This one slides a little too easily.
My brows raise, and I tilt it again, slower.
Yup. It’s definitely been diluted.
"Another bad one?" Milo asks.
"Maybe." I set it in the reject tray. "Chem can test it."
"You're going to make enemies down there, Pérez," he says lightly. "They'll get real pissy if you keep flagging batches."
"I'd rather piss off chem than Anton."
Milo lets out a soft laugh. "God, you're cute when you're intense."
My head snaps up.
The beta’s expression is bright and open, practically begging me to like him. His dark brows are lifted slightly, mouth curved in an eager, hopeful grin, like he’ll win something if I’ll just smile back at him.
There’s nothing predatory about him.
Milo isn’t rude or anything like that, and he's a nice enough guy. But I don't know how he'll react if I shut him down, and I can’t lose this job.
I need it to get access to the meds I need.
It’s not as if I can go to a doctor.They’d flag me as an unmated omega, then they’d shove me into an institution in the blink of an eye. I’d lose everything I've spent three years painstakingly collecting information, because, somewhere in this world, someone knows what happened to my parents.
"Hey." Milo's voice drops, softer now, and I realize I’m frowning. "I didn't mean anything by that." He steps around the table toward me, and my shoulders pull tight before I can stop them. He notices and slows, stopping a few feet away, giving me a bit of space. “It was a bad joke, Pérez. I'm not trying to be a creep or anything like that.”
I force a smile. "I know. I just like to be thorough." I keep my tone easy. "Anton doesn't strike me as someone who tolerates sloppy work."
Milo’s expression shifts quickly, eager to agree. “Yeah. Totally, I get that.” He laughs again. "I mean, this isn't exactly what I pictured for my life." His smile grows as he looks around the make-shift lab. "But here I am." He shakes his head. "Barely graduated high school and I’m processing stolen sedatives for a black market that sells freaking omegas."
He says it lightly. Like it's simply a funny detail about the job, but shame still presses hard against the inside of my ribs.
These meds will be used to sell omegas like me.
Omegas that weren’t lucky enough to go to school and learn a skill that could help them hide.
I keep smiling.
Don't react. Don't give yourself away.
“Plus, I make more money here than I could anywhere else,” Milo continues, completely oblivious. "I was kind of a wild kid." He shrugs, something almost self-deprecating moving across his face. “I’d never make it in a nine-to-five.”
I nod,flexing my fingers against the side of the table.
God, my back is killing me.
"Anyway." Milo reaches past me for the last box of vials.
He’s close enough that I catch the faint scent of his deodorant.
“Once this market wraps,” he says, slicing through the tape with a box cutter, “I’m taking a vacation. I’ve already told Anton. I’m going somewhere warm that doesn’t hum twenty-four-seven and smell like freaking disinfectant.”
"Yeah?"
“I’ve heard amazing things about Bora Bora,” he says, already smiling like he can see it. “Clear water. Overwater bungalows. And not a single air conditioner unit, trying to freeze my dang fingers off.”
