She nods and moves to the bar with that same fluid-jerky motion, like a marionette with a few strings caught. I watch the way her hands shake as she pours, the way she bites her lower lip in concentration. There's something innocent about her focus.
"So," Jonas continues, settling back into his throne, "I understand you're interested in expanding your operations."
The dance begins.
Bane leans forward, playing his part with the dedication of a method actor. "We've been looking for new suppliers. Someone with quality merchandise and discretion. You come highly recommended."
"Discretion is my specialty," Jonas replies smoothly. "As is quality. I only deal in the finest omegas—young, healthy, properly trained. And as you can see," he pauses, gesturing to the woman across the room, "Beautiful."
The words should roll off me like water. I've heard this conversation a thousand times. Our prey have little variation in their interests, or the scripts they all seem to be reading off. But something about the way Jonas says it, the slight tightness around his eyes, suggests he finds the words as distasteful as I find them predictable.
Curious. No one with a conscious would survive long enough in this industry to reach the position he occupies.
The omega returns with a tray of drinks, moving between us with that almost feline grace. She serves Bane first, then Elias, then Archer, each movement rustling the bows and silks clinging to her body. When she reaches me, our fingers brush again as she hands me the crystal tumbler, and that same electric shock runs through me.
She freezes for a moment, those hazel eyes meeting mine, and I see something flicker in their depths. Fear? Recognition? The same hunger stirring in what was previously the unoccupied pit of apathy that was meant to house my soul? She's on to the next alpha before I can figure it out, but the impression lingers like smoke.
She serves Jonas last, and he immediately pulls her down onto his lap, his hand settling possessively on her thigh. The gesture is casual, proprietary, the kind of display alphas use to mark their territory.
I hear Bane's barely suppressed growl, feel the intensity spike in the room as my companions react to the sight. Even I feel something twist in my chest—not quite jealousy, but something close enough to be uncomfortable.
How interesting.
The omega sits stiffly in Jonas's lap, her body language loose and comfortable. There's something wrong with this picture, something that doesn't fit the narrative we're supposed to be buying.
"She's lovely," I say, letting my accent carry just enough appreciation to sound genuine. "Local talent?"
"Recent acquisition," Jonas replies, his fingers tracing the top of her stockings. She doesn't flinch or freeze the way she did in response to my far more innocuous content.Veryinteresting. "Still adjusting to her new circumstances."
The blatant lie tastes bitter in the air between us. I'm certain of it now. This isn't a trafficker showing off his merchandise. This is something else entirely.
I lift my drink to my lips but don't drink, watching as my companions do the same. None of us are stupid enough to consume anything in a place like this without testing it first. The amber liquid smells like top-shelf whiskey, but there's an underlying chemical note that makes my nostrils flare.
How thoughtful. They've prepared party favors.
Jonas notices our hesitation, his silver eyes sharpening as he takes in our untouched drinks. The omega shifts in his lap, and he gently pushes her aside, his movements suddenly predatory.
"Gentlemen," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to call bullshit."
The pretense shatters like glass.
We move as one, trained reflexes taking over as we toss our drinks and draw our weapons. Crystal explodes againstthe walls, expensive whiskey mixing with whatever cocktail of chemicals they'd prepared for us.
Jonas moves like liquid mercury, rolling behind his throne as Bane's first shot splinters the wood where his head had been. The omega scrambles away from the gunfire, pressing herself against the wall with wide, terrified eyes.
"Get the girl!" Bane bellows over the sound of gunfire, his voice carrying the authority of absolute command.
I holster my weapon and lunge for the omega, wrapping my arms around her waist and hauling her toward the door. She comes willingly at first, letting me pull her away from the violence, and I actually feel a moment of satisfaction at playing the hero.
That satisfaction lasts exactly three seconds.
Her knee drives into my groin like a homing missile, sending white-hot agony shooting through my nervous system. I double over on the other side of the door, gasping, and she follows up with a headbutt that catches me square in the temple.
The world goes sideways.
Stars explode behind my eyelids as I hit the floor, my vision swimming in and out of focus. I can hear gunfire in the distance, muffled voices, but it all sounds like it's coming from underwater.
Something cold presses against my throat, and I force my eyes open to find the omega crouched over me, my own pistol in her delicate hands. She's grinning now, that innocent mask slipping to reveal something wild and dangerous underneath. Something beautiful and lethal, like deadly nightshade.
