AllFreeNovel
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I catch a face-full of nauseating lust pheromones—like loamy, misfit potatoes that got dug up and were promised a fuck.
It’s official.
Potato-scented people are the worst.
My robe and the darkness team up to hide my shudder. “Bring me a drink? I heard there were craft cocktails.”
“Can’t leave my post.” His eyes dart to the steps.
So do mine.
Careful as tugging a spiderweb, tightening my abs for max control, I tease out fake lemon pheromones. Real omega pheromones—not my nightmare-inducing gamma stench.
“I’m thirsty.” I’m almost desperate enough to lick my lips.
He licks his before I have to sink another level. “I’ll call. Have them send someone up.”
“Fine.” I lean on the rail. “But ask for a pretty server. It’s my last night as a lone omega.”
Preferably a tall-ish blonde I can knock out, strip, and replace.
I’ll play a waitress.
I’ll play any role that saves me from being marked.
“Uh. I’ll ask. For a pretty one. But you need to get back inside. Boss’s orders.”
Bet he’s more worried about his thick neck than my safety.
I risk another squeeze of lemon. “Maybe we—”
“Boss’s orders.” He sets his bodybuilder jaw, and I’m happier than I should be when his lust fizzles, knocked out by a brick wall of starchy dominance that I have to pretend to obey. “Go inside, Princess.”
Some royalty.
Even security gets to alpha-whip the heiress.
I go back to the stuffy dressing room and the drawing board.
As much as reality makes me want to hug a trash can, my options will be better later in the night. When alphas are drunk and power-tripping, pheromones are high, and my father signs me away to be someone else’s problem.
Redfang security will be on my ass until the ink’s dry.
Whether I flash scars and ruin my disguise or snap and melt alphas’ brains until I run out of steam, tonight’s my curtain call.
For better and more likely worse, I can finally stop pretending that I’m fine, that I’m strong, that I’m…whatever I am.
Whoever I’m supposed to be.
I miss Lilah.
She’s the only one I never had to pretend for. Not because I didn’t try, but because it’s impossible to hide your real self when you’re fighting rich girl omegas ten against two.
We had this unspoken deal where I didn’t pry into her secrets, she didn’t ask about mine, and we could just be—hanging in her closet room at the OCC, streaming bad TV and munching stolen chips.
The only thing we pretended was that we’d both get to have the futures of our dreams.
I promise I’ll figure out how to contact her as soon as I’m free.
