"I’m not talking about it," I say. My voice is flat. Deadpan.
"There is literally a bite mark on your throat telling an entire story, Benjamin."
"Don't call me Benjamin."
Mars sighs. He gives Knox a long, exhausted look and goes back to prepping Jude's arm.
Knox is trying very hard to look like he has his shit together. He sets the spray bottle down. Picks up a bottle of green soap. Sets it down. His jaw is tight, his movements stiff. He won't look at me, which is fine, because every time he does, my body does something humiliating.
Rhys stands near Jude's chair, arms crossed. He watches Knox. Knox finally meets his gaze. Neither of them says a word.They just stare at each other until Rhys finally asks, "Is this real?" Quiet. Assessing.
Knox doesn't blink. He just holds Rhys's eyes, his expression stripping away the cocky bullshit. Rhys gives a single, tight nod. Not a blessing, but not a threat either.
Shay is leaning against the wall. He catches Knox's eye. "Still haven't left, I see," Shay says, his voice like a scalpel.
Knox looks at him. "No."
Jude's outline takes almost an hour. An hour of me trapped in Knox's space. I pace. I look at the flash on the walls. Some of it is his—I can tell by the line work, the heavy shading that matches the ink on his own arms. My stupid graphic design brain catalogs it. He's good. Fucking talented. It’s infuriating.
He walks past me once to get to the back room. The space between the counter and his station is narrow, and his scent hits me like a physical blow. Ink, metal, and that dark, heavy alpha smell that makes my knees want to give out. I grip the edge of the glass display case.
He doesn't touch me. But as he passes, he murmurs, "Benji." Just my name. Low and rough, exactly how he sounded last night. A hot shiver rips down my spine. I stare at a skull design on the wall and grind my teeth. My hand is shaking. I shove it in my pocket.
Mars wraps Jude's arm and grunts out some aftercare instructions. Jude hops down, rolling his sleeve over the plastic wrap. He turns to Knox.
"We're going to have a longer conversation about this," Jude warns.
Knox just nods. He takes it.
Rhys gives Knox one last assessing look before steering Jude toward the exit. Shay walks out without giving Knox a single glance, which somehow hits harder than Jude's threats.
I'm the last one. My boots feel like they're made of lead. I make it to the door and stop. I don't turn around, but I can feel Knox staring at the back of my neck.
Behind me, Mars's voice rumbles, low and flat. "You want to keep your chair, you keep your personal life off my floor."
Knox doesn't answer.
I shove the glass door open. The cool street air hits my face, and my omega immediately whines at the loss of Knox's scent. I want to punch myself in the throat.
Jude is already furiously typing on his phone. "I'm texting Milo," he announces. "And Soren. And possibly the National Guard."
Shay is just watching me. I don't have a snarky comeback. My fingers drift up to the ridges on my neck, pressing into the bruised skin. A fresh wave of heat washes over me. I drop my hand fast, but Shay sees it. He doesn't say a word.
I stare down the sidewalk. Knox is just on the other side of that glass, a real person with a real life, and I'm running out of places to hide from him.
Knox
I’m wiping down my station when my phone buzzes.
Benji: Someone at this bar just told me my bite mark is hot. Thought you should know your work is being appreciated.
I stare at the screen. The spray bottle in my hand slips, hitting the counter with a dull thud. I read the text again.
We’ve been circling each other in DMs for two days. Not soft—Benji doesn't do soft—but specific. Complimenting my line work. Calling Mars my grumpy dad. But this?
My jaw clicks tight; it suddenly aches as I think of the spot where my teeth sank into the curve of his neck forty-eight hours ago. I can practically still taste his blood.
He’s baiting me. He’s sitting at a bar, flashing my mark to other alphas, and waiting to see what I do. It’s a deliberate, bratty-ass test.
