“Where the hell have you been?” He growls in demand. His eyes take me in and his lip pulls back. “You smell like a whore house, Beckham. Is that where you’ve been this whole time? Locked up with a pack of alphas, being their dirty little whore?”
“It’s none of your fucking business,” I snap back. “So kindly go fuck yourself.”
I’m not the same teenage boy I was before. I’m bigger, stronger, I shouldn’t be afraid of this man. I could take him if I had to.
It’s the fear of him using his alpha bark that has me always tiptoeing around him.
Yet, somehow, right now, I don’t have it in me to care. Maybe that's stupid of me.
I can tell he wants to say something, maybe even do something, but as the sounds around me filter in, I realize this place is packed.
People in white and black uniforms are rushing around. The party. Right.
A satisfied little smirk slips onto my lips as I push past the asshole, careful not to touch him and head for my room.
It’s only when I’m behind my closed door that I let myself breathe. Something about breathing in his foul scent feels like a betrayal.
Tossing my bag to the ground, I head for my closet to pick out a suit.
Once I’m dressed, my father comes to find me and I spend the rest of the day at his side, humoring him by letting him fill me in on everyone and everything.
By the time people start to arrive, I’m already done with the day and ready to go upstairs to sleep.
Thankfully, my father doesn’t force me to stand here and greet all the guests, so I slip into our ballroom where the party is being held and head for the tables of food.
If I’m going to be forced to be here, I may as well enjoy the food.
As I’m stuffing my face full of sausage rolls, something has me looking towards the door.
In walks three people I’ve been trying to avoid for the past week.
And around a mouthful of food, I curse. “Fucking hell!”
Yup. Should have gone upstairs to bed.
CHAPTER 8
ALARIC
Ihate suits.I’m much more comfortable in my day to day “let’s fuck shit up” attire, but this is what was expected for tonight.
“Stop pulling at your collar,” Jamie hisses.
“Stop trying to tell me what to do,” I growl. “I haven’t fucked your throat today, and you’re getting awfully mouthy, Jameson.”
“You’re in trouble,” Tate chuckles under his breath. “Fuck, there he is. Damn, he looks so good. Our omega cleans up well.”
It’s difficult to maintain an air of calm as I slowly turn to find Beckham. He is beside his father, his face devoid of all emotion as he speaks to people. This is the face of a mafia son who has been taught well.
It’s hard to believe this is the same omega who stands in front of a class and passionately discusses statistics and socioeconomic factors. Or at least, he did do that up until recently.
“I’m going to be his shadow for a bit,” I breathe, my feet already moving.
Jamie chuckles under his breath, making my lips twitch. That fucker knows that we are all stalkers for our omega. I needhim to understand that we aren’t going away and that he needs to stop hiding. Frankly, he sucks at it, and my hand clenches as I imagine spanking his ass for being so reckless with his safety.
My steps are short and measured as I move across the room to follow my omega. Stealing a glass of champagne from a tray even though I rarely touch the stuff, my gaze remains on him as he speaks to different guests at the event.
I sip my glass of bubbly piss occasionally, trying not to make a face each time I do. However, I notice that each time he nears a man with cold eyes and greasy, slicked back dark hair, Beckham cringes and finds a way to get away as quickly as possible.
