“Y-Yeah, I’m at the Octane Club in Enfield. I locked myself in a cubicle, in the omega bathroom—told him I didn’t feel well.Oh God, Ollie, he just wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Oliver let out a relieved sigh and rose to his feet. Glancing behind, he saw Lucas slip from the bed, already pulling on his clothes. “Okay Pem, that’s good,” he said, trying to keep his tone even and calm. “Just keep yourself locked in. We’ll come and get you. Are you certain you were spiked?”
Pember took a breath, then, “N-No but… my head. I was with that social worker guy from the police station, the one I toldyou about. I shouldn’t—I didn’t—I just got sosickof my mum pressuring me, so I called him. We had dinner, then my head went all fuzzy and suddenly I was at the club. I’ve never even been to a nightclub before, Ollie. It’s so loud, I don’t know who these people are!”
Rage coated Oliver’s veins, the kind of cold, hard anger that could turn dangerous if left unchecked. Lucas must have sensed it, because he was at his back in an instant.
“R-Right, stay on the phone.” The words shook as they left Oliver’s mouth. “We’re on our way.”
“I can’t stay on the phone, Ollie. I’ve only got four percent battery.”
“Well then, keep the fucking door locked, Pem. Don’t move until we get there.” His tone was far sharper than it should have been. Not because of the omega, but because,of course, it had to be Patrick fucking Coletta.
Hanging up, he frantically tried to locate his discarded clothes. Somehow, the top was hooked over the curtain pole, his shoes were in the bathroom, and he located the jogging bottoms behind the TV unit. Pulling them on, he winced, realising the bottoms were still damp with slick.
“Here,” Lucas said, pulling a pair of his own trousers from the wardrobe.
Oliver tugged them on, only for them to fall down immediately. “Belt?” Unfortunately, the belt didn’t help either.
“We’re stopping at the flat,” Lucas said, plucking the room key up from the desk.
Oliver let out a sharp breath. “We don’t have time, Lucas! I’ll just go in these.”
Lucas frowned and strode over to him, reaching out to splay a hand against the wall. “If you think you’re going anywhere near a night club smelling like that, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Oliver scoffed andalmoststamped his foot. “But, Pember?—”
“We’ll get to Pember. But it’smyjob to look afteryou,” he growled, dropping his head so their eyes were level. “Are we clear?”
And there it was. The difference between having the bite and not. The alpha predator circling and snarling with the feral instinct to protect what was his. Oliver let out a sharp breath before nodding, because as much as he hated to admit it, Lucas was right. The Octane Club was a proverbial den of iniquity, and he’d lost count of the number of sexual assault cases he’d been deployed to during his days in uniform.
“Good,” Lucas replied, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth. “Let’s go.”
“You heard him, right? The guy Pember’s with.”
Lucas grimaced. “Our good friend, Mr Coletta.”
They hadno choice but to catch a hotel taxi back to Oliver’s apartment—given that the BMW was still parked at the police station. He baulked when the driver told him the four and half minute drive cost £25. “Should I wait?” The driver said, rolling down the window as they stepped out of the car.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Oliver replied, paying the fare and slamming the door shut. “Bloody daylight robbery.”
Racing up to the apartment, he flung the dirty clothes into the wash basket and pulled on a fresh shirt and trousers. “Ready?” Lucas said, hanging in the doorway as he looped the keys to the Yellow Peril around his forefinger.
“Yeah,” Oliver replied, snatching the keys from his grasp. “I’m driving. After last time, I don’t trust you with YP’s safety. You know—after you crashed her into a grass verge and took home half the fucking countryside inside the front grill?”
Lucas chuckled, dropped a coat over Oliver’s shoulders, and followed him out of the apartment.
“I can assure you, Reed, she was quite satisfied with my after-care. Pineapple air freshener included.”
Smirking, Oliver locked the front door and hurried down the stairs to the underground car park. “I don’t doubt it,” he replied, glancing back at Lucas. “But I’m not sure she’ll ever drive straight again after your heavy-handed touch. You’ve got to treat her like a lady.”
Lucas grinned as they strode towards the sunset yellow Citroen. “Oh? And what about her owner? Should I treathimlike a lady, too?”
Oliver let out a contemplative hum. “Luckily for you,” he said, patting the alpha’s chest. “Her owner doesn’t mind a bit of roughortumble.” He shoved Lucas against the passenger door just to prove his point. A playful smile spread across the alpha’s face as he pulled it open.
Sliding into the Yellow Peril, Oliver had to admit that she looked—and smelled—absolutely fucking fabulous. Her seats were clean, the dashboard dust-free and the centre console clear of its usual sweet wrappers.
“Wow,” he said, turning the key and starting the engine. “I think you’d make better money valeting cars.”
