Chapter Two
Fiona
“It’s colder than a witch’s tit tonight,” Saoirse’s thick Irish brogue echoed through my earpiece.
I shifted my position on the roof of the Roganfort Center, waiting for our cue. The cold air felt heavy, as if it might snow.
“Maybe we should lick it and warm it up? Or she should just put on a sweater?” I kept an eye on the service entrance of the Harcourt Hotel through the nightscope on my sniper rifle.
Why were the poor witch’s tits cold, anyway? Mine were nice and warm. My jacket had a heater in it.
I glanced at my phone and chuckled as Carlos texted me.
Carlos
I am here to serve, Mi Reina.
Aww. I loved that he called me his queen.
“Stop texting your boytoy and focus,” Saoirse teased. “I know you’re texting him even though I can’t see you.”
I sighed and texted him back. “Fine.”
Me
You can show me tomorrow. Saoirse said I have to focus. Text you later.
“He’s not my boytoy.” As I lay on my stomach, on the roof, I kept watch on where our target would soon appear. Very few snipers could make a shot at that range.
We could.
Saoirse was positioned at another angle, in a high-rise. Our target tonight was an a-hole who used his position to cover up the trafficking of betas, who were turned into omegas against their will, using an illegal street drug, and then sold.
My girlfriend, partner, and best friend chuckled. “I know. It’s fun to tease you. Your fathers aren’t going to let you keep him.”
“They’re not allowed to arrange a match for me. Also, Carlos is a good man.”
We’d only met in August. I’d fallen for him, hard. It was in the way he looked at me when I’d first seen him in a hotel lobby in Quebec. How he was both relentless and courteous in his pursuit. How he didn’t ghost me after that weekend.
No, he took me on dates. Sent me flowers and chocolates. Murmured sweet things to me in Spanish. Made nice with Saoirse.
Carlos didn’t want access to my family or money. He didn’t want to use me to gain advantages.
All he wanted was my affection.
He was also fun as fuck.
One thing I liked about Carlos was that he didn’t blink at the fact that Saoirse was part of the deal–unlike some of the people my dads tried to set me up with.
Finn Gallagher, aka Dad, was head alpha, and CEO of Gallagher Holdings. My fathers owned a lot of Boston.
“My dads let me keep you,” I added. The street below had gone quiet for New York. Like eerily silent and still. How odd.
She laughed. “They’re afraid of me.”
“As they should be.” When I’d gone off to Ireland, to attend the same omega academy my mother had, they hadn’t expected me to bring home an assassin girlfriend.
They should have.
I loved my family, but after my mom died they clung too hard to me. Their recent attempts to pack me up were just another version of that.
Which was why I’d exerted my independence as a legal adult and was choosing to spend Christmas at a multi-day rave in Switzerland, instead of with them.
While I was nowhere near ready to form a pack, when I did, I think I wanted them both to be in it.
Certainly, I was ready to be more serious with Carlos.
Finally, movement caught my eye as a car approached the hotel’s service entrance.
“Look lively, Mo Stóirín,” Saoirse murmured over the earpiece.
A man came out of the service entrance wearing a hat and trench coat. There he was, off to make a deal and rip people from their families, while his own family slept peacefully. Gross.
“Target identified,” Saoirse stated.
All of the sudden the quiet street below filled with cars. Fast, loud, cars raced down the street like their life depended on it. Lots of them.
“Fuck, I’m not clear,” she muttered.
I captured our target in the crosshairs as he went to get into the car. “Got the shot.”
“Get him,” she ordered.
“Oh, I will.” Before she’d even finished speaking, I fired, bracing for the recoil. He slumped to the ground.
“Get the fuck out of there. I don’t know why there’s so many speeding cars,” she ordered.
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” I disassembled my rifle with a rapid precision that only came with timed practice, and shoved it in my backpack.
The cars kept coming. Keeping low, I snuck through the door to the roof and down the back stairs, a small device in my bag not only scrambling the cameras, but erasing any record of doors opening.
I barreled down the stairs as fast as my short legs could carry me. As I did, I changed my appearance–taking off my hat and letting my red hair pool out, removing my gaiter to show my face, reversing my jacket to be another color.
Now I no longer looked like an assassin. Just someone who could have just gotten off their shift at the theatre.
“We have a problem. The streets are blocked off for some race. We can’t exfil as planned. Are you near a metro station?” Saoirse asked.
Horns honked in the background and I heard sirens.
“Fucking shit,” she muttered.
“Probably?” My phone buzzed.
“Be cautious, the cops are already on the way,” she added.
“Got it.” I checked my phone, which was untraceable. I wouldn’t risk bringing it on a job otherwise. Someone had texted.
Carlos
You okay? Where are you?
Me
Roganfort Center.
Carlos
Go to the parking garage, level two, at the exit marked Purple. Look for the pink sports car.
Why not?
Heading down the stairs, I exited on level two, running in what I hoped was the direction of Purple. A bunch of cars raced past, one honking as it swerved to avoid me.
“I’m running here.” I flipped the car off. A hot pink sports car came right at me. The passenger door opened.
“Get in,” Carlos yelled.
I climbed in and onto his lap, because there was no backseat, and moved my backpack to my feet in a practiced motion.
It was a tight fit. Not only was it a small car, but while I was short, I wasn’t a slender omega. Also, I had a whole-ass sniper rifle in my backpack.
“Go, go, go,” Carlos yelled, shutting the door. “Head left, we don’t have to use a specific exit, so we’ll cut everyone off using the service tunnel.” He had a phone pointed at the guy in the cowboy hat who was driving.
I could see the comments from people on the phone’s screen. Oh. Whatever these two were doing was being livestreamed. I should probably watch what I say.
“The queen has entered the chat,” Carlos announced.
“Howdy. Welcome to the Hale-strom,” the driver said as we sped through the garage.
“Hi.” I waved.
Carlos’ arms wrapped around me as we whipped around a corner.
“I’ve got you. There! Turn there,” Carlos shouted as we passed a sign that said Service Tunnel.
The car made another sharp turn, Carlos squishing me against the door, as we entered a tunnel.
“The exit will pop you right out onto the street,” Carlos added. He kissed the top of my head. “Hi there.”
“Hey, Pumpkin. You sure know how to impress a girl.” I gazed up into his brown eyes. His dark, wavy hair was messy, and he was in dire need of a haircut. He wore a suit, but then hockey players dressed up for their games.
His face buried in my neck and he shot me a puzzled look.
“Temporary scent blockers, they’ll be wearing off soon,” I said softly. We couldn’t have my scent on scene now, could we?
We shot out onto a dark street, cars whizzing by.
“Fuck yeah,” Cowboy driver said, glancing in his rearview, then at some blinking thing with numbers on the windshield. “We’re close to the end, right?”
Carlos looked at a map. “Yep.”
“Let’s see how fast she can really go.” Cowboy whooped, gunning the car, leaving my stomach in the middle of the road.
“Do it!” Carlos cheered as the fans watching echoed the sentiments, online gifts pouring in over the chat.
What a pickup. Inhaling Carlos’ scent, which reminded me of dark chocolate with a hint of spice, I kissed him as a thank you, while we sped down the street. The hand not wrapped around a phone continued to hold me tight.
Mmmm, just what I needed. I fucking loved his scent. Chocolate was my favorite treat.
“No fucking in the car please,” Cowboy said as he rounded another corner. “This isn’t my ride.”
“Noted. Though I’ve never fucked during a street race,” I replied. This would be a fun car to fuck in. It was adorable. There was even a little fairy hanging from the rearview mirror. Not sure whose it was, but they had good taste. It was also very clean and smelled pleasant.
“Maybe we should try it on our trip. There are no speed limits where we’re going.” Carlos kissed me again.
“Not today, asshole,” Alpha Cowboy growled at someone as the car swerved.
Oh yes, he was an alpha. One that smelled like plums? No… pluots. My mouth watered.
“We’re almost there,” Carlos encouraged.
I looked up and could see the finish line, along with people waving and recording the race on their phones. Pulling my hat down, I snuggled into Carlos, as we crossed the finish-line and halted with a jolt.
“Fuck yeah,” Cowboy shouted. The number, on the little monitor, blinked three.
The driver was probably around the same age as me–maybe a little younger. Who was he? Obviously a friend of Carlos’. But I wasn’t sure who. While I’d heard all about his friends, I hadn’t met any of them yet.
“Third place. Amazing.” Carlos let go of me to high-five his friend.
“And Hale-strom gets third,” Cowboy told the camera.
“Thanks for hanging out with me tonight. Special thanks to C-Man and his queen. I’m headed to Winter-Fest in Switzerland, so hit me up in the chat and tell me what you’d like to see next.
Crowd surfing? Jumping off ski lifts? Snowboard stunts?
This is Hale-strom signing off. Peace and beans. ”
Taking the phone from Carlos, he ended the chat.
“That was fan-fucking-tastic, Hale,” Carlos told him. “Third place wins any money?”
“Yep.” He grinned as he turned the country music down. “That was a great call with the service tunnel. How did you even know it was there?”
Carlos’ look went bashful. “I might have performed at Roganfort Center a few times.”
“Doing what? Hockey Live?” Hale smirked.
“Um, Monstruo Lane Live.” Carlos ducked his head. “It was for charity.”
Aww, embarrassed Carlos was adorable.