"Oh, Stormy, you really are desperate to get rid of all four of your contractees during this event! Afraid you won’t get your bonus?"
Storm’s expression turns truly stormy. Something in his eyes darkens, his jaw tightens.
"I would prefer you focus on your own grim situation instead of worrying about my motives. The fact is, I do have a very specific talent, and I am telling you that I strongly believe this man is your fated mate." His tone is hard, unwavering.
"What is he, a rent boy? A paid actor? Way too pretty to be wandering the streets looking for a husband. Where did you dig him up?"
Storm lets out a sharp huff. "Well, I’m glad you at least find him attractive. That’s a start."
But Salt does not let it go.
"Did you pay him, Storm?" He narrows his eyes. When Storm does not answer, Salt snaps, "You’re obviously not competent enough to close my case! You know it damn well, so you’re grasping at straws. No one is going to buy the contract of a quadruple murderer! Let the kid go home, or back to sucking off old alphas…"
That is the moment I decide I have had enough. Salt’s behavior reminds me far too much of certain types I dealt with in the mafia, arrogant, crude, and unhinged. This is not going to be a good match.
I turn toward the exit. I am done here.
Storm’s hand grabs me quickly, but this time I refuse to let him influence my decisions. For all his strength as a purple alpha, he lacks technique, so with a swift move I catch his wrist and shove his hand off my shoulder. But then comes the disappointment. The exit door is locked. To leave the booth, you need a key card.
"Let me out," I hiss at the omega. But turning toward Gessler, I inevitably sweep my gaze past Salt, and that is when I see his sensual lips silently form a single word, "Coward."
My jaw tightens.
A sudden rush of something strange overtakes me. I turn back to him and take a sharp step forward, almost brushing my chest against his. I dip my head low over the side of his neck, snuffling loudly, breathing in the scent of his long blue strands. A low growl slips from my throat in AO, a sound he won’t understand anyway. Maybe that’s for the best.
Storm and Gessler understand it perfectly, which is why neither of them moves. They know I’m not about to hurt Salt.
The cop, however, is a beta, which puts him among the blissfully unaware of what AOs communicate between themselves.
He lunges toward me, probably panicking that I’m about to bite Salt’s neck, and he grabs my arm, trying to shove me back. But he is a beta. C’mon. Ten times less testosterone, weaker bones, lower density muscle tissue, and fewer fast twitch fibers, no need to keep going. He can’t move me even a millimeter. Alphas are like gorillas. They’re just humans.
Interestingly, Salt does not move either. He’s not scared of my proximity, or of my invasion of his space. His eyes narrow slightly as I nose around the gland at his neck. There’s a strange, provocative smirk at the corner of his mouth. So I mutter, "Nu beta linguacciutu e bedduzzu, cu ’nu prubblema a cuntrullari a lingua so?"(Hey, you mouthy beta, all pretty, got a problem controlling your tongue?”)
Salt doesn’t respond to that, but his breath quickens against my cheek.
I feel the temptation to nip him lightly at his inactive neck gland, but the beta cop flailing uselessly at my arm like a silly bug ruins the slightly combative, but mostly erotic tension.
I step back, sending Salt one more soft growl.
Then I say to Gessler, not looking at him, my eyes still locked in Salt’s mismatched ones.
"You! Open the door."
Unfortunately, Storm steps between me and Gessler, who is already obediently reaching for the reader.
"You haven’t shaken his hand yet, Eliano! A deal is a deal," he says firmly, letting out a prolonged, low sound in the AO language, a mix of warning and pleading.
Then he turns to Salt and says in an almost begging voice, "Touch his hand, Salt. This could be your chance to avoid prison.Don’t throw it away. Just see what happens. Maybe there will be a First Touch."
I glance at Salt, who still has that smirk on his face, but before he can answer, I cut in, grimacing.
"Don’t bother, dude. Storm paid me. As you correctly noticed, he really is desperate." And I wink at him.
Then I pull a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket and, in a burst of self-destructive pride, toss it onto the floor, painfully aware that I will probably spend the rest of the day with only the food Storm bought me in my stomach.
"You’re not leaving until you touch his hand," Storm says defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest, still blocking Gessler.
That is when the cop finally speaks, having only now started breathing more steadily.
