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Wyvern House owns the OCC, among a kajillion other businesses, but their bread-and-butter is black ops merc work. I don’t live so far underneath my self-imposed rock that I don’t know about the Wyvern heirs.
Okay. I don’t know their names, just that they exist. The sons of the four founders of Wyvern House. If a pack of dominant, aggressively hot rich boys is shopping omegas, it’s no wonder Rachel wants to wear me as a skinsuit.
Also, fuck.
This showcase is a total scam.
I consider handing over my bat and letting these girls beat the shit out of me, but they’re going to do that anyway. I might as well get in a few hits.
Stress relief.
And bonus! No solo if they shatter my legs.
“We could just not do this, you know.” I tighten my grip on the bat. “I don’t want your packs.”
“You’re playing the long con. I respect it. But do you think we’re fucking stupid? Every omega wants Wyvern Pack.” Rachel shakes her head, tossing her perfect glossy curls. “Noelle warned me about you.”
To be fair, I try not to look Rachel in the face. That’s why I never noticed the familiar snub nose and the dark brown eyes that match the ones in my nightmares.
I thought it was weird how all mean girls look the same. Apparently it’s not a look they stole from a magazine. It’s genetics.
“You’re sisters.” I swallow hard, lifting my bat. All this time, I thought I was hiding, and Rachel knew I was a threat.
“No shit.” Rachel’s lips curl in a feral grin. “Fuck her up, ladies.”
I swing, pushing back the minions who think I didn’t see them closing in on me.
Amateurs.
It’s five-on-one, but the bat gives me reach. I hit Jovie first, knocking her off her feet so she can’t come at me with her tetanus nails.
I jab one in the stomach, kick another, but they circle closer and closer, and I spent way too many hours dancing and grinding laps. My arms are too weak. I’m too exhausted.
Knowing how this ends, I make one last lunge and slip through their claws just long enough to jab my bat into Rachel’s ribs.
She topples with a sweet oof.
Then Jovie snatches my wrist, Beckah steals my bat, and the girls dart in with sharp nails and sharper snarls. Their touches make my skin crawl like vipers and stinging vines, and their floral, fruity omega scents make me want to choke.
“Hold her,” Rachel says shakily, using her crutch to push back to her feet.
My lizard brain freaks.
I flail as more and more hands pin me down.
Fight. Run. Fight Run.
Rachel steps in front of me with a crutch in one hand and my bat in the other. “Know your place, Darling.”
She swings the bat like a fucking battle axe.
The hit cracks across my face.
Lights.
Out.
I wake up to the smell of antiseptics and the orange blossom fragrance of the frantic beta nurse hovering over me in the infirmary.
