Prologue:
“Fucking hell.” Shiloh ground his teeth and pressed against the burning wound, crimson oozing through his fingers to stain his skin—and shirt—red. “Shouldn’t have worn white.”
Arguably, there were a lot of things he shouldn’t have done leading up to this absolute shitshow of a blunder, but here he was. Bleeding out in the middle of…His brow furrowed and he took a closer look at his surroundings, noting the towering white piles carefully spaced throughout the box shaped sections.
He’d dropped against one of them in his haste to escape, the exhaustion getting too great for him to carry on any further. Now, the strong scent of brine and the tang of it on his tongue whenever he gasped was noticeable.
Salt farm?
With the luck he was having as of late, of course he’d end up in a literal hell pit with a hole in his gut. The water he wassitting in was about an inch deep, not very troubling, but he’d most likely splashed some on himself when he’d fallen against the salt mound, which would explain the searing sensation where his flesh had been shredded by a singular bullet.
Actually, maybe he was lucky after all, to have only been hit by the one. There’d been several people shooting at him, after all.
The ambush pissed him off. The attacking group had successfully broken him away from the rest of his team in the chaos. Shiloh had held his own against them, but one bastard had gotten in a good shot, and he’d been forced to flee like a coward.
“Mother is going to love this.” The Dominus of the Eumia mafia was going to make this bullet injury seem like a cake walk once she got her hands on him. It’d end up being another mark against him in the long list of compiled reasons why she couldn’t leave her legacy to him once she’d passed.
Not a single maternal bone in that woman’s body.
Probably where Shiloh’s complete and total lack of empathy came from.
He snorted and rested his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He couldn’t stay here for much longer without risk of discovery, but he’d lost a lot of blood, and the thought of moving alone had him wincing.
Damn the Graves for putting him in this position.
Or was it the White Frost?
His attackers hadn’t been wearing any signifying markers, and he hadn’t recognized any of their faces, so identifying which rival group they came from wasn’t possible. For now. He’d find out, and when he did, he’d make them pay several times over for making him look the fool in front of his family.
If his twin had been there, maybe things would have gone differently.
He snorted, picturing Sloane ripping into their enemies with her throwing knives. She had a tendency to toss them and then drag them through flesh just to hear her targets scream. Crazy omega got off on it. Out of the two of them, he was the better at playing pretend. Just a close look at Sloane gave her away, but him?
Shiloh wore Normal like a second skin. He was the epitome of wolf in sheep’s clothing, even taking it a step further. Manipulating the emotions of those around him to get his desired result was child’s play—literally, since it’d been his preferred game since he was around eleven, after Sloane and he had found themselves kidnapped with their father’s rotting corpse.
That’d been a trip.
Probably only a step or so above the one he was currently experiencing.
A familiar and entirely unwanted pang in his nether regions had him going on high alert and swearing all over again.
“Just when you think it can’t get any worse.”
What would his subordinates say when they found out about this? That the proficient prince of the Eumia had found himself not only bleeding out in the wilderness like a dog, but like a bitch no less.
As an omega who’d presented at the age of sixteen, Shiloh had experienced this very sensation four times before. He’d been careful with it, taking his blockers, carrying around inhibitors like gum. Of course, today of all days had to be the one where he’d left them behind. The car bomb going off outside had understandably spooked his people, and he’d rushed them out of the hotel before he could grab anything.
Including his pills or his multi-slate, the body borne device that doubled as a portable computer and communicator.
When he’d presented as an omega, he hadn’t been disappointed. He saw value in that presentation. Strength. In many ways, it was merely another disguise. A shield against those who would underestimate him.
Being omega didn’t equate to weakness.
That day, the universe had gifted him the opportunity to hide in plain sight. The perfect disguise to hide his twisted and depraved nature.
Maybe today hadn’t been about luck at all.
Maybe this was merely the universe’s way of coming to collect for the favor he’d mistaken as a gift.
