Instead, I’m the one he turns to when he needs to get off.
An understanding that seems to glint in his gaze as he stares me down now while taking a sip from his glass.
Shit. I know that look. I also know why he disappeared into the back cabin to shower and change.
He’s pent up with need, waiting for our omega to finally arrive.
She might not be our scent match. But we don’t fucking care. We fully intend to keep her.
Assuming she’ll have us, anyway.
However, that’s what courting is for. And this is our first move—taking her for a ride on the jet back to New York City.
Might not be the most traditional way to woo an omega. Though, nothing about our arrangement here is normal.
She stole from us.
Now she’ll pay us back by giving us her time.
Or that’s the plan, anyway.
Noah saunters toward Laz, all arrogance and grace, and pauses right in front of the slightly taller man.
Dark chocolate and cinnamon notes swirl in the air as their scents combine in a tangible sparring match.
These two have danced around each other since the day they met, both fighting for dominance.
I learned long ago not to even try. Maybe that makes me the weakest alpha of our pack, but I’ve always identified more with beta energy. I just happened to present at eighteen with a knot, an experience that shocked the shit out of me about nineteen years ago.
“Not going to warn me not to touch her first?” Noah asks, a thread of a taunt underlining his words. “Johan says her pussy is like honey. I may not be able to resist.”
“I speculated that her scent is honey-like,” I clarify when Laz looks sharply my way. “I haven’t smelled her yet.”
His jaw visibly ticks. “I get first lick.”
“Pretty sure that’s our pet’s decision, not yours,” Noah drawls. “And guess who you’re sending to meet her first?” He bats his long red lashes at Laz, then turns to leave.
I stiffen. “No?—”
“Weapons, yes, I heard you, tech boy genius,” Noah interjects, flashing me a dazzling smile. “I don’t need weapons to kill a sheriff, Johan. You know that better than anyone.”
He leaps out of the jet before I can amend the rules to strictly sayno killing.
Not that he’ll listen to me, though.
“If he kills Syrus, or anyone else for that matter, Lark will never accept us,” I mutter, running my fingers through my hair.
“A fact he’s well aware of,” Laz replies, his voice deep and filled with a familiar rumble. He pushes away from the bar to walk over to where I’m sitting. With the way he’s looking at me,I half expect him to yank me out of my chair and force me to my knees.
“I have to monitor the phones and track Noah,” I remind Laz. “While I’m amazing at multitasking, I refuse to let anything—even you—jeopardize this mission.”
His lips curl up on one side as he takes over Noah’s vacated seat. “I like watching you work, Johan. That’ll content me for now.” His words are underlined with a knowing lethality, one that has me a bit concerned for Lark.
If he’s in this mood when she meets him, he might forget the meaning of consent. Laz already sees Lark as his, which is a sentiment I share. But I want Lark to desire to be ours rather than force her.
Which means I’ll probably need to be the buffer between them.
Fortunately, it’s a role I know how to play well.
