Anton's eyes narrow. “No, Pérez.” His tone isn’t mean, but it isn’t exactly warm. “You know the rules. You can’t leave the room before everything is processed and locked up.” He pushes the other boxes toward me. “You'll have to hold it.”
I nod, trying not to look too disappointed. “Sorry.” I bow my head. “I forgot.”
Anton’s gaze lingers on me a second too long before he exhales through his nose. “Get it done.” He looks at Milo. “We need this shit ready to go for tomorrow. We’re all working late,” his voice shifts into boss mode. “I even had to cancel my date with Maya.”
Milo quickly promises we’ll get everything done, then Anton turns and leaves, taking his intense scent with him.
The second the lock clicks into place, Milo leans in and whispers, "That's such bullshit. One bathroom break the entire shift? Do you actually need to go, because I can?—"
“I'm good,” I say quickly. “It’s not an emergency.”
And honestly, it's probably for the best. I would’ve needed to dig a spare needle out of my purse to inject the meds, and that would look suspicious.
I pick up the next vial and get back to work.
The small amber bottle sits cold against my skin. I try not to think too hard about what happens if the one pressed against my stomach degrades before I can use it. I'm on the pharmacy floor tomorrow, working at the market.
If my heat hits out there, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hundreds of alphas, my secret will definitely get out.
Or worse…
I might not make it out alive.
Marchetti Auto Salvage
Cliff
Adam’s fistconnects hard with the punching bag. The impact is a dull, heavywhumpof leather snapping tight over packed sand. The chain overhead rattles, metal links clinking as the bag jerks backward a couple of inches before swinging back toward him.
The evening sun slides in through the high windows in long, dusty beams, catching on suspended particles of brake dust and smoke. The overhead fluorescents buzz, and a breeze drifts in from the open bay doors.
“Again,” I say.
Adam exhales through his nose and resets his stance, throwing a couple of hard punches.
The beta looks good like this. He’s wearing only a pair of fitted jeans, showing off his lean waist, broad shoulders, and cut abs defined from hours in the gym.
His dark blond hair is damp at the temples, the longer strands curling around his ears. I admire his tight body,watching as a sheen along his collarbones catches the light as he pivots.
He’s fucking gorgeous.
Adam angles his body and throws a left hook, making the bag sway sideways.
"Don't lean," I say, stepping closer. I drift behind him, setting my hands lightly on his hips and nudging him a fraction to the side. “You need to keep yourself centered. If this were a real fight, someone would knock you off balance the second you tipped like that.”
“Like this?” he asks as he resets his stance. Then he swings.
Power rolls up from his legs, through his core, into his shoulder. His fist lands with a deeper, more satisfying thud. The chain above the bag rattles again, swinging wider than before.
“That’s it.” My fingers tighten slightly at his hips. He’s moving so fast, his body strong. I love days like this. I feel so useless when he has a flare, but it makes these good days like this that much better.
“Perfect form,” I say.
Adam glances over his shoulder at me. That slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. "Is my formperfect?" He cocks one brow as he inches back, pressing his perfect ass against my groin. “Are you sure? Maybe you should show me again.” He wiggles, grinding into me.
My dick instantly grows, a thick, heavy ache pushing against the zipper of my jeans, and I know he can feel it.
Such a fucking tease.
