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Is that my name?
Are we sure?
My lips flame and my pulse taps a call for help.
Looks like I finally chose destruction.
And holy fucking shit, does it feel good.
That’s why it has to stop. “I’m not your omega. I’m not an omega at all.”
“Then you’re our beta,” Reese offers, like it’s the simplest thing.
“I’m not a beta.” If only.
“Alpha?” Dutch shrugs. “Who even cares? Whatever you are, you’re ours.”
Flinching away from his earnest, puppy-dog intensity, I lock gazes with something worse.
Bishop can be polite. Bishop can even be kind if you’ve proven you’re on his side. But Bishop Barrington has never once been good.
He’s greedy and he’s much too smart.
My soul leaves my body as he casually weaves together my lies. “Not an alpha, omega, or beta. Hunted by a nameless government agency. Lab experiments. And some reason they’re afraid… Ah. Special abilities section.”
“The SAS?” Jin’s pulse zings my fingers.
So much for my secrets.
I push his hands away to hold my throat, scraping out words like shattered glass. “If you know them, then you probably know I’m a gamma. It’s like the lady said. My special ability is mimicking pheromones. I’m not your mate.”
A little truth.
A little lie.
Maybe that leaves me room to survive.
“No need to argue semantics.” Bish waves.
“Yeah,” Reese agrees. “And why fight over names? You’re our friend. Enough said.” Folded in half behind Jin, Reese’s reassuring brown eyes glow inches from my seat in the driver’s lap.
Too close.
All of them. Too close.
My neck crawls.
Jin must feel my struggle. He lets me free, seamlessly passing me to Dutch and Reese, who return me to the muscle-choked back seat.
There’s the real mystery.
Why do I mind the guys’ hands when they graze my neck, but not at all when they pass me around like their plush toy?
Dutch grumbles. “We’re more than friends.”
When Bishop twists to watch me from the front seat, the throat of his robe falls open, flashing pale, sleek skin, and a tempting splash of freckles. “Are you our friend, Princess?”
Don’t look at his collarbone.
