Victor’s gaze fell to the notebook in my hands, then to the mark on my neck. He leaned in, lips curling. “Got your own help already, I see.”
I bristled, but kept my head down. I didn’t want to start anything. Rawley did it for me.
“Joseph’s the best worker I’ve ever had,” he said, voice like granite. “Smart, loyal, doesn’t waste time.”
Victor chuckled. “That’s a new way of saying it. The help these days, always more delicate than they look.”
Melissa’s gaze never left Rawley. “We keep having trouble with ours,” she said. “Maybe you could… lend a hand. Or a few lessons.”
She let her fingers brush Rawley’s forearm, just long enough to make the intention clear. I felt my blood freeze. Rawley shifted away, the motion so subtle only I would have caught it.
“Not interested,” Rawley said.
Melissa’s smile thinned, but she didn’t drop her gaze. “Some omegas like a little variety, you know. Gets dull out on these farms.”
I wanted to say something, but the words caught. Victor saw the flash of anger on my face and grinned, leaning in as if to share a secret.
“It’s good you’ve got someone to keep you company,” he said to me, voice syrupy. “These places can get lonely. But don’t let him work you too hard. Alphas are famous for using things up and moving on.”
Rawley’s hand closed around the cart handle, knuckles white. “If you got something to say to me, say it,” he growled.
Victor straightened, his face going cold. “All I’m saying is, it’s tough out here. You need friends. Allies. You ever want to sell that property, Steele, you know who to call.”
“I’m not selling,” Rawley said.
“Not yet,” Victor said, the words a threat and a promise.
They stared each other down, the world shrinking to the small circle of tension between them. I could feel every muscle in Rawley’s body tensing, ready for a fight.
After a moment, Victor shrugged, all false good humor. “Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, our offer’s on the table. The only table.”
He clapped Rawley on the shoulder, the motion so aggressive I half-expected him to swing.
Rawley didn’t flinch.
Melissa leaned in, too close, her perfume thick and sweet. “If you ever get bored,” she whispered, her hand drifting toward Rawley’s hip, “I’d love to show you how the old families do things in Black Butte.”
Rawley stepped back, putting a wall of muscle between her and me. “I’m not interested in old families,” he said, voice soft but dangerous.
Melissa pouted, then turned her focus to me, eyes narrowing. “You should keep an eye on your alpha,” she said, voice like a knife. “Men like that… they get bored of the same meal every night.”
Rawley let out a sound, low and almost animal. The message was clear: Back off.
Victor and Melissa drifted away, but not before she dragged her hand across Rawley’s arm. The contact lasted less than a second, but my stomach twisted. I wanted to punch her. Or maybe just hide.
I wasn’t sure which.
Rawley watched them go, shoulders tense. I reached out, hand trembling, and touched his wrist. “You okay?” I asked.
He looked down at me, something wild in his eyes. “Yeah. Just don’t like being cornered.”
I let out a shaky breath, relief flooding in. “Me either.”
He looked at me for a long time, then squeezed my hand. “You’re not going anywhere. Neither am I.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
We finished the rest of the shopping in silence. When we reached the checkout, the cashier—a kid young enough to still be in high school, Beta, forgettable—gawked at the mark on my neck, then at Rawley, then back at me. I braced for a comment, but he just rang us up, hands shaking, and mumbled, “Have a nice day.”
