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“Finn.” Hunter yanks him away. “Let her breathe.”
I hesitate when I should put in the soap and leave the room, but Hunter’s watching, and he won’t miss when I pour in a fucking lid full of de-scenter that an unawakened omega shouldn’t need.
“I didn’t mean to bother you. Just keep doing your thing.” I move to the dryer and yet another load of their clothes that I’ve been working on cleaning. I need to wash my stuff more often than they do, and every time I’m down here, I’m surrounded by piles and piles of their sweat-soaked, fever-inducing laundry.
The fact that even their dirty clothes turn me on is a source of shame that I’d rather die than admit.
Like I said. Not a saint.
More like a hussy trying to hide underneath a habit.
And I’m not sure how much longer I want to hide.
“Why are you washing our clothes? Aren’t we paying Craig to play houseboy?” Finn turns to Hunter.
“Orion told him to stop when his boxers started going missing.”
I drop the T-shirt I’m folding. “They what?”
Okay, yeah, I think anything that smells like Orion is sexy as fuck, but even I’m not depraved enough to steal his boxers.
Unless he says I can.
But stealing without permission?
That’s some stalker shit.
“Is that what happened?” Finn licks his lips. “Gonna have a talk with Craiggy.”
I look away from the sexy psycho, glancing to Hunter, who shrugs. “It’s not our business.”
“He’s your mate.” I fume, thinking how Craig skulks around while Orion’s home alone. “Does Atlas know?”
“Orion didn’t tell him.” Hunter shrugs again, like it’s not even a little bit his issue.
Is this a man thing? An alpha thing?
Like, are they not supposed to share their problems with each other?
“Isn’t there security footage?” I haven’t missed the cameras in the corner of every room.
“Jett would know,” Hunter says.
“Where is he?”
“His office. But I don’t think you—”
I leave Hunter and Finn, stomping up the steps. My heart stutters when I reach the second floor and the bougie chandelier winks at me in a way-above-your-paygrade warning, but I can’t let this shit go.
If it were me, I’d hide and bide my time, avoiding Craig until he forgets me or I have to stab some sense into the asshole.
God knows he’s not the first creeper beta I’ve handled.
But this is Orion. And this creeper is in his home. Every day.
How can you be sane with that? Just the idea of being around Craig feels oilier and oilier, like khaki stained with meat grease.
Bracing myself, I climb the stairs.
