6. Cyber Crimes
Cyber Crimes
Tony
Idon’t wait long before exiting the bathroom, but I need to make sure they don’t spot me leaving and know I was in here the whole time. My brain feels like it’s filled with scrambled eggs.
I followed that guy Kale into the bathroom to see what he was up to, and he told me some obvious lie about the bathroom being closed “for repairs.” Next thing I knew, I was hiding in a stall, balancing on a toilet bowl, and holding my aching dick through my chinos as I listened to Kelya make the most incredible sighs and moans, hoping my glasses wouldn’t slip off my goddamned nose.
Fucking omegas.
I swore I wouldn’t take on any jobs where I’d have to be around them. I’m a lone alpha. I have no desire for a pack or for a bond, not anymore at least.
Omegas are nothing but trouble.
And here I am chasing the most notorious one in the world for a pile of cash. A fine exception.
I’ve sworn off getting mixed up with an omega ever again. I cringe when I think about my omega, Emmanuelle.
She’s not mine, exactly, but she has control over me until I pay her severance, since she can send me to jail for failing to pay.
The whole thing was a bad idea. Me? In a pack?
What was I thinking?! Most alphas bug the hell out of me.
Most people do. So, tell me why I agreed to get into a contract with four alphas and an omega?
I worked in the same department as all four alphas.
They were uniformed officers, and I worked in Cyber Crimes. I was Cyber Crimes.
Emmanuelle was everyone’s favorite citizen.
She’d come into the station with goodies and host parties at her apartment.
Then she started dating Henri and Alfi, eventually bringing in Jean Luc and Harrison.
One day, all five of them turned their attention to me.
Normally, I’d tell them to fuck off, but they said she wanted to invite me to her heat.
I’d been part of an omega’s heat before, and I loved it.
Five people telling you they want you to join their sex party…
hard to pass up. I was feeling especially lonely—Matty, my best friend and partner, was pregnant and going through a divorce, so she was too distracted to tell me it was a bad idea.
The heat turned into a signed courting contract.
Ending it, whether time or by will, meant a severance paid out for the omega.
She’d be owed $100,000 unless we bonded her.
It was so unbelievably standard I didn’t question it.
But what happened when one alpha wanted out, and the other four bonded her?
That’s right—all $100,000 fell to me. I’d taken $17,000 from my house to pay into the contract.
Now, I owe a lot more, no longer have control of my home, and was forced out of my job.
The Boudreau alphas worked as police officers together, and I couldn’t be anywhere near them anymore.
I quit the department, moved into a shitty apartment in another part of town, and started my practice.
It took me about two seconds to realize I was set up.
They were all broke. No one bought into the contract but me, and I was always going to be pushed out. They knew I would be the odd man out.
Now I’m a Private Dick. Dick Tony with Bloodhound Investigations.
I needed the fucking money, and there’s a lot of interest in a bloodhound alpha.
A bloodhound alpha is a specific type of alpha. While we have all the same traits as any alpha, we also have a powerful sense of smell, and we never forget a scent. Bloodhounds have a very strong bite. They say a bloodhound bite can rip someone away from their bond to only be bonded with him.
All of that about bonds is make-believe.
But it scared me enough to never want to bond.
If I were to have bonded with Emmanuelle and her other alphas, her pack lead, Henri Boudreaux, would need to bite me in.
I’m very much not interested in that. It would be hell on earth if someone were to come at me with their jaws open.
It’s part of my lone alpha attribute. The alpha in me would not tolerate being bitten.
No bonds. No bites.
That was all in the contract…
A contract I should have never signed, because I’m a lone alpha. Through and through.
Now I hunt my prey, and I cash my checks.
The problem with this prey is that she’s slippery as hell.
She’s smart about not leaving any trace of a nest, almost like she doesn’t have one at all.
She uses what is seemingly an endless supply of scent blockers from her thievery and wild womanly ways, and what I scented in Casablanca was barely anything at all.
I need her to slip up again. I need a second chance.
My scent is cypress. I smell like a tree. A sophisticated tree.
It’s a good scent to have when hiding in small spaces. It’s not noxious or obvious. One might just assume a pleasant breeze has brought in the outdoor air.
When I climb over Kale’s makeshift bathroom barricades and walk out to the sun setting, I barely glimpse Kelya leaving.
The notorious omega leads me to the plaza where she orders something from a woman hanging out of a window, then licks her ice cream all the way back.
I catch the scent of the flavor, parcha—passion fruit.
I follow her all the way back to the hotel and see what room she goes into.
It brings me both satisfaction and a tinge of fear seeing it’s the one next to mine. I leave quickly to get a bottle of water and aspirin just as the pharmacy is closing.
I can’t get her out of my head. I’m reliving everything moment by moment.
I watched her, following behind, for their whole date.
Her head would turn to give me a small glimpse of her, but most of her face would be hidden by her soft curls.
Her lips were red, which matched the polish on her toes.
I didn’t see her face in the bathroom either, with her head thrown back.
But I saw her beautiful outstretched neck.
Then that asshat sucked on her pussy lips, abruptly ending what might have been me eventually jacking off to her sweet sounds.
His fuckup sent her shoe flying right underneath me, but I kicked it out while they were distracted.
A little red sandal.
She’s insane for meeting so many random alphas in so many cities that she’s completely alone in.
I reenter the hotel and climb the stairs to my room.
I asked for a small room but ended up in their business suite.
A bathroom with a skylight. A double wide king bed.
A large patio going out to the sea. An antique desk big enough for all my equipment.
The beauty of it all is wasted on me and my bachelorhood.
I neck the aspirin and sit down at my laptop.
I catalog everything I saw, attaching all the photos I took of the omega and her mark. It’s not for the client. It’s for me. I’m particular about my data.
I log everything.
Including that roll of coins she took from Kale.
I also email my business partner, Matty Walker.
She’s a beta, my same age, and talks to me like I’m a fucking idiot.
I love her. She is also as meticulous as me, to the point she thinks I’m complacent and careless.
I consider telling her about finding Kelya, but I don’t want her to argue with me.
She’ll wonder why I haven’t snapped photos, written a report detailing how the girl is doing, and sent it off so we can issue our final invoice and move on.
Matty has a list of jobs waiting for me when I return.
She works from home in Virginia and has a baby, but you’d think she was just sitting in an office, tapping her foot, waiting for me to return.
I just tell her that things are going well.
I close my laptop. It’s still early. Kelya might go out again, and I will be there.
My dad was a lone alpha, too.
And a bloodhound.
He got an omega pregnant during her heat, and she left me with him. I think he was a good dad to a baby. I remember him being a good father when I was a kid, too. But once I got taller than him, and started to want the same things as him…I scared him.
I wash my face and hands, grab my wallet and notebook, and head down to the bar. I settle into my favorite spot where I can see people walking through the archways, but they can’t see me. Maybe my legs.
I pull out my notebook, a spiral-bound, square book with a thick maroon cover, and update it with Kale’s scent—tangerine peel.
I keep a log of every smell I identify. It serves no real purpose other than to settle the bloodhound in me.
He doesn’t have to remember if I have the book remembering for me.
Kelya, my mark, doesn’t have a place yet in the notebook.
Looking at the empty rows, I feel my chest tighten.
I wonder which row will be hers when I finally smell her?
The bartender brings me a whiskey sour. She winks as she sets it down.
Valentina is bilingual and encourages us foreigners to practice our Spanish with her.
So, in Spanish, I ask her how her day is going and if she’s working all night.
She says she is working until close, then corrects my verb tense.
She is a beta and has a soft smell like water over river rocks. Betas don’t have the same complex scent profiles as alphas and omegas, but it’s still present.
The bar fills with people excited to start their evening with a drink.
It’s a beautiful space, with a veranda over the beach, so it attracts a lot of folks, not just those staying in the hotel.
After a certain hour, dancing takes over the card games.
There’s a male omega here with his pack.
The rest are betas. And one alpha sits at the bar.
He smells wrong.
Rancid. The vinegar scent bothers my nose, making my nostrils twitch.
It’s not strong. No one would be able to notice, unless you were paying attention.
When alphas treat omegas poorly, it messes with their scent.
I think it’s the wronged omega that triggers the foul smell in the alpha.
He’s got that and is trying to hide it with scent blockers.
What a fucking loser. I log him in my notebook.
Suddenly, a vision walks into the room.
She’s in red again. Lipstick. Nails. Short casual dress. All red. I lean behind the column so I don't catch her eye, but I do notice her studying my loafers.
I still haven’t caught a good look at her face.
It’s undeniable that she’s a beauty. She’s completely changed from the young girl among the tall alphas in the photo I have. Her short, curly hair is bouncy, and her skin is tanned. She has a smile on the edge of her lips.
The alpha in me awakes and pays attention. He’s just an animal at the end of the day, and she’s an omega. An omega he can’t smell. It’s truly a frustration. If I could smell her, then maybe I’d be less curious.
I tap my notebook with my mechanical pencil, still unable to mark her down.
I’m taking deeper and deeper breaths because my inner alpha wants to smell her. Instead, I’m getting more of a read on everyone in the bar. It’s leaving me with a headache. Licorice. Mangos. Donuts. Florals and food.
I take an extra long sip of my cocktail.
Kelya sits next to the sour smelling alpha, giving him a shiny smile.
Fucking hell.
How has this girl not wound up dead in a ditch somewhere?