Some of them give me a nod or a hey, but most don’t even acknowledge my presence. And those people are the reason we use the strugglers as opposed to the achievers as our network, because people that have to work fucking hard for a living are the salt of the earth.
There seriously comes a point where I get tired of wiping sinks and waiting. I’m not that patient a person as it is, but being denied the chance to watch Heidi do her thing adds to my shit mood until Mr. Touchy-Feely himself comes in.
And he’s one of those douches that notices me before he shakes his head like he’s personally affronted by my career choice. I move to get out of his way, when he goes to step in the stall… it’s so fucking weird, but we kind of crash into each other. Of course, I’m offering a million apologies that he doesn’t acknowledge verbally, but the slam of the door to the stall is pretty telling.
I make quick work while he takes a piss. I have his ID photographed before he even shakes himself dry. Timing works again in my favour when just as I’m flushing out the first cubicle another patron is walking in.
“Um, excuse me, I found this wallet on the floor out front of the bathroom. Do you want me to hand it to management?” the new guy asks. I go to take it out of his hand with an offer to take it in to the office when Heidi’s pest snatches it out of both our reach.
“That’s mine,” he slurs slightly.
“My thoughts exactly,” I growl back under my breath. Of course, the prick has no idea of the relevance of my statement.
Instead, he glares at me until I drop my eyes acting like a simp before he flicks his hands like he needs space to stagger away.
In my books, being drunk is no fucking excuse for being rude. I’ll make a point of reminding him of that later, but for now I hold my hands up and wait until the door closes.
The other guy takes offence on my behalf though. He waits until I look at him. “I’m sure he meant to thank us both.” He laughs at the end, trying to defuse the situation, but I kind of need him to forget our interaction instead.
“Maybe,” I offer quietly as I dart over to turn off the tap the guy who keeps touching my Omega left running.
“Yeah well, he should be thankful. I lost my wallet once and it was a nightmare,” he says. “Anyway, have a good night.”
And I breathe a sigh of relief as soon as he disappears before I do another wipe down of the bathroom. I’m not going to leave a chance for anyone to complain that the cleaning crew was subpar. Eventually, I clock off and instead of returning to the awning above the shop to watch, I find a better, closer place in the shadows and catch the same dude trying to feel Heidi up an additional two times before she calls it a night.
She passes by so close I have no choice but to smell her stress. But it’s a good reminder why I’m in the doghouse. And then I watch with bated breath until her new security team bundles her to safety, driving her away from her pack announcement party in a big ass Cadillac Escalade, as opposed to the usual town car she uses.
Barely a couple of hours later I feel better than I have for a while. The picks I use make child’s play of the deadbolt on the back door of the house the barmy Alphas live in. I’m honestly a bit taken aback at how lax they are with their security. Maybe that’s my role in their life, to teach them to be better aware of their surroundings, and not to touch my fucking mate.
I pretty much waltz past the other three Alphas of Pack Lowly while they sit in their leather chesterfields, sipping on expensive scotch discussing the windfall that supposedly fell in their laps.
These twats are more fucking stupid than I thought, if they seriously think Heidi serendipitously fell in their laps. I fucking pushed her there. I honestly don’t know how I don’t charge back there and defend my girl, although admittedly before I get the chance the door opens. I’m stuck wavering in my decision and staring at Basil Tomson, self-appointed start up gaming guru, as he slinks out of his room.
“Boo,” I smirk, striking hard and fast. A couple of fingers into his throat and I have to guide the overly touchy fucker to his bed while he chokes on his damaged windpipe.
A part of me would like the satisfaction of hearing him drop like a sack of shit, but I can’t afford for us to be interrupted by his pack mates. Regardless, it’s all fair in revenge and retribution, when I have him somewhat secure, flailing about on his bed. I get to work and twist the hand he used to touch her. I twist until I feel the muscles snap. I twist some more until he whines in agony.
Watching the way he struggles to breathe is actually a good reminder of why I’m here. I mean, since Heidi left, I don’t think I’ve been able to get air in my lungs. It’s a bit ironic in a crazy, fucked up way, me and old Basil are suffering a similar fate, different circumstances mind you, but the same beautiful woman has us both struggling.
Thinking of her, makes me think of him touching my little moon. And I stop thinking Basil and I have anything in common. Instead, I move on to some psychological damage that will hopefully haunt him for a long time to come.
I drop my knee in his groin, rubbing it around until I feel his nuts kind of ‘gloop’ under my weight. He goes from struggling to breathe to fucking passed out.
“Basil.” I slap his face, trying to rouse him. “Basil!”
He re-joins me in the land of the living after a few rousing slaps. He wakes up in a panic, backpedalling off the bed. I pounce again before he moves a foot, digging my thumb into the mess of torn ligaments on his wrist. “Now, Basil, every time you use this hand, I want you to remember the reason I’m here is because I saw you touching something that wasn’t yours.”
“Take it,” he wheezes. And his cryptic response gives me pause.
“Take what?” I wheeze back. It doesn’t bother me at all that I’m mocking an injured man.
He gives another shaky and strained exhale before he tries talking again. “Top drawer of dresser. I’m sorry.”
I jab him again in the nose for good measure, and for a certain beautiful someone I call little moon, and Basil, the guilty fuck, turns on the waterworks. Big time.
Now, I’m not a pussy by any manner or means, but I’m the first to admit curiosity killed the cat. And I am an opportunistic prick. Given any opportunity to further ruin old Basil’s day and I’m in. Plus, it’s a good way to keep feeding his assumption that whatever he’s hiding is why I’m attacking him.
I keep half an eye on Basil, but he’s lost in a world of pain, and I open the drawer and find a treasure trove of portable hard drives. And clearly they go straight in my backpack.
