“You know...” Brock shrugs, and my agitation rises. “Jason?—”
“Don’t say his fucking name,” I whisper harshly, glancing toward the bathroom. I don’t want Myrick to overhear. “That fucker has nothing to do with this.”
Brock sucks in a deep breath, then rubs the back of his neck. “All I’m saying is that breaking up with a mate is hard. I mean, it’s been what? A year? Myrick has barely mourned losing Jason, and now you’re adding an omega when you don’t have a proper pack?—”
“Myrickismy pack,” I snap, voice low but fierce. “He and I can manage an omega on our own.” I flash my teeth. “Don’t ever talk about Jason again. You have no idea what he put us through. You’ve been too busy getting high and fucking up your own life to notice mine.”
It’s a shitty thing to say, but it’s true.
“Sorry.” Brock bows his head like he’s been struck.Good. “I know you don’t like to talk about him. Why it ended or—” He cuts himself off when he takes in my hard expression. None of this is appropriate, and he fucking knows it. “All I’m saying is, black market omegas have a lotof unknown factors.” He slowly stands, walking toward me. “You probably won’t spend much time with her before claiming her, you won’t be able to fly her out of the Northern Territory because she’s undocumented, and for all you know, she could have all kinds of health or behavioral issues.”
I glare at my brother, both livid and touched by his concern. But it’s a little too late for him to pretend like he cares. We stopped being those kinds of brothers when he went to prison. I pulled every favor I had to get him a lighter sentence. He only got three years, which is supposedly short for arson, but Brock was still pissed. I think he was angry I wasn’t able to get him off, and I was disappointed he got caught. In the end, it pretty much ruined our bond. It’s been five years, and now I only see him when he wants something.
“I’m worried about you,” he says quietly.
I bite back a bitter laugh. “I’m not the one—” The floorboards creak in the living room. Mint. Another alpha. “Did you bring someone?” I ask, nostrils flaring at the unmistakable scent.
“Yeah.” Brock shrugs like it’s no big deal. “An old buddy. Looking for work up north. I owed him a favor and told him I’d give him a ride.”
“Thatyou’dgive him a ride?” I ask pointedly. “Are you going up north too?” We both know he isn’t. He knew I was heading that way and decided to pressure me into giving one of his druggie friends a lift.Not going to happen.
“Come on.” Brock smacks my arm like we’re pals. “Oli’s a good guy. You’re taking the jet. It won’t cost you anything.”
I clench my jaw, breathing slow. “Last time I did a favor for your friends, my house was robbed and my car stolen.” Igrab my phone. “I’m not sneaking one of your prison buddies into the Northern Territory.”
Brock grits his teeth. “He’s not a prison buddy. He’s a friend.” He pulls in a deep breath before adding, “He’s my only friend lately.”
“Whatever.” I push past him, ready to kick this fucker out of my house.
A Fancy Apartment
Oli
This place smells weird.
The air is thick with artificial perfumes, chemical cleaners, and floor polish. No trace of people, no fresh breeze—just tall white walls, shiny floors that catch the light like mirrors, and a chandelier that probably cost more than my first car.
Curious, I step away from the front door and glance down the hallway to the left. Brock’s deep voice overlaps with someone else’s—sharp, controlled, definitely pissed. That’s gotta be his brother. From what Brock’s told me, Rhett’s got a permanent stick up his ass.
Feeling restless, I step forward through a large archway and into a massive, open living room. There’s a single step down, opening up everything—the ceiling is at least twelve feet high with fancy lighting fixtures hanging overhead. A floor-to-ceiling window stretches across the far right wall, framing the sprawling city skyline and distant mountains.
Walking around the cream-colored furniture, I take inthe fancy tables and fixtures. Everything looks like reclaimed wood, polished smooth. The lampshades on either side of the couch are blue and green glass—like one my grandma had. Even the art’s kind of stuffy: abstract paintings and black-and-white photos. But what really grabs me are the charcoal sketches above the fireplace—hands, broad backs, muscular asses, and what looks suspiciously like the base of an alpha’s cock.
Rich people are weird.
Stepping up to the window, I gaze out over the city. Westbin looks huge from here. People down below are nothing but tiny specs.
“It must cost a fortune to live here,” I mutter as I run my fingers through my dark, messy hair. The waves refuse to lie flat, curling back up like they don’t want to behave.
“Excuse me.” A stern voice cuts through the silence. Rhett.
He looks exactly like Brock, only older and gray, dressed like he’s heading to some important meeting. His slacks are freshly pressed, dark blue shirt tucked in just right. No tie.
“Hey man.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Oli.”
“There’s been some confusion.” Rhett doesn’t even glance at my hand. “I won’t be taking you up north.”
Brock shoots me an apologetic grimace. He warned me Rhett might be hard to convince, but damn—didn’t expect the older alpha to be such an ass.
