by Lola Rock
We move together, her ass grinding against me, her arms slipping down my thighs. I’m turned on as fuck, so I shouldn’t give a shit that her dance has nothing to do with me.
I never give a shit about anything.
But I need Lilah’s attention.
I grip her soft throat and tilt her chin back with my thumb. When her head bumps my chest, and she stares up at me, seeing only me, Lilah wears a smile like moonbeams. My heart gives the one full-on thump it usually saves for jumping off bridges.
Fucking weird.
“Can we dance up there?” Lilah nods toward the cage, never once fighting my grip on her throat.
“Fuck yeah we can.” A rumble rocks my chest, and I tug her into my arms, steering her to the cages and protecting her from the eyes and crowds. Everywhere Lilah’s skin touches mine is electric, alive and bright instead of the dull, nothing numbness that drives me to drink and fuck and stir shit up.
I don’t want to let her go.
Keeping her close, I cut to the front. The club girl running the line spots Lilah’s hoodie and scowls. “You can’t—”
“We can.” I dead-eye her.
She yelps, scrambling back and opening the cage door wide. “My mistake.”
Fucking right.
We climb in alone, and I shouldn’t be able to hear anything over the pounding music, but I catch Lilah’s breathy gasp when the cage lifts. Once we’re up, dangling from the ceiling just high enough to make you feel alive, she laughs, clear and bright.
Gripping the bars like it’s not her first time in a cage, Lilah drops low, arching her back and flashing that sweetly curved ass.
I want her holding onto me instead of those bars, but she doesn’t even try to move closer, just feeling the music, throwing herself into the beat like she’s begging for salvation, like the beat’s the only light in her darkness
I fucking feel you, girl.
I move behind her, caging her in, and Lilah rolls with it, rubbing up on me so good as she shakes her ass.
The bass drowns out my satisfied purr.
Where the fuck did that come from?
The sound steals my attention long enough that I spot Hunter. He’s waving off beta bitches, pacing back and forth, looking everywhere for us.
Kinda makes me cackle. I grind on my babydoll until his gaze snaps up.
What a sweet, sweet scowl.
Hunter points down and mouths something.
I cup my ear. Can’t hear you, motherfucker!
We dance a few more songs, and I’m alive, heart pumping, adrenaline roaring in my veins, heat and color, and everything until I realize Lilah isn’t moving.
She grips the bars, shaking.
“Babydoll?” I pry her hands away from the metal.
“Tired,” she murmurs, head lolling against my chest. My heartbeat levels off and I let out a breath. I was worried—
Holy fuck.
I was worried?
Me?
I haven’t worried about shit since I notched my first kill at seven years old. I wasn’t supposed to start assassination work that young, but what are you gonna do when you get kidnapped and tortured?
It was kill or be killed.
I won, and nothing seems important since.
Only a few things make me feel alive.
Bikes. Stunts. Saunas.
Killing. Clubbing. Fucking.
And Lilah motherfucking Darling.
I wave to lower our cage. As soon as the door opens, Hunter tears Lilah from my arms. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. Maybe she drank too much?” Are two shots too much? She is super tiny.
“Let’s get her home.”
I follow him to the truck.
He settles her into the back seat but yanks my collar when I start to climb in with her. “You stay.”
“Why? I want to sit with her.” She’s adorable, curling into herself, hugging Hunter’s hoodie tight. Lilah’s all the fun of vodka shots and drag racing without the hangover and jail time.
“That’s why. Since when do you get so attached so fast?”
“Since Lilah. Don’t you feel it?”
“What? The guilt?”
“No.” Guilt isn’t even a thing. “She’s special.”
“Don’t say that shit in front of Orion.”
“Fine, but she’s still special. He’ll see.” And the way Hunter keeps glancing at her through his rearview, he’s only fucking fooling himself.
Why not have fun with our new pet?
“Don’t get obsessed,” Hunter warns. “She’s temporary.”
Maybe. But she’s not vanishing.
When Lilah ends up in rotation, I’ll be first in fucking line for her heat. “It’s not like Orion doesn’t let us play.”
“With betas,” Hunter insists. “Not with omegas. And not the omega he thinks is replacing him.”
“No one’s replacing Orion.” He’s our boy and our sunshine. The whole mate, crazy heat sex thing is a fringe benefit.
When we finally pull up at the house, Atlas waits on the front porch.
I grab Lilah before Hunter can steal her again. The way she nuzzles me like a soft baby kitten keeps me from slipping into the void.
“You took her out?” Atlas growls.
“Shh.” I cup my babydoll’s ear. “You’ll wake her.”
“So fucking help me, Finn.” Atlas glances up at the sky.
Let him be a cranky shit while I take care of the pretty omega.
“We didn’t take her out. We found her on the roadside wearing next to nothing with bloody feet. She hadn’t even eaten. Didn’t Craig have the basement stocked for her?”
“She hasn’t been in the house,” Atlas says. “Just put her downstairs.”
Pack leader’s orders, I climb the front steps.
“No,” Lilah whines, all pitiful, clutching my shirt. “Back door.”
“I’d love to take your back d—”
“Dude!” Hunter elbows me in the gut.
“Fine, fine.” I stomp into the grass, taking her around back where her sad duffel bag sits alone in the dew.
I liked the idea of banishing her when she was supposed to be some slutty viper spy, but now the backyard seems too dark. The stairs are too steep if she falls. There’s not even a lock.
It’s not safe.
I climb down and find the light switch.
The downstairs is more bunker than basement, and it’s shabbier than I remember. The sheets on the nest bed are dingy grey, though fuck if I remember the last time I even looked at a sheet.
When I set Lilah down, she makes a breathy noise against my throat that gives me a 3D vision of her teeth raking my Adam’s apple. Claiming me.
My cock stands to attention, and I catch a sweet whiff of something impossible.
Caramel?
I sniff her scalp, coming up with nothing but dust and basement mold.
I unbuckle her shoes and tuck a thin blanket over her shoulders, stalling like I’m nursing the bottom of a glass.
The second I leave, I’ll crash from the temporary high Lilah injected into my veins.
I always come back down.
Hunter sets her bag at the foot of the bed, then tugs me away. “Enough.”
“I want to kiss her good night.” I’m praying a taste of her lips is enough to keep away the darkness.
“She’s not a toy.”
Isn’t she though?
I let Hunter drag me into the gym, and reality snaps back like a rubber fucking band.
The empty, yawning nothing.
I can feel the smile bleeding off my face. The color and electricity. All gone.
“Spar or sauna?” Hunter hauls me onto the mats, knowing how close I am to the edge.
Anyone else I’d kill.
The bond humming between us is the only thing that reminds me I’m not already dead.
Though fuck knows, I will be soon.
Thirteen
LILAH
I
wake up aching and hating myself in a strange bed and a stranger house. Everything that’s happened since the gazebo feels like it happened to some other girl.
But yesterday’s mistakes are all mine.
It’s a toss-up what hurts more. My head, my feet, or my crushed fucking pride.
What was I thinking, dancing with Finn? Letting him stroke my throat like I’m wearing his collar?
Am I the kind of girl who rolls over and begs just because a sexy as fuck alpha smiles and feeds her cheese fries?
Damnit.
I’m totally that girl.
But the fries were good and he was better.
Holy shit could Finn dance.
The way he ground against me, feeling the music. His hard body and his warm hands. Blood orange so sweet in my nose. I’m not sure if I was drunk off him or my first taste of liquor.
And Hunter. Gruff but gentle Hunter, tending my feet and protecting me like the mate he’ll never be to me.
I’m still huddled in his hoodie, drowning in smoky mezcal that makes my mouth water and my heart feel too big for my rib cage.
I get that the Wyverns are going to be tempting—my body thinks we’re meant-to-be.
Doesn’t matter.
They can love me, they can hate me. I’m not staying, and I need to keep my ass on the path that gets me out of this contract with my heart, dreams, and limbs uncrushed.
I slide off the bed and test my weight. My feet ache, but I want to explore my new cage.
I creep around, exploring the bedroom. It’s low-ceilinged and almost what a nest should be. Windowless with dim lights that set me at ease and a huge bed that could fit my whole pack if I had one.
But the heavy bank vault door is just for show. It doesn’t lock.
My shoulders hunch. I can’t believe I slept here when any of them could’ve walked in and done whatever they wanted to me.
No lock means no privacy means no rest ever again.
I can’t relax here.
Creeping outside, I peek around the basement. The main room is teeny tiny, with a kitchenette, and so many doors it gives bus station vibes.
One open door leads to a teensy bathroom with a kiddie-sized shower, but it does lock, so this may be my new sleeping digs for as long as I’m stuck in McMansion hell.
Another door opens to a cleaning closet with shelves of supplies, including two barrels of chemical de-scenter big enough to hide a body.
It’s meant for use on surfaces and clothes because the shit burns your nose, let alone your skin, but it’s the only way to scrub off pheromones.
I don’t need the heavy-duty chemicals yet, but good to know they’re here.
If my perfume betrays me again, I’ll kill it with fire.
I find a spray bottle of the diluted formula and grab it, bringing it back to the kitchen, where the cabinets and mini-fridge are all empty except for an ancient box of baking soda.
Food can wait. I ate so much last night, there’s time before I have to brave going upstairs to see my personal hell pack.
There are two more locked doors that I should leave alone, but I can’t relax not knowing who could come in and out of my space. My inner omega is all about the territorial anxiety.
I luck out, finding a few old paperclips in the kitchenette’s junk drawer, and quickly pick the locks.
The first door opens to a huge gym so soaked in Hunter’s sweet smoke, I choke before I can whip it shut. The blast of air carries undertones of the other guys, but Hunter’s thick scent rearranges my sinuses.
Note to self: no working out in Hunter’s pheromone cloud.
The other locked door leads to the inside stairway. I close that one just as quickly, hating how many stairs and doors and ways there are to find me.
Definitely need to find a better hideout.
My omega instincts want me unpacking my duffel, tidying, and securing the nest, so I keep the bag zipped. I’m not moving in for real.
But I do need to backtrack to the lake and pick up the clothes that I dropped, because all I have are two spare sets, not counting the little black dress and silver heels that I’m going to burn.
I take a quick but necessary shower, needing to wash off all the scents of last night’s club, but mostly Finn’s orange-soaked touch.
After body wash and a towel that both reek of Hunter, I spritz myself all over with de-scenter.
Eyes closed, holding my breath, the shit burns at the same time it feels too good. Even if turns me half lobster, I just want to smell neutral so I can feel at least a little bit like myself.
Next, I have to figure out how the hell I’m escaping.
Thank the gods and goddesses, Evgenia packed my tablet.
Maybe the OCC just didn’t want to reclaim the cracked-screen dinosaur. Either way, I’m grateful.
Now I have almost everything I need.
Only one problem. The Wi-Fi password.
I don’t have data. I have a little cash saved in my secret accounts but no way of accessing or adding to the funds if I can’t get online.
Like I said.
I can go a week without food.
I can go four minutes without oxygen.
But I cannot survive a single day without Wi-Fi.
I just have to be a good ghost and wait for the right time to sneak upstairs. I creep to the bottom of the stairway and press my ear to the door.
Nothing but silence.
Wood creaks somewhere else in the house, but I don’t hear footsteps, music, or any other sign that anyone’s home.
I chew my lip, hesitating.
I have to be brave. Make a break while I can, try to find their router, and pray that someone wrote down the password.
Clutching the half-busted tablet, I sneak through the door. My feet sting and my blood pumps. I move silently, hyper-aware of every scent and sound.
At the top of the steps, I press my ear to the door again.
Still nothing.
Breathing fast, I touch the doorknob.
A door slams in the house, and I snatch my fingers back like the knob’s on fire.
Craig’s voice carries in a sickening whine. “Yes, Alpha. I just got back. No. She’s downstairs. No, I haven’t. Yes, I will. Yes, Alpha. Can I come meet the pack? I’ll—”
His voice cuts off, and he curses softly. Plastic rustles, and then a chair creaks, taking someone’s weight.
Craig is number one on my not-safe-to-be-alone-with list, but if no one else is home, I need to take this chance.
Patting my hip to make sure my shiv is tucked in my waistband, I suck in a deep breath. I can take care of myself.
The basement stairway opens to a hall, and I spot kitchen tile in the archway just diagonal. Somewhere inside, a bag rustles, then there’s a crunch crunch crunch and a gross, lip-smacking noise that’s so ear-licking it could only be Craig.
I creep on tiptoe, taking shallow breaths. I don’t catch any alpha scents, or omega, thank goddess.
Craig sits at the breakfast nook of a high-end kitchen, shoveling salt and vinegar chips into his mouth and fiddling with his phone.
Clutching my tablet tighter, I clear my throat.
He keeps munching and scrolling.
I wouldn’t put him past him to ignore me on purpose, but he has that glazed out-of-body look of someone living inside the digital world. Like that one omega I saw so focused on editing her selfie, she didn’t realize she was perfuming in the middle of a social until an alpha had his teeth halfway into her neck.
She was pissed he made her hit post before she added her skin-smoothing filter.
I have a feeling Craig’s about to be equally excited.
“Uh—”
“Shit!” Craig jumps, bobbling his phone before fixing me with his beta stink eye. “What the hell are you doing sneaking around?”
I hold out my tablet like an alibi. “I just wanted to ask for the Wi-Fi password.”
“Tough shit.” He scowls with chip grease slicking his thin lips
.
“It’s just a password.”
“Why do you even want it? So you can hack the cameras and steal data from the pack?”
Hack? I blink.
At least now I know there are cameras in the house. And now that I know, I can feel the eyes on me like poison ivy vines creeping up my back, choking and claustrophobic. “I need to check my email.”
“So use your phone.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Sure you don’t.” Craig flicks chip crumbs into the air. “Let me guess. You want the pack to buy you one? It’s never happening.”
“I just want Wi-Fi on my tablet,” I say like I’m explaining to a toddler who needs a four-hour nap and a long time out.
“No. You don’t need to bother getting comfortable.” Craig narrows his eyes until they’re sewer-rat beady. “Soon enough, you’ll be back where you belong.”
Too bad I don’t belong anywhere. Least of all, in this kitchen. Still, I hug my tablet.
If it were anything else, I’d give up, but I need a way to reach the outside world. Otherwise, I’ll be trapped forever with the pack that doesn’t want me and their asshole sidekick, Craig.
Betas should be easy to manipulate.
He’d be cake if I had a single pheromone or a slice of charm.
Too bad I’m not the omega he wants to impress. If anything, the pack will thank him for driving me away.
“Please?” I try to sound sweet while my fingers clench around the ghost of something stabbity.
“What are you going to do for me?” he asks.
Not stab you in the eye? That’s as much as I can promise.
“Never mind.” This is pointless, and even if I have to ask one of the alphas, I won’t beg a beta.
“Did I say you could go? Put away the groceries and don’t even think about stealing. I know everything that happens in this house.”
Craig saunters past me, smirking when I shrink away from him.
As if I’m afraid?
I just don’t want the stink of wet cardboard clinging to me.
This is why I hate betas.
They’re all smiles and pretty words when they’re sucking up to an alpha or a real omega.
Me? I see the ugly truth.
The kitchen tile is cool against my bandaged feet. Without Craig, the space is straight off someone’s vision board with huge glossy appliances and a floor-to-ceiling view of the gardens.
