He whirls back around, jaw tight. “One that needs to eat. One that’s not lucky enough to hide behind daddy’s fucking company.”
I keep my hands in my pockets, trying to look relaxed despite the fury burning beneath my skin. “You think that’s luck?”
He scoffs. “It’s definitely not about merit.”
Before I can reply, a female beta in a tie yells loudly, waving us over. “This way, gentlemen.” She’s standing at a narrow podium, clipboard in hand, her voice rehearsed and polite.
Done with Oli’s shit, I move to her, ready to find my future mate.
“Welcome to the Morder,” the beta says, all smiles and fake warmth. “The auction begins shortly. Display and showroom details are in here.” She hands me a folded brochure. I tuck it into my back pocket.
“Quick reminder,” she adds, her tone dipping into something steelier. “Any violence—verbal, physical, doesn’t matter—means you’re out. No second chances. No refunds.” She looks at me, then at Oli, waiting for us to acknowledge the rules.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “Thank you.” I give her a small bow of my head and she gestures us in.
“Enjoy yourselves.”
The crowd inside the barrier is a bizarre mix—alphas in suits and Rolexes, rubbing shoulders with roughnecks in ratty boots and stretched-out shirts. All of them looking for the same thing.
Omegas.
As we walk, Oli glances sideways. “You should cut Brock some slack. He’s trying.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “And you should mind your own fucking business,” I say, low and even. “My family’s problems have nothing to do with you.”
Oli shakes his head, then turns and marches off. I glare at his back, not looking away until the alpha disappears into the crowd.
Asshole.
The music swells—something orchestral andhaunting—and the crowd shifts like a tide. Alphas move as one, drawn toward the stage like they’ve been summoned. It’s subtle but primal, the way everyone reacts to the sound.
I glance at my watch.
7:02.
Right on schedule.
The auction's about to start.
My fingers dig into the brochure as I tug it free from my back pocket. The paper is warm from my body heat, slightly wrinkled from the walk. I unfold it with care, eyes scanning the bold text under the section markedSHOWROOM.
Excitement pumps through my veins as I skim the fine print at the bottom of the brochure. Legal status, documentation, public registration—it’s all laid out. Clean. Simple. Transactional. Exactly the way I like it.
It’s time to stop thinking about my brother and his fucked-up friends.After all, I didn’t come all this way to babysit. I’m here for a reason.
To get an omega.
To build somethingsolid. Complete my pack.
Finally start living life on my own terms—with someone who fits where she’s meant to.
Someone soft. Loyal.
Mine.
I fold the brochure in half and stuff it back into my pocket, my eyes locked on the crowd shifting toward the stage.
Let the others posture and circle like dogs—I came to claim.
