Page 85 of The Omega Verse

“Is that another email?” Silva asks, peering over my shoulder at the fancy new laptop he bought me for my birthday. After a month on the road, there’s a bit of red dust in the keyboard, but it still works fine in my role as assistant manager of Ghost Rider Studios. “What’s Fuckface saying this time?”

I smirk as I open the latest email from Greg Rogers. Ever since he heard about my new job at the studio, he’s been harassing me to give Sandy Bay one of the coveted spots on Sweet Addiction’s first national tour. It’s the same reason he came sniffing around the bakery – he heard I was seen around with the band, and he was hoping to use my influence to get them to play at the surf competition’s closing ceremony. Dusty was right. Our mayor really is a fuckface. And while anyone else would take a hint after I blocked him from all the band’s social media, Greg’s ego is as unshakable as ever.

“More of the same.” I glance over the email, which has become increasingly desperate, and frankly, quite embarrassing. According to Dusty, some of the shine has come off our mayor recently, and he’s in danger of being replaced in the next election. Nabbing a spot for the town on the tour might go a long way to winning back both votes and donors. “Do you think I’ve tortured him enough?”

“Never,” Jett says, pausing to drop a kiss between my shoulder-blades as he jams the tip of his board in the sand. “When he sends you his kidney in a cooler, tell him you want the other one, and we might think about playing at Sandy Bay sometime in the distant future.”

I laugh and tip my head back for a kiss, which tastes like salt water and mango, since we’re on R&R in the far north of Queensland. We have four whole days to lounge on the beach, drink rum from coconut shells, and have sweaty, delicious sex. After that, it’s back on the road for a concert in Brisbane, but I’m not thinking about that right now. I adore watching the guys perform, but I love getting private concerts even more.

“Are you happy to be home?” I ask Silva, who’s lying next to me on one of the outdoor beanbags we’ve carted all over the country. Sometimes we put a hammock up, too, but the private beach we’re on means we can park the tour bus right next to the water.

He snorts and rolls until his head is in my lap and his lips pressed against my thigh. “This is home, sugar.”

“Hmm.” I run my fingers through his hair, which is long enough for me to braid now. He wears them on stage, not seeming to care that he’s started a new craze in hairstyles known as the Punk Viking. “But look how happy your little sugarcane is to be here,” I tell him, kissing the ink on the inside of his wrist.

Silva told me that the tattoo – which I thought was a palm tree - was actually sugarcane, and a reminder in the early days that his hands were his way out, and he didn’t have to settle to be a farmer just because he was born into that life. It’s been a good reminder for me, too, as I’ve struggled to make the move from the bakery to a key role in the studio. I’m still learning, and it’s had its bumps along the way, but every morning I wake up knowing there’s a fascinating new road ahead of me.

“My sugarcane is happy because it gets to do this,” he murmurs, sliding his hand between my thighs. I’m in a soft cotton sarong and nothing else, since he’s already ripped two of my bikinis off my body on this tour. “Yep, home is just how I remember it. Dripping wet and hot as fuck.”

“Maybe in the rainy season…” I don’t get anything else out, because his fingers are suddenly buried in my pussy, and my laptop is sliding into the sand. Tom rescues it with a chuckle and sets it aside, watching as Silva kisses my ankle, then props it on his shoulder, licking his way towards my knee. Lust crackles between us like a livewire, and Silva reaches up with his free hand to grab Tom’s sweaty singlet, pulling him down for a sizzling kiss.

Silva’s neck is a mess of bites – one from each of our alpha mates – and I can feel his whole-body shiver as Tom swipes his thumb over his mating mark. I don’t blame him at all. The guys are all at different stages in their relationships, but Silva took Tom’s knot for the first time last night and I’m still having steamy flashbacks.

I smile up at Tom, admiring the way his sweaty tank sticks to his huge chest. The guys have been on a running kick lately, and I’m not surprised when Kobi appears at his side with a couple of water bottles in hand. He gives me a wink, and my mouth waters as I watch him wipe sweat from his face and drain the bottle. He’s as gorgeous as ever, but his improved fitness has given him a confidence that makes him dangerous to my brain cells.

“Jesus!” Jett scowls as he clambers off the bus with a beer in hand. “Silva! We need to talk about your sugar addiction, mate.”

Kobi laughs and puts a hand on the back of Jett’s neck. “Think that time has come and gone, brother.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m sick of all her kisses tasting like cherry cum.”

Silva sniggers at that, rising onto his knees to grab the waistband of Jett’s board shorts. “Then kiss me. I taste almost as good as Sugar.”

“Not gonna happen,” Jett smirks, taking a swig of his beer. His eyes roam over my dishevelled state, his pheromones thickening in the air. “More than happy to watch, though.”

That gets a few heated glances from the guys, and I use the distraction to jump to my feet. Yes, this is our holiday, but we still need to eat something other than each other’s bodily fluids.

I escape into the kitchen and start putting together a Greek salad and some salt-and-pepper calamari. While I chop, I watch Kobi and Tom run down to the water for a swim, while Jet flops on the beanbag with Banjo, who’s panting like a demon after chasing a pelican all morning. But my lips quirk as I watch Silva sneak inside. He’s technically coming to help me get lunch ready, but there’s nothing he loves more than to bend me over the counter when I’m wearing an apron. I might not be managing the bakery anymore, but in Silva’s eyes, I’m still a culinary goddess.

I’m just happy to be on the road with my guys. When the release of the Ghost Notes EP exploded on the charts worldwide, there was an immediate discussion of an international tour with our new board of directors. Jett told me Steven always wanted to play in all the outback pubs and inner-city dive bars that other bands left behind once they hit the big time. It seemed like the perfect way to celebrate his legacy, so we came up with a compromise. After the nationwide tour, we’ve booked select stadiums on a limited world tour. The highlight is definitely going to be the 100 Club in London, where the Sex Pistols, the Clash, and the Banshees all played during their heyday – basically Silva’s wet dream of a venue. We’re still working out the tour for the States, since the demand for an act that includes the hottest Grace brother broke the internet when their first music video was released.

As for things at home, Cookie and Kevin are still going strong, and are planning a round-the-world cruise. They’ve also been talking about buying a caravan and following in our footsteps when they get back, especially since Dusty took over management of Cookie’s Bakery. It meant postponing his MBA, but last week he went on a date with Logan, the local police sergeant - and three of Logan’s best friends. It sounds to me like a pack in the making, especially since Dusty has moved into my old apartment and given it a whole omega transformation. But Dusty laughed it off and told me I have bites on the brain. Basically, I shouldn’t be trusted with any matchmaking duties until mating season is officially over.

To my relief, getting Tom to take a leave of absence from work wasn’t that hard in the end. He’s officially the tour medic, with a side gig working with our new security team, but we all know what he really is. Our rock. The mate who’s purr only has to hit a certain note and all the squabbles and jitters melt away like hot sugar syrup.

And speaking of decadent things…

“Damn, sugar,” Silva says as he nuzzles my neck. “Smells like you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

I sniff the air and give Silva a startled look. “That’s not me.” We both turn to stare at the back of the bus. “Do you think…?”

Silva grunts and grabs his rock-hard cock. “River’s gone into heat early.”

“Oh my God!” I drop the knife, spinning to check the map pinned to the wall. “But we’re miles away from that clinic he was thinking about using.”

River is as much our mate as anyone in the pack, but we haven’t rushed into physical bonds while he’s still been mourning Steven. We knew his heat was coming, and we planned to spend it at a clinic in the city. Silva and I would stay with River, tending him any way he needed, while the alphas would’ve been at a nearby hotel.

But there’s no way we can make it there in time if he’s already in heat.

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