“Ahmed?” I prompt. I can see him backtracking fast, but it’s not like I ever believed Ahmed was merely an Uber driver.
Dante stops coming up with excuses and looks at me, not surprised or impressed, just watching. After a few moments of neither of us explaining ourselves, we both let the question pass.
It wasn’t hard for me to figure out Ahmed issomethingbesides a struggling Uber driver. He’s overly aware, plus he’s wearing expensive boots with distinctive corded laces. I may have checked how much they cost on my phone while we were driving, and the fact the only retailer that stocks them is a tactical supplier confirmed my suspicions.
But my role here is temporary, which means I don’t need to know everything about what they do and why. Just what relates to me and my safety. Which is a good reminder—a pack of delicious Alphas who can kiss is just a pack of delicious Alphas who can act the part.
“I’d like to go on up. I’m tired and hungry.” I move past Dante and wait at the elevator, ignoring the small wave of confusion I can feel from him.
He comes up behind me and leans over my back to press the button.
Still unsure whether he should be leaving his pack mates, I twist my head and get a clear view out the windows. The women are storming off, leaving Matteo and Valentine to collect my things, which means Dante has nothing to be worried about.
I slip out from under his arm, needing some space and fresh air, instead of his scent, which is making the lines blur between our deal and reality. “We can stop acting now, they’re leaving.”
“You don’t want to know who they are?” he asks just as the elevator arrives and the door opens.
I move into the far corner, and he watches me until I answer. “Not really.”
“Yet you decided to deal with them by publicly claiming us.” He smirks, quirking his eyebrow.
“Well, you are paying me a lot of money for a reason. Before the sun is up, I can guarantee you, every person in your world will be aware of the fact you’re ‘courting.’” I use my fingers to emphasize the word. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Dante doesn’t reply. Instead, he leans against the side of the elevator and watches me. When we arrive at their home, he holds his hand out to stop the doors from closing when I’m slow to move.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stepping out. “Hey, is there another room I can use? Matteo showed me one earlier, but I don’t know, it’s got a weird vibe to it. Anyway, I was wondering if you have a different room I can use while I’m here?”
The blue of his eyes swirls, his scent getting a slight edge to it. “What happened? In the space of, what”—Dante holds his handout, as though to check his watch—“a few seconds, not even minutes, you’ve done a full about-face.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better,” I offer blandly, holding his challenging stare.
“Layne, what is going on?” he pushes, making his scent more pronounced and the press of his designation something I nearly can’t ignore. It’s not aggressive, but it is persuasive.
I take a step away from him. And then another. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m in the house of a pack I don’t know after quitting my job and leaving people who are worried about me. I acted impulsively when I saw the women downstairs, but I could see how close Valentine was to losing it, and I just responded.”
“And what is the problem with that?”
I shrug, not answering, but I really don’t want to confess that my thoughts and emotions are getting tangled because of their scents. “Perhaps, in the morning, we can discuss how I should and shouldn’t act. I think that’s what it is. I don’t know what I?—”
“Did that guy contact you?” Dante interrupts.
“What? What guy?”
“The one that left his marks all over you?”
“What? No!”
“Then, what is wrong? You are not making sense right now. In the short time I’ve been watching, you’ve appeared so strong and confident, and you have done nothing wrong. Which means something is going on inside your head, and you’re not letting me help!”
“It’s not your job!” I insist.
“Bullshit. If you are not safe, then of course, it’s my job to make you feel safer.”
Dante isn’t angry, but he is determined to get to the bottom of it.
“You were fine when you left for work. And when you got back, you owned the moment better than…”
I feel irrationally foolish, and I know he won’t stop until he gets to the bottom of it. He has that kind of temperament. But then Dante stops talking, and what follows is an obvious moment of realization.
