by Aspen Grey
Table of Contents
Epilogue
Foreword
Cole
Keiran
Afterword
Also by Aspen Grey
Omega’s Submission
Scent of the Author
Omega’s Heat
Foxes of Scarlet Peak Book 2
Aspen Grey
Copyright © 2017 by Aspen Grey
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Foreword
1. Cole
2. Keiran
3. Cole
4. Keiran
5. Cole
6. Keiran
7. Cole
8. Keiran
9. Keiran
10. Cole
11. Keiran
12. Cole
13. Keiran
14. Cole
15. Keiran
16. Cole
17. Keiran
18. Cole
19. Keiran
20. Cole
21. Cole
22. Keiran
23. Cole
24. Keiran
25. Cole
26. Keiran
27. Keiran
28. Cole
29. Keiran
30. Keiran
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by Aspen Grey
Omega’s Submission
Scent of the Author
Foreword
Book 2 of the foxes is here! The response to OMEGA’S SUBMISSION was so great. It was so much fun to write Kitchi’s story, and I really hope you all enjoy this story as well.
It’s a little different from what I’ve done before, but a few familiar faces pop up so we’re not venturing too far from the pack ;)
More to come, as always, thanks to everyone who’s supported my journey as a writer, new fans and old.
<3 Aspen
1
Cole
“Sir? I just need your signature on this document real quick.” It was Jamie’s voice from the door. I looked up from my desk as he came in, and I could tell by the way he was walking that this was something that could probably wait.
Jamie was a coy little omega, and he’d had his sights set on me since he came to work here three months ago. He had no real interest in the legal business, but we’d taken him on as an intern while he finished his last year of college. It turned out he didn’t know shit about the law, but he was no dummy either. He knew that if he could link up with a strong, wealthy, high-powered lawyer – namely me – he’d be set for the rest of his life.
His pants had been getting progressively tighter, until the point where I wondered how he even got into the things in the morning. I’d picture him tying them to the wall then leaping into them from the bed. It was impossible to ignore his bulge as he stepped across the grey concrete floor of my office. You could see everything. Not that I wanted to.
Being a wealthy lawyer in Los Angeles was like having a golden ticket as far as omegas were concerned. Boys had been throwing themselves at me since my firm won our first major case five years ago. At twenty-nine, I was already a multi-millionaire, with a high-rise office, a house in the Hollywood Hills, and a fleet of sports cars to suit my daily fancy. And Jamie wanted in on all of that.
He flashed me a grin as he set the document on the desk in front of me. I reached for my fountain pen, but he already had it in his hands.
“Here you are, sir,” he smiled.
“Thanks,” I grumbled, avoiding eye contact. I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression. Maybe I was a bit of a player, but I had a rule I never broke: never get involved with someone at the office.
I kept my sexual exploits private – as private as I could being such a high-profile kind of guy. The last thing I needed was an awkward work environment, or worse, my own lawsuit to worry about.
I took the pen and quickly signed my name, closed the folder and handed it back to Jamie. He should have turned and left the room, but he stood there a moment, and I felt his eyes on me.
“Yes?” I asked him, eyeing him out of my peripheral vision, pretending to do something on my phone.
“Sir,” he said slowly. “This may be out of line, but a few of us from the mailroom are going out after work. I just thought I’d invite you.”
“Thank you, Jamie,” I said as politely as possible. “But I don’t mix my personal life with my work life. Have a nice night.”
Jamie nodded, obviously disappointed, and started to turn away. But before he did, he added, “I just know you don’t have anyone at home, sir. And I think…well, I just think that’s a shame.”
With that, he pulled open the door and made his exit. I sighed and reclined in my chair, putting my feet up on the desk. As obnoxious as that little parting quip was, the silly little omega was right. There was no one at home waiting for me, and that’s how things had been for a long time now.
I graduated a year early from Stanford, at twenty-five, joined a firm and focused on nothing but work. Two years later, I was a partner, and two years after that I was filthy rich. We won a lawsuit against a large food company that had been concealing harmful ingredients in their products, and that had put us on the map. Now everyone in Los Angeles knew us. But all that work came at a price, and that price was my personal life.
It simply didn’t exist, so I’d done what everybody else in my position did; got decked out and cruised the clubs. All the fun without the commitment. There just wasn’t time for that. But that life had grown stale lately, and I was dying for something new.
Was that a commitment? I wasn’t sure, but I knew something had to change.
“Ah, fuck,” I said to no one in particular, getting up and sliding into my suit jacket. I thumbed the button for the intercom “Hey, Tonya? Can you have them pull my car up for me?”
“Right away, Mr. Greyson,” her voice replied as I pulled the door open to my office.
All the other partners had already gone home for the day. Only the secretaries and interns were still around. God only knows how late those poor guys worked. I’d only spent two months as an intern before the firm realized how valuable I was and promoted me.
I made my way to the elevator and took it down to the garage where Ernesto was pulling up in my brand new Ferrari 350 Modena. Bright Red. I just didn’t go for that mustard yellow version.
I pulled a hundred out of my wallet and handed it to Ernesto as I slid into the driver’s side.
“Thank you, Mr. Greyson!” he said enthusiastically, practically bowing as he took the bill from me. I nodded, shut the door and gunned it. I was up the slope and at street level in seconds, whipping the car into a left-hand turn and on my way to the hills.
What will I do tonight? I thought, eyeing the sun that was on its way down. As if on cue, my phone rang. I answered.
“Aye, Dominic!”
“What’s going on, buddy?” Dominic was one of the partners at the firm. We’d been roommates in law school. He was a wolf shifter, and a total frat boy party animal. It was a miracle he even made it through school with the amount of drugs and alcohol always swimming around in his system.
“You sound pumped up,” I told him as I turned off Sunset and headed toward my neighborhood.
“Shit, yeah!” he practically shouted back. “The Fox Hole’s grand opening
is tonight!
“The what?” I replied.
“Jesus Christ,” he swore. “You couldn’t be more out of the loop, could you? The Fox Hole! The new club in West Hollywood? The kink club? Total San Francisco style debauchery! We gotta check it out.”
“Man, I haven’t heard you this excited since you got the results of your STD tests back.”
“Very funny,” Dominic scoffed. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“I didn’t even say I was going yet,” I replied, almost home.
“Yeah, yeah,” he laughed. “What else are you gonna do?”
2
Keiran
“I said, I quit!” I shouted, stuffing my shit into my duffel bag.
“What do you mean you quit?” Thatcher shouted at me from the door to my room. I say “my room,” but really it was just the room I was staying in. Nothing about it was mine aside from my few belongings that I was packing up.
“Do you need me to get you a dictionary?” I asked him, zipping up the bag and moving toward the door. Thatcher stood in my way. He wasn’t an alpha, but he was a pretty formidable beta. I was so pissed off right now that I was ready for a fight.
“Just cool down, will you?” he asked, but I wasn’t having any of it. Today had been one of the worst days of my life. I’d already been contemplating a move recently, but what had happened today had been the last straw.
I’d been working at Thatcher’s brothel for a little over six months. At five-foot-eight with a slender frame, I fit into the “twink” category, and was marketed as such to new customers. That meant I saw a lot of bears. Not necessarily bear-shifters, but bears, big guys with hairy chests and a lot of the time, pretty out of shape.
It sucked, but a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do, right?
I was the total stereotype. The wounded omega who’d never known his real dad and hated his mom’s new boyfriend. Bill. The son of a bitch had beaten me for as long as I could remember, so when I was thirteen, I got the Hell out of Maple Bay and headed out on my own.
I lied about my age, washed dishes, mopped floors and served food, but none of it ever kept me out of total poverty. Once I reached the age of consent, I became a “working boy.” It was hard to do on my own. Inconsistent. Risky. Places like Thatcher’s were the way to go, and I was making enough money that eventually, maybe, I could get myself out of the life. Eventually I’d be able to make a change, but after what happened today, that change was coming sooner than later.
Thatcher had sent a new guy my way. It wasn’t rare for new guys to show up, but Thatcher was usually a lot better with his screening process. Maybe he was just being lazy or something, but the guy that showed up wanted a lot of stuff that I wasn’t ready to provide, and that had pissed him off.
“Who do you think you are, you little shit!?” he’d shouted, slapping me hard against the cheek. “I’m paying you! And I want what I paid for!”
“Fuck you!” I’d shouted, loud enough for the entire house to hear. “Thatcher!”
Thatcher had come running, with two of the alpha bouncers, but it wasn’t soon enough. The guy beat the ever-living shit out of me. My nose was bleeding, my ribs were throbbing and I was definitely going to have a big bruise tomorrow.
That’s it, I’d thought. I’m out of here.
“Look, we can work something out here,” Thatcher protested. But I wasn’t having any of it. I shoved my way past him into the hall and made my way downstairs. “Keiran, hang on a minute! I promise you, nothing like that will ever happen again, okay?”
Ignoring him, I shouldered the door open to the outside and was greeted instantly with the harsh, sub-zero cold of winter. Maine’s climate was no joke, and we’d been hit with a cold spell recently beyond anything I could remember. The windows were all iced up, and your nose hairs would literally freeze if you stayed outside longer than a few seconds.
“Fuck!” I swore, trudging through ankle-high snow, shouldering my duffel bag.
“Where are you even going to go?” Thatcher shouted after me.
“You never cared about me before, Thatcher!” I replied, not bothering to look at him. “Don’t start now!”
But he had a point. Where was I going to go?
I’d been living at the brothel and had no friends in the area, and no place of my own. There was always the motel, or an all-night diner, but just looking around the absolutely frigid wasteland of Courtland, I knew I couldn’t spend another night here.
I need someplace warm, I thought, kicking the snow off my boots as I reached the main road heading through town. There was a bus stop down past the gas station. I had a little bit of money in my bank account. Not much, but enough to buy a ticket somewhere.
Gritting my teeth and keeping my head down, I trudged through the chill, feeling like my toes were about to freeze off. Not a single car even slowed to ask me if I needed help, or even a ride.
By the time I reached the bus station, my lungs were killing me and my throat was so seized up it took me a minute to even be able to speak.
“Can I buy a ticket to Los Angeles, please?” The bored girl looked at me like I was crazy.
“Los Angeles, you say?”
“That’s right,” I replied. Her painted on red lipstick gave me the heebie-jeebies.
“Our buses go to Boston first—” She started to explain, but I cut her off.
“Yes, I know. But I need to get to Los Angeles. How much will it be?”
The girl eyed me strangely, then started typing away on her computer terminal.
“One hundred and forty nine dollars,” she replied.
“And how long does the trip take?” I asked her. “Like, eight hours or something?”
The girl looked at me like I’d just told her I was President of the United States.
“Uh…about two days.”
“Fuck,” I cursed, pulling my debit card from my wallet. “All right, give me the ticket.”
The girl shrugged, ran my card and after a moment, the machine spit out a ticket. She tore something off and handed it to me.
“Next bus leaves in forty-five minutes,” she replied and motioned to a set of horribly uncomfortable looking chairs. “You can wait over there.”
“You guys have any coffee?” I asked her.
“There’s a coffee shop at the gas station—”
“Right, thanks,” I snapped, turning away and taking a seat. The chairs were even worse than they looked.
With a sigh, I flicked my ticket between my fingers as I looked out at the dark landscape, covered with snow.
So what if it takes two days? I can’t get out of here fast enough.
I had no idea what I’d be doing once I got there, but that didn’t matter. I’d rather be homeless on a warm beach than freezing my ass off, servicing abusive bears in a brothel.
Los Angeles, here I fucking come!
3
Cole
Dominic was in his Rolls Royce tonight, which I thought was a little on the ostentatious side for clubbing. That was the kind of car you brought to premieres, or next-level parties in Beverly Hills, not to the opening of some wild club while you scout fresh omega booty.
“You can say it,” he told me as he pulled away from my house.
“What?”
“I’m a douchebag,” he grinned. “It’s okay, you can say it.”
“I mean…the car is a little much,” I shrugged, stretching out my legs in front of me, using up all the ample legroom the massive car provided. Someone told me the seats were first-class airplane seats. I didn’t know if that was true, but they were pretty much the most comfortable things I’d ever had my ass on.
I was wearing my grey linen suit, with a soft white button-up underneath and a pair of Gucci loafers. Dominic was sporting a pair of dark jeans, a silk t-shirt and a leather jacket that cost more than most people paid in rent for a year.
“Motherfuckers need to recognize,” Dominic chuckled, adjusting the Rolex on his wrist. It was set wit
h more diamonds than the crown jewels.
“What are you, a rapper?” I asked him as we came down out of the hills.
“Just stuntin’ a little,” he chuckled.
“What are you doing going to this place anyway?” I asked him. “Isn’t it called the Fox Hole?”
“Just a name,” he replied. “There’ll be some wolves there too, I’m sure. If not, who really cares? A little cross-species fun while in human form never hurt anybody.”
Dominic seemed to have a hard-on at all times of the day. I pictured him waking up with one, rubbing one out in the shower, getting to work and heading to the bathroom for another tug. Getting a blowjob from one of the interns at lunch, then fucking them in his office before heading home, then painting the town red and heading back to his mansion with another one or two omegas on his arm. And the funny thing was, that wasn’t far from the truth.
“I’m telling you, bro. This place is going to be poppin’!” He was grinning like a teenager who had just discovered internet porn. “It’s supposed to be three fucking floors. Like a strip club or something. Club and bar on the first floor. A stage for shows or something on the second, and private rooms on the third.”
“Champagne rooms?” I asked.
“Something like that,” he laughed.
It didn’t sound that different than any of the other clubs scattered around Los Angeles. We’d gone to them all, even the dive ones where the broke hipsters would go. College omegas with bullshit majors looking for sugar daddies. I wasn’t into that whole scene. Supporting an omega financially just so he’d give it up for me when I wanted? No thanks.
