Odette leans in and the beta kisses her cheek. “Goodnight, sweetie.” She raises two fingers at Adam in a wave, and he presses his hand to his chest like she's blessed him.
She stops at Raff next, and he stands still as she takes his jaw in one hand and pulls him toward her so she can kiss his cheek.
"Goodnight, Ma," he says quietly.
She releases him, and her eyes find mine as she moves in my direction. She looks me over once, as if she's running a quick check to make sure I'm still in one piece. Then she glances toward the calendar on the side of the tool chest.
“Are we open tomorrow?” she asks. “I saw something marked on your calendar.”
“Nope,” I lean in and kiss her cheek. Her sharp cinnamon scent fills my lungs, familiar and slightly sweet. “We’re running a few vans up to Angelica. She orderedthree more, so it’ll take all of us to get them to her. We’ve also agreed to pick up a shipment of some meds for her along the way.”
"Threemore vans?" Odette's dark gray eyes widen. They're the exact same color as Raff's. "I swear that she-alpha goes through more damn vehicles." She shakes her head in disbelief. "Where are you dropping them at? The boarding house in Calina?"
"We're taking them to the Morder," Raff says. “It’s somewhere outside of Greenwood this month.” He's not looking at either of us as he talks. His eyes have drifted across the garage to where Perrin is bent over the engine, one hand braced on the frame, the other working a socket wrench into a tight space.
Raff watches the beta, his gaze tracking the line of Perrin's back, down to his ass. Raff stares, licking his lips before he finally reaches for his parts catalog.
Odette rolls her eyes as she turns back to me. “You're dropping them offatthe black market? Isn’t that a little,” she frowns, trying to find the right word, "unusual?"
"It’s a little out of the ordinary, but it’ll be okay." I give a small, one-shouldered shrug, trying to make light of it. But I do understand Odette’s concern. Pulling up to an open field packed with hundreds of alphas isn't exactly a low-profile handoff. But Angelica pays well, so I don’t give a shit where she wants them delivered.
“I heard from Patrick that several of their rides got picked up in a sting down along the border,” Adam says. “She lost a whole fleet.”
That makes Odette throw her head back and laugh, a raw, throaty sound that fills the garage. "Serves Angelica right for driving south," she says, waving a dismissive hand. "It's not worth it. I’m a northern woman. I’ll die a northern woman."
I smile, but I don't say what I'm actually thinking, which is that it's easier up here for people like us. The laws are looser, the harsh winters keep any travelers away, and everyone is too busy minding their own dirty business to look too hard at anyone else's.
Nobody wants to pull at a thread when they know their own seams are showing.
“You boys be careful.” Odette gives me a pointed look, adjusting her purse. "And don't get sucked into all that chaos and decide to buy yourself an omega while you're there."
That makes me laugh, a real, deep chuckle. "Not a chance," I say, shaking my head. "I have zero interest in a high-maintenance woman."
"Hey," Adam smacks my stomach with the back of his hand. "Omegas can be men, too, you know."
My grin widens as I turn to him. "You're right. And Idefinitelydon't want another high-maintenance man. I already have a house full of them." I reach out and slap his ass, the sound echoing loudly in the garage.
Adam yelps and jumps, rubbing the spot with a pout. “Brute.”
But Perrin actually looks offended, his light brows drawing together. "I'm not high-maintenance.” He frowns.
I quickly hold up my hands, my expression innocent. "I was talking about Raff."
I wasn’t.
Raff’s face breaks into a wicked smile, and Perrin rolls his eyes, a small huff of a laugh escaping him as he turns back to the engine.
“You boys be good.” Odette says, then she turns, her hips swaying as she makes her way out the open bay door.
I watch her make her way to her black car parked next to my old pickup. The second she starts the engine, the energy in the garage shifts back to work. Adam gets into position and starts throwing punches at the bag, Perrin leans back over the engine, and Raff thumbs through the catalog.
But my mind drifts to the Morder as I stare at Adam’s tight body move, his abs flexing as he bobs and weaves. I’ve been to the black market a few times, dropping off all kinds of shit for Angelica, and the whole thing doesn't sit right with me.
Every time I leave that damn place, I’m left with a weird feeling, like something is sitting wrong in my chest, and I don’t know why.
After all, the Morder isn't that much different from the Academies where rich-pricks normally get their omegas, but it still feels wrong. I get that omegas aren't built the same as alphas and betas. They can't be independent. Theyneedto be cared for and protected, and when they’re lost or have undesirable features, they’re not likely to find a pack.
The Morder helps them find alphas that will care for them.
