In Trouble, page 3
Still, I pride myself on scrubbing up well, at blending in with the other wealthy arseholes. I have three lucky dresses – secondhand original 1950s pieces I trawled eBay for. Tonight, I’m going for the black. After all, you can’t beat a little black dress. This one has off-the shoulder straps, a straight neckline, and hugs my body all the way down to just below my knees. It’s worthy of a pin-up.
In the shower, I shave and puff and wash with scentless products. After I’ve dried and styled my hair, letting it fall in platinum waves about my shoulders, I slither the dress over my head and apply my reddest of lipsticks. Finally, I do my eyes, highlighting my inky blue pupils with a cat-eye flick and lashings of mascara. As I slip my feet into my heels, I inspect myself in the mirror. I’ve gone for high-class – I look like a Bond Girl – the kind who sleeps with Bond and then tries to stab him in his sleep. It’s a look that says ‘fuck off unless you have the money’.
I grab my clutch and my thick woollen coat and then pick up that damn bracelet now resting on my bedside table.
Where should I put it? My clutch seems too risky, so I opt for my bra. The metal is cold against my nipple, which seems to react to the remaining traces of that alpha’s scent, my areola crinkling and hardening.
I consider fishing it back out, but I like the buzz it’s giving me, the way my gland starts tingling faintly in my neck.
Yeah, I’m an addict alright.
I pay for a taxi to the club. Apart from checking my coat, it’s the only expense I’ll have to incur for the evening. They’ll let me into the club for free, and there is always an alpha or three willing to pay for a single omega’s drink. It’s just as well. I could never afford the entrance fee or the drink prices.
In the back of the car, I snuggle into my coat and go over my plan. It’s a simple one. Almost too easy. But in my experience, the simplest plans are usually the most effective. I walk in, blend in. Look like I’m doing what I do every other Saturday night. Chat to a few alphas, have a few drinks, maybe a dance. Then at some point I go and use the bathroom. Nothing unusual about that. Then I leave.
I just have to hope I don’t bump into that alpha. That night we hooked up was the first time I’d seen him. He obviously doesn’t visit his club very often. I read in that article he owns a few others, private affairs in big houses on the outskirts of town. Probably he spends all his time there.
The car splashes through the wet roads, the neon lights of town reflected in the water streaming towards the drains. People hurry along the pavements, their faces hidden under umbrellas. A blanket of misty cloud hangs low in the sky and the music from the radio thuds in my ears.
We weave through the streets, and then I see the club in the distance, the electric blue lights of the sign bright against the dark sky. As usual the line outside trails all the way to the next street, but I instruct the cabbie to take me to the door, passing all the betas and alphas waiting to get in.
The cabbie pulls up and I know there are many pairs of eyes on me as I climb out of the car, carefully avoiding the puddles, and striding up to the bouncer at the entrance. He’s immaculately dressed as if he’s about to attend a wedding and not waiting outside a nightclub, although I can see the shoulders of his black coat dampening with each additional raindrop.
He pops up an umbrella as I arrive and I duck under it.
“Omega,” he says and I’m about to step through the entrance when he lifts his arm to block me. “Can I see some ID please?”
“ID?” I’ve never been asked for ID before. I swing my head around and notice another bouncer stands at my back blocking my escape. He has his hand to his ear and appears to whisper into his sleeve. Shit!
“We’ve had some underage kids trying to sneak in. It’s a new policy of the management.”
“Oh right,” I say, and snap open my purse. I’m aware of the man at my back. I peer sideways, looking for an escape. This doesn’t feel right. I fumble through my purse. “Hmmm I think I might have forgotten it.” I take a step to the side. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll try Firefly instead.”
“I’m sure you have it, love,” the first bouncer says, snatching my bag right out of my hands and searching through the contents. He pulls out my ID card. “Here it is.” Holding it up to the light, he scans the details, and then addresses his colleague over my head. “Yes, this is her.”
Her? Shit!
A hand grips my upper arm. “Come on, Omega. Our boss would like a word.”
Chapter 4
I’m sixteen again …
A tight grip lands on my arm as I stroll from the shop in the mall.
“Can I search your bag?”
My heart sinks.
“Why?” I ask, peering up at the large security guard with wide eyes. Look innocent. Look sweet. Then they never suspect you.
“I think there might be something you didn’t pay for in your bag,” the man says sternly, his grip not loosening. “We can do this out here with everyone watching or I can take you out back.”
“Out here,” I say, lifting my chin. I don’t care if people are watching. Who’s going to look worse? The giant manhandling the small omega. Or the innocent, scared-looking omega.
“Open your bag,” he tells me.
I find the zip and yank my rucksack open. We can both see it – the top. Like the one all the other girls are wearing at school right now. All the other girls. I’m the only one who sticks out like a fashion disaster at a runway show. I’m sick of the teasing. The snide remarks.
“Love your top, Connie. So vintage!”
I just want to blend in. One top. No big deal. This clothing chain makes millions. Swiping from here should’ve been a breeze.
The guard tugs the top from my bag. “I’m guessing you don’t have a receipt.” I shake my head. “Let’s go to my office then.”
“Why? What are you going to do?” Call my dad. Then I’d have to endure that look of disappointment in his eyes, the shake of his head, the questions - why? Why do you have to cause so much trouble, Connie? A question I can never answer.
“Call the police.”
I’m strangely relieved. I’ll just be another thief to the police. Someone to process and churn out.
The office at the back of the store is cold and dark. The guard makes me sit in the swivelly chair as he leans against the desk and picks up the receiver on the phone. Behind him a bank of screens flick through different images of the shiny store and its customers. I see the tops as clear as day. I hadn’t checked for cameras and I’d been standing right beneath one.
“How old are you?” the guard asks me.
“Sixteen.”
He nods and presses buttons on the phone.
I zone out as he speaks to an officer down the line, watching shoppers with armfuls of expensive items weaving in and out of the racks of clothes.
One top. One stupid top. I should’ve stuck to what I’m good at – stealing from people. I thought it would be the same. But now I see I was wrong. People don’t expect you to steal from them. Shops do.
When he’s finished on the phone, he tosses me a magazine, and tells me it’s going to be a while. Then he leaves, locking me in the dingy office that reeks of stale coffee and sweat.
My heart pounds in my chest and, for a moment, I can’t breathe. There’s no air in here. No air at all. My lungs gasp. I claw at my throat, nausea making me dizzy.
You’re nothing but trouble, Connie. A waste of space.
My eyes land on a pen on the desk. I make a grab for it as if it’s a life raft. Even holding it in my hand relaxes me. Air rushes down my throat. I feel less dizzy.
I scribble, doodling all over the goddamn magazine, and the hours pass.
They lead me out of the shop through the back-way, past the storage areas where the clothes are wrapped in plastic and scattered among crates, out to the delivery bay where a panda car waits in the dull sunshine. They seat me in the back, and I watch the city pass silently through the window until we arrive at the station. Then it’s more grips on my arm, more leading me along, more barked instructions. They seat me at a small table in a white room.
My hands shake in my lap and acid sloshes in my stomach. I think I might be sick.
The man in the suit opposite me is talking. I can see his lips opening and shutting, his tongue working behind his teeth. The woman next to him, with the checked tie and stripes on her jacket, taps her pen on the table rhythmically.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” I peer up at him. He has the piercing grey eyes of an alpha. He’s angry with me and the omega inside me wilts.
I don’t answer. I try but my mouth is so dry. My lips stick to my teeth and my tongue won’t move.
“Connie,” the woman says, resting the pen on the table and covering it with her palm. “We need you to understand that they’re going to press charges.”
I reach for the glass of water placed in front of me and lift it slowly. My hands continue to shake and the liquid sloshes against the sides. I wet my mouth and swallow.
“I gave it back,” I squeak.
“It doesn’t matter,” the man says. “They couldn’t be dissuaded. The company has a tough policy on shoplifters. They always prosecute.”
Shit! Where is my dad? Shouldn’t he be here? Are they even allowed to talk to me without him? I peer over my shoulder at the heavy door.
“Where’s my dad?” I ask.
The man glances at the woman and she rolls her pen under her palm. “He’s been contacted.”
My body relaxes. My dad will put this right. “He’s on his way?”
Those glances again. I look at the woman and then the man.
“We spoke to your mum–”
“My stepmum,” I correct, but that’s all I need to know.
* * *
Chapter 5
I shake away that memory of the past, and, for a moment, I think about fleeing, about struggling free from these bouncers and running. But running is what alphas like best. Well, not the best, they like catching even better.
Or I could scream and shout and kick up a fuss, claim they’re picking on me because I’m an omega. But that’s not my style. I make my mistakes and I face up to them.
So they lead me through the club, one on either side, the first bouncer still gripping my arm. I keep my chin high, even though I can feel the weight of a hundred stares on me. People turning and whispering into each other’s ears as I pass them.
They take me all the way through the club, through a door marked private and up a flight of stairs. At the top, there are more doors, all unmarked. The second bouncer knocks on the door to the right, then pushes it open, holding it as the first bouncer nudges me through.
It’s an office. The kind of office you see in movies. Dark polished floors, wide mahogany desk raised on a platform at the back of the room, and a bank of retro couches in the centre of the room, made from chocolate brown leather. The far wall is crafted from glass and looks down over the dance floor, already full with people, lights swimming over their heads. I’d never noticed this window from down there. It must be blacked out.
In the centre of the room, dressed in a dark suit and crisp white shirt, open at the neck to reveal a flash of collar bone, stands Blaize Hammond, hands deep in his pockets. He meets my eye as I step into the room, and then his gaze travels down my body in one long appreciative sweep.
“It wasn’t in her bag,” the first bouncer says, handing me my clutch. Blaize nods.
“Good job, lads,” he says to the two bouncers, and I hear the door click behind me, heavy footsteps retreating down the staircase.
“Did you come to give it back?” I don’t answer him, just stare straight ahead. “Am I going to have to search you for it, or are you going to tell me?”
“Searching me would be assault.” I grind my teeth together.
I’m not sixteen anymore. I am not sixteen.
“Searching you would be a pleasure,” he smirks, “but if you prefer I can call the police and you can have some police officer with sweaty hands pawing all over you instead.”
I meet his eye. His pupils are the colour of midnight in this dim lighting and his scent dominates the room, and there is the hint of other alpha scents here too.
I weigh up my situation. I’m cornered and I don’t like being cornered. I want to get out of here and away from this alpha as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, that’s going to mean swallowing my pride. Another thing I dislike.
Not dropping my eyes from his, I reach into the cleavage of my dress and hook out the bracelet. It dangles from my fingers, glinting, before I toss it to him. He reaches out and grabs it from the air with his fist. Then, to my surprise, he brings it to his nose and sniffs. His eyes roll backwards in their sockets and he groans, the noise going straight to my knees.
Then his eyes flip up to mine. “I had a feeling you’d be back.”
I continue to stare at him, although I can feel the stiffness in my spine and my shoulders dissipating under the magnetic pull of his eyes.
“You could’ve posted it, Omega. Anonymously.”
I swallow.
He strides down the steps, past the couches and stops before me, pinching my chin between his fingers and forcing me to gaze straight into the blue of his eyes. I see the spirals of green and blue blending together like the swell of the ocean.
“I think you wanted to see me again, little Omega.”
Is he right? Posting the bracelet would’ve been easier, simpler, and yet I’d never even considered it. Something had pulled me back to the club. Was it him?
I snatch my face to the side and step away from him.
I should leave now. I’ve given back the bracelet. End of dilemma. I never have to see him again.
But my blood is thrumming. Thrumming with his alpha scent and my gland tingles in my neck. It’s so hard to resist this when my body is so full of betrayal.
I walk around the back of the sofa, trailing my fingers over the soft leather, and then I climb up the couple of steps and peer down at his desk, shuffling the pieces of paper.
I hear him follow me, padding up behind me, his warm body so close. He leans down, his breath hot on the back of my neck. He kisses me there, and then he whispers into my skin.
“If you want pretty things, Omega, I can buy them for you.” His fingers are on my hip, and my core spins with anticipation.
“I don’t want anything from you,” I whisper.
“Are you sure?” He licks a stripe along the back of my shoulders, up my neck and to my gland. The goddamn thing buzzes with excitement and a needy sigh escapes my lips. “Hmmm, you taste so good,” he mumbles, “never got to taste you last time.”
He’s pressing me into the desk, hard against the top of my thighs. I grip the wood, squeezing it between my thumb and my fingers.
His fingers trail up my thigh, dragging up the hem of my dress. “We’d only just got started the other night and then you ran away.”
“I’m not interested in getting tangled up with an alpha.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, reaching under my dress and finding the gusset of my underwear, feeling for himself how damp they are.
“It never ends well.” I spin around to face him, feeling the press of his hardness against my stomach, making me wetter still. “It always ends one of two ways. You’ll fall in love with me and I’ll break your heart. Or you’ll realise I’m not the obedient little omega you’re after.”
“Oh, I already figured out that part,” he says, tugging the skirt of my dress up around my waist and lifting me to sit on the edge of his shiny desk. “So I guess I’ll have to take my chances with the former.”
“I’m too much for one alpha to handle,” I protest as he slips his fingers inside my underwear and swims them through my folds.
“Just as well I’m part of a pack then, Omega.”
“Pack?”
But I don’t have time to comprehend that bit of information properly, because he’s dipping his thick fingers inside me, circling my clit with his thumb, and I’m so wound up for it that I cry out immediately.
“You talk a good talk, Omega. But I think you’re just like all the other omegas – just as wet, just as needy for a knot.” His fingers work me as he talks, and I grip the shoulders of his jacket, sinking my nails through the material. “You want that knot, Omega?”
“I want to come,” I plead, as my legs begin to shake and my core tenses. “I want to come so bad.”
“Shhh,” he says, nibbling into my neck. “I’ve got you. I’m going to give it to you.” He sucks hard on the pulse in my throat, and his thumb flickers quickly over my clit.
“I’m so …” I gasp, “so close.”
“Come then, come around my fingers, and then you can come around my cock.”
He flicks me hard and I fall apart, flooding his desk and his hand with slick, my cunt clenching in spasms around his fingers.
“Oh shit, that pussy,” he says. “Milking like a good little omega.”
“I’m … not … good,” I gasp as my body jolts with the aftershocks of my orgasm.
“Oh, you are. You’re very good.”
We’ll see about that. I flip my head forward to meet his gaze. “You promised me something else.” I wrap my legs around his waist.
“I did.” He snatches down his fly and tugs himself out, pushing my underwear to one side, and plunging his heavy cock inside me. “This,” he groans.
“This,” I sigh. This is what I’ve been thinking about, fantasising about, dreaming about, all day. This. This hit of ecstasy. Alpha cock. There is nothing better than this.
He thrusts into me, snapping his hips against me, the desk wobbling. I come again quickly, wailing at the end of his cock, and curling down to lie out on his desk, jolting about like I’ve been hit by a live wire. He yanks down the neck of my dress like he’d done in the bathroom and squeezes at my tit as he pounds me.
