Damn it. There must be a cafeteria inside, and maybe this is where employees dump the leftovers.
I crouch behind a line of parked cars and watch as the guy throws the bags into the dumpster.
Have I really fallen so low that I am considering eating food from the trash?
Hunger twists my gut. It is probably fresh leftovers from agency clients’ plates. Is this really a good idea? Yesterday, I would not even have considered it. Today, I feel like I’m dying, and it overwrites rational thought.
When the beta leaves, I make sure no one is nearby, glancing around quickly. I still have my pride, hello.
Walking up casually to the dumpster, I grab the two bags he just threw out. I position myself behind the container so people from the fenced area cannot see me.
I open the first bag. It is heavy, and it does contain food waste, but it is such a disgusting mix that I cannot bring myself to dig through it. Mashed potatoes, dense soup mixed with cookie crumbs, fruit, half-eaten tomatoes, bits of bread, remnants of jelly and pudding, all blended into one revolting mass.
The intense smell of mixed food hits my nose hard. I am an alpha, after all. My sense of smell is like that of a bloodhound.
I open the second bag, only to be disappointed again. Broken cups and paper plates, tissues, dirty wooden cutlery.
I curse under my breath,"Minchia, chi puzza!" (Fuck, that stinks!)
But hunger has its claws way too deep in me, and I look back at the first bag, wondering if I could fish out a piece of tomato from the sticky jelly mess.
That is when I hear something…
"You are not so desperate that you are actually going to eat that, are you?"
The voice comes from right behind me.
I jump in place and drop the bag, its contents spilling across the ground, releasing a wave of strong smells.
"Ugh!" The man steps closer and gazes down at the mess. "That doesn’t look very appetizing."
I turn toward him.
His face seems vaguely familiar, though I cannot place it. It might just be my imagination.
What I do know is that he is enormous, incredibly tall and broad like a purple alpha. When I glance at his hands, I notice thin gloves covering them, which makes it hard to tell whether he has the distinctive lines typical of purples.
His intensely turquoise eyes, almost blazing, lock onto my face as his full lips curl into a faint smile.
"So," he says lightly, "what kind of life trouble brings you to the point where you’re digging through a trash can, boy?"
He suddenly cuts himself off.
His eyes narrow slightly, locking onto my face, and a wave of fear rolls through me.
Could he possibly recognize me? I was always careful, avoiding tabloids, interviews and photographs, making sure I couldn’t be easily linked to that damn family. But of course, photos taken by cage-fighting fans are out there online for any martial arts enthusiast willing to dig.
And he’s staring at me like he sees something familiar.
I take a step back. He jolts slightly, as if shaking off a strange impression, then speaks again.
"Listen. Let me buy you breakfast. The cafeteria has great food."
I retreat another step. "I don’t know. The last offer I got came with a blowjob demand attached, and I don’t play those games, so thanks but no thanks."
He rolls his eyes.
"Don’t worry about it. I have my wonderful True Mate. That’s not what this is about. It’s just a friendly gesture."
