5228
At least I think the last number is an eight. It’s extra thick and traced multiple times as if someone fucked it up.
“Can I ask?” Autry stops me before I can put the sheet away. “What’s your bidding number?”
I glance down at the paper. “Four, one, seven.”
“Four-hundred and seventeen,” Autry says softly, biting that plump bottom lip again. I swear my knees threaten to give out. “I’m glad I met you, Rhett,” she adds, her voice barely above a whisper.
Needing to touch her, I slip my hand under hers. The moment our skin meets, a jolt shoots straight through me. Her hand is warm, soft, and somehow grounding all at once.
I lift it gently and press my lips to the back of her hand. Her lemony, sweet scent floods my senses, and my whole body thrums with it. My heart hammers and my cock plumps.
If I ever were to believe in fated mates, this would be the moment.
Slowly, I straighten, reluctant to break contact, but I release her hand. “It was lovely to meet you, too, Autry.”
Then I turn and force myself to walk away. It's agony to leave her, especially knowing that she’ll be chatting with some other alpha. He doesn’t deserve her. None of these assholes do. She’s mine.
Mine.
The fresh evening air fans across my face as I step outside. The sun touches the treetops, casting everything in a hazy light. The crowds are especially rowdy near the stage, throwing off wave after wave of aggressive pheromones. The auction is underway. Alphas yell out, placing their bids while a beta on the stage riles them up, trying to encourage them to pay more. Higher! Dig deep! Don’t let your new mate get away!
The chaos makes the tension in my chest double as I pass. Determined to stay focused, I march through thecrowd and across the market. I zero in on the claiming booth on the other side of the meadow, desperate to get Autry before someone else has the chance.
The booth is a simple table flanked by two bulky fluorescent lights. They’re both already on, ready for when the sun finishes setting. A small, mousey-looking woman sits at the table. Two burly betas stand behind her. They must be security, but the batons nestled in their belts wouldn’t do much to stop a raging alpha.
Thankfully, there are only a few others in line, but I’m sure it’ll be a madhouse the second the auction ends.
I stand behind a big red-haired alpha in a white polo. He rocks nervously from one foot then the other as he waits for the pack in front of him to finish up.
The crowd roars again, and I turn, watching as a young, blonde omega walks out onto the stage. Her knees shake as she steps forward. Her tiny pink bra and panties leave nothing to the imagination, but it's the look in her eyes that’s the most upsetting. She’s obviously drugged, and based on the way her upper body sways, she’s been given way too much. I understand they probably have to sedate the omegas with so many alphas present, but this is extreme.
It’s the main reason I want a showroom omega.
Rumors have always circulated about the black market omegas being snatched off the streets and doped up so they can’t fight, but the flier I found said the showroom omegas were known for being eager to find a mate. They want the love and comfort of a pack. They aren’t being forced.
Growing more impatient by the second, I scan the rest of the market, taking in the roaring bonfire and makeshift bar. Drunk alphas laugh and chat loudly while they drink beer from tall glasses. Many look like they’re bragging, while a few look pissed… including Oli.
The dark-haired alpha sits at the end of the bar, nursing what looks like a glass of whiskey. I guess he didn’t find any work.
The line in front of me moves as the pack finally finishes claiming their omega. The red-head in front of me steps up, slapping his bidding sheet onto the table.
I try to settle my nerves, thinking about Autry’s stunning hazel eyes and long brown hair. I do love brunettes. I’d never say that to Myrick—my handsome blond beta—but it’s true. There’s something almost mysterious about a dark-haired lover.
Awareness pricks my skin, and I turn back toward the crowd. My gaze zeros in on a short beta in dark blue scrubs. He startles and spins around when he realizes I’ve caught him staring right at me.
The staff here are a little odd.
“What the fuck do you mean, I can’t claim her?” The alpha in front of me yells, clearly pissed.
Great.
Annoyance settles in my gut, wondering how long this is going to take.
“Sir, please calm down.” The mousey-beta shifts nervously on her little stool. She looks young, like most of the staff here. But then again, Myrick looks like he’s barely twenty-five, but my sweet boy is almost forty. Some betas age well. “All omegas in the showroom require packs,” she says, and shock rips through me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” the red-haired alpha growls, barely containing his rage.
