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The problem was, people like the Galleons had enemies. Enemies who were watching when some skinny, high-school beta picked up a package he wasn’t able to defend.
Michael told me he didn’t know what exactly was in the backpack because he hadn’t looked inside, or who the alphas were that attacked him before he’d been able to deliver it. There had been four of them, surrounding him and yanking him into an alley to take the backpack, but luckily they’d let him get away with only a few scrapes as they taunted him and had a good laugh.
But now Michael was responsible for the value of the contents in the backpack he’d allowed to be stolen. His phone had been blowing up, and I couldn’t wait for the men he owed to decide to make a personal house call.
It might have been his mess, but there was no way I was letting him handle it alone. He’d meant the best, but his naive idea had landed us in trouble with people I’d rather not associate with, and I couldn’t trust him to be smart enough to get us out of it.
When the guy who’d given him the bag called again asking where he was with their package since he’d missed the drop off, I took the phone. I wasn’t stupid, I knew they were going to make Michael pay for losing their stuff. I just needed to know how much it was worth, and if they would be willing to work out a deal. The man refused to tell me anything over the phone, so I’d set up a meeting to talk face to face with the boss.
It was the last thing an omega should be doing alone, but what choice did I have?
The older alpha sitting behind the mahogany monstrosity of a desk looked like the stereotypical mob boss from any movie. Greying dark hair, thick around the middle, with a rounded reddish nose, wearing a pinstripe suit, complete with fedora, and a cigar clenched between his lips.
I couldn’t tell if the scent of smoke was his natural smell or from his bad habit.
The two goons beside me matched the meat-head description, with nothing but muscle between their ears. Intimidating in their MIB suits, their alpha-musk clogging up the air, but mostly useless without exact instructions, which was why I was facing the man in charge instead of the one my brother had met.
I may have been a bit uncharitable towards them. Stress didn’t make me very gracious.
I kept my chin level and my breathing even, not willing to show the tension coiled inside even though they could probably smell the anxiety rolling off me. I’d already run the numbers and figured if I took on a few more hours at the diner each week, and only made partial payments on a couple bills, I could probably come up with at least a thousand by the end of the month. If Michael owed more than that, I’d have to hope they were willing to work with me on payments.
I wouldn’t think about what they might suggest instead. Michael said he hadn’t given them our address, but I wouldn’t put it past them to know everything, including where he went to school, and when they could catch him alone.
“So, tell me who you are again?”
The mobster’s eyes traveling down my body wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to. Young, slim, blonde, omega; I was aware of my dynamic and worked my assets for tips on a daily basis. Alphas were alphas, and I did what I had to, to make ends meet.
“I’m Michael’s sister.”
“That new kid who disappeared with our merchandise,” Meathead Number One supplied.
Keeping my gaze focused on the alpha behind the desk, I ignored the goon on my left and straightened my shoulders, trying to make my five-foot frame larger.
“He was attacked by four alphas on his way to deliver your package, and they stole it. I’m here to work out a deal to cover whatever he owes you for it. He’s just a dumb kid, and we don’t want any trouble.”
Heavy grey eyebrows lifted, the only sign that he’d heard me as he continued to stare. He remained silent long enough for my stomach to churn and bile to burn the back of my throat before he leaned back and steepled his fingers in front of him.
“So, your brother gets jumped, loses our product, and lets his omega sister come here trying to work out a deal to pay us back? What kind of man is he?”
My brows drew together, lips tightening at his tone. It wasn’t the first time someone made a comment about me watching out for Michael, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last, but the sexism was still irritating every time I heard it.
“He’s not. He’s still a kid, and I’m responsible for him. I just need to know how much he owes you to make this even so we can forget about each other.”
The alpha’s head dipped, chin resting on his chest. His steady gaze was unnerving, but he at least seemed to be considering what I’d said.
Turning his attention to Meathead Number One, he finally leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk.
“How much was in the bag?”
“Twelve kilos.”
I had no idea what that meant, or even what drug they could be referring to. I’d always been a good girl, far too busy and serious to get involved with recreational drugs like some of the other kids at school. The only thing I knew was that some of them used to buy what they called dime bags of pot that had cost ten bucks, because one of the boys had tried to convince me to buy it.
That calculating look focused on me once again.
“As noble as your intentions may be, I have the feeling you don’t have an extra twenty-two grand lying around. How do you plan to pay me? I’m a faithful man, omega, and happily mated, so don’t think I’ll accept anything but cash.”
My eyes dropped, locking on the gold ring he spun on his finger. I hadn’t missed the silvered bite mark on his neck, nor the notes in his scent that marked him as safely bonded. It was one of the only things that had let me retain hope when I entered the room, despite the clearly unattached and interested goons at my sides.
