AllFreeNovel
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“He exists. And we’ll wait for fucking ever. That’s what you do for your mate.”
Sneering, I drop his cock. “We don’t have a mate.”
I’m done waiting.
I just want to fuck something other than Dutch’s juicy ass before the Triad buries us in cement.
“You’ll see. The law of attraction—”
“Manifest me some omega pussy or stop reading that bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit. What’s bullshit is you giving up.” Dutch shoves me, done playing submissive. “He’s out there, Bish. He’s out there and he’s probably alone, waiting for us.”
Ignoring the old ache in my chest and the wet spot on my pants, I zip away my dick.
Our so-called beta popped out of the streets one summer and started playing ball. Sweet kid. He had big, brown eyes that saw too much and pierced too deep.
We let him tail us for years, planning to make him ours forever, but we lost our window after Reese’s assault limited our life choices. Kairo already had us on the ropes, threatening Dutch’s family.
If he’d found out we had a prospective mate?
Game. Set. Murder.
We had to go dark to keep Solomon safe.
Just a few weeks.
By the time I tried make contact again, poof.
He was a Meadows kid with no resources. After all these years, tracking dead-end leads, I’d bet my building that someone made him disappear.
And if our sidekick did survive?
I wouldn’t bring a French bulldog into our current mess.
We’re well-trained, ultra-disposable package boys, and short of pulling an escape more flawless than my smooth, white ass, the Triad will always have us by our unfulfilled balls.
Solomon deserved better.
I pump sanitizer and scrub until my palms burn. “The kid’s gone.”
Dutch collapses on my office sofa. “Well, I’m not hard anymore. Bastard.”
“I wish.” Unfortunately, I am my father’s legal son.
I return to the inbox full of bullshit that needs raking thanks to the trash fire of his legacy. The only thing he ever did right was make sure my trust was ironclad. No one can take my hotel shares to pay his debts.
But after years of his mismanagement, running schemes instead of the business, The Barrington is still bleeding cash. I feel like the kid living in an empty hotel room—when I had to tighten my tie, smile, and lie that everything is fine.
Dutch, a true friend even when cockblocked, bleach-cleans the chair that Capri contaminated.
I’m politely telling the contractors to fuck off over their estimates on our roof replacement when my door busts open.
Finally home from his playoff game, our boy Reese is ragged in his traveling suit, and I can’t get past the woodland fucking creature clinging to his cheeks. “The beard needs to die.”
“Least I can shave now that we lost.” He slumps on the couch and wrinkles his nose. “The hell? Did you have an ice cream party before the sex, or is that an omega?”
I scoff. “My new secretary. Probably sent to heat-trap us. Definitely a corporate spy.”
