His dark eyes drill into my face with something that looks a lot like hate.
It’s clear to me there’s no future for Martin and me.
So to shake off all the venom, I glance back at Anzo. He’s maybe thirty feet away.
He’s talking to Mark, but at some point, his eyes shift slightly right, and I just happen to berightin his line of sight.
His expression doesn’t change, but I know he sees me. His black eyes settle on my face for a brief moment before sliding back toward Dante.
And I wonder once more, what do I even want from him? What could he possibly give me? I’m not exactly turned on by the idea of sleeping with a beta. So what is it, then? The thrill? The danger?
The fuckingdeath wishI secretly harbor?
He’s a criminal, like Dogger. Only this one chose it. That alone should give me pause.
Nah. I scratch my chin, still watching him. Not worth it. I shouldn’t have come here. Men like that could destroy me before I’d learn a damn thing.
"I see you staring. You getting wet thinking about him fucking you?"
I turn to Martin and let every ounce of hate and disdain show in my eyes.
I’ve never been with a beta. Maybe it’s time to try.
I almost say it out loud. But I don’t. Why pick a fight on the way out? You never know when you might need someone. Push people too far and you lose control of them.
"I’ve heard betas have tiny dicks, so no, he’s not starring in my fantasies."
Martin looks a little thrown. "Isn’t that more of an omega thing?" he mutters, like he’s not sure where I’m going with this.
When I shrug, he adds, "Didn’t know you were such a size queen," biting his lip. Probably because, for an alpha, he’s not exactly packing.
If we’re talking averages, omegas are usually around five to six inches, betas six to seven and a half, alphas seven and a half to nine. Yeah, I looked it up once, like every guy who’s ever measured his dick.
Martin’s on the low end for alphas, around seven and a half. I’ve got him beat at nearly nine. But that never really mattered to me. I’m a bottom anyway.
"I’m not. As long as it hits the prostate, I’m good," I say calmly.
"Then what’s your issue with betas?"
I roll my eyes. "Gee, this whole conversation’s insane. I was joking, okay? I’m not into betas, at least not sexually."
"So in what way then?" he keeps pressing.
"Oh, it’s just about connections. Never know when they might come in handy," I say breezily.
Martin doesn’t look totally convinced, but for now, it’ll have to do.
"Just remember this guy wiped out two families in this state, and now he’s gearing up for war with the Russians, at least that’s what the local news says," Martin mutters.
"I know, okay? Yes, he’s a mobster. Yes, he’s a criminal. Probably a psychopath."
"Everyone says he killed his own brothers. And his father. It’s an open secret."
"Could be a rumor he started himself. To keep people scared. I bet half the mafia game is psychological. It’s all part of the fear factor. That’s branding."
Martin laughs. It’s bitter and dry.
"That’s such a naive take. Maybe in romance novels, scary on the outside, soft for the one perfect omega who turns him from monster to house pet. You really think that’s how it works in real life? His first husband was always seen drugged out of his mind. That scream sweet domestic bliss to you? Then he disappeared, and nobody asks questions. That’s ‘mafia charm’."
