.
“You already know the answer to that, Nate,” I say after blowing the puff of smoke. My eyes catch onto a group of Alphas at the end of the alleyway, their cornered stance reminding me of a football team trying to figure out their game plan before starting the game.
They must have feigned needing to get some air so they can talk about how they’re going to win an Omega tonight.
Desperation, I tell you. I could never.
Let my Omega fall from the fucking sky before I huddle like a bunch of nervous assholes and try to map out how fate is supposed to work. Those planned relationships never last.
So fuck it.
“How expensive can it be?” Nate questions. “We’re making mad money with this tour. We can’t get one song written by him?”
“He doesn’t personally write songs for artists, Nate. Blair Vesper writes the songs, and they go on fucking auction. It’s a fucking blood bath,” I reveal and take one final inhale of my cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stomping on it. “The last song he fucking launched sold for twenty-five million, Nate.”
He’s speechless, and I don’t blame him because fuck.
Who buys a SONG for twenty-five million?
“ Wh-Who…”
“One of the richest kings in the royal family of the Maktoum Dynasty in Dubai needed the serenade for the wedding of their youngest daughter. Don’t ask how much the wedding cost. It’s a tax bracket even Kai’s entire generational wealth hasn’t reached.”
That’s the best way of explaining it to him, or else it won’t process it correctly in his chaotic mind. He’d rather stay delulu than believe we don’t stand a chance in purchasing a song from Blair Vesper.
Especially when it’s a bidding war.
“People spend that type of money?” he says so quietly, I almost miss it,
“When you know one’s worth, money is nothing,” I remind him because he needs to grasp that this also applies to him. “In life, money comes and goes. What we invest our money in is what determines its value. Vesper’s songs have made artists go from nobodies to billionaires with one hit that makes them money years later. He also doesn’t release many songs. It makes a demand no one knew was needed in the industry, and no one can replicate just how good his songs are. So, unless you think spending your entire profit earnings on attempting to bid against top ten artists begging for Vesper’s next written hit, I suggest we cut our coat according to our size,” I conclude.
Sliding my hand into my pocket, I pull out the lavender guitar stick. My nostrils flare envisioning that delightful scent that makes me want to groan in pure bliss.
It’s becoming clear that Omega left a strong imprint on me, and I can’t seem to wipe her out of my mind. Enough that I dared send one of the highest top-quality security camera systems to her door.
Seeing her talk into the lens made me so fucking hard, I had to jack off before leaving for this meet-and-greet. It’s a shame we’re going to two different events. The Soleil on the guest lists was at some other location uptown, which means she may not fit this tax bracket to attend this event down at Deviante.
Not like it matters.
I don’t care if my Omega is rich or dirt poor. It would be my responsibility to take care of her, regardless. That’s the problem, though, with the Omegas of this time and age.
They know Alphas don’t take their duties lightly, but most use it to abuse us financially, and that’s a no for me.
After everything our pack has gone through, both individually and as a unit, I can’t let that happen. No Omega can enter our lives and make the foundation we built together go crumbling down out of their need to flaunt and be admired by the population of fakes who don’t give a damn when your accounts fall into the negatives.
A droplet of water falls onto the purple pick, making me frown because I know I’m not shedding tears.
Looking upward, I realize the thick grey clouds above and catch onto the flicker of light that zooms through the sky.
It’s going to rain…
“I need this song to be written right,” Nate finally answers. His submission makes my heart sink because I know this specific ballad means the world to him.
He’s worked two long years on it. It’s the only way he’ll be able to let go of what happened in the past…
“I know,” I whisper just as a loud crashing sound follows with a bunch of curses. My head slowly moves to the right, acknowledging the group that was huddling before, only they’re scattered around, one of them down for the count in a pile of trash.
“What was that?” Nate asks, but it sounds far away because my heart is suddenly beating far too loudly.
My eyes widen, focused on the locks of lavender and silver that glimmer from afar from the ray of light that shines down on those silky strands.
If the sweet aroma I envisioned wasn’t strong enough before, it swarms my nostrils like sweet nectar. The essence makes my mouth water as I think of all the various desserts that can tame my sweet tooth.
I know I’m not hallucinating now because my body is not only going wild, it’s tensing up with a protective need as I realize what the familiar Omega from the gym is doing.
She’s retracting her fist, cloaked in dark red, while her white teeth are gritted. Her fierce cyan-blue eyes glimmer with fierce intention, and her focus to annihilate whoever dares threaten her is vibrant within those dilated pupils.
Her breathing is uneven, and that stance of hers, even in that sexy fitted red dress, accentuates her curves, but it’s the conclusion that she’s fighting against five men that sets off warning alarms in my head.
That’s not good one bit.
“HEY!” The warning call leaves my lip before I can stop it. It’s no different from how I’m not casually walking over to the group.
I’m stomping like a bull that’s just seen red.
My outcry catches everyone’s attention, including the Omega.
When her eyes meet mine, it’s as if I forget to breathe, and I come to a halt. It’s so magnifying, the intense scrutiny of our connection pulsing between us, that I dare to acknowledge this.
There’s no mistaking it.
I can’t lie to myself.
Fuck…
She’s my scent match.
If that’s true, that means she doesn’t only match with me. The others… our pack…
Holy fucking shit… I’ve found our Omega.