Page 75 of Wanted Beta

“So, what about pets?” she asks, glancing at me as I move onto the step above the one she’s standing on. “Do you at least have a dog?”

“I’ve never had any pets,” I admit, half-wishing I did when I see the disappointment in her eyes.

Maybe I should be thinking about getting a dog.

“So, are you a hitman then, or a serial killer?” she asks, just as casually as she asked about pets, though, clearly, this one’s not serious.

“Neither.”

“So, you’re just a garden-variety murderer?”

I laugh. “That’s the one, yeah. I’m just your typical friendly neighborhood psychopath.”

She smiles. “Well, then what’s your day job, Norman Bates?”

“You don’t think murdering is a full-time position?”

“It might be if you were a serial killer. Otherwise, nah. You’re just unemployed.”

My smile freezes on my face.

It’s a joke, but it smarts more than I know it should.

My employment history is a mess.

Holding down a real job has never been easy, and the restaurant doesn’t really feel like it’s mine, even in part. I’m just in there trying to make it work like I have every other job I’ve failed at in my life.

It’s Enzo’s restaurant, even if he insisted on using our pack name for it.

“God, sorry. I had no idea,” Beth murmurs. “I figured with the suit, and everything …”

“It’s fine. I’ve never had much use for the typical nine to five. I’m a little more … creative when it comes to making money.”

And that makes it sound like I rob banks for a living.

Dio mio! Think about what you are saying, man.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Creative?”

“I’m a gambler,” I admit.

“Oh,” she says, nodding slowly.

It’s not exactly a conversation starter of a confession, and I’m not sure how to elaborate or even to change the subject now that it’s out there.

This woman’s fated to be my mate, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to be okay with my flaws.

It’s been an issue with Enzo for a while now, and I haven’t found a way to stop.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be capable of quitting for good.

She clears her throat. “How did you get into that? Is it a professional thing?”

I shake my head. There’s no real way to tell her without bringing up my past. It makes my stomach tighten to think about the day I discovered my talent, but she deserves to know the truth. Clearing my throat, I start, “The day after my mom died, I discovered it was something I had a knack for.”

She watches me with those big, bright eyes, shock seeping into her expression.

I look down at the ground floor of mall before I continue. “Considering I suddenly needed money to pay for a funeral, I got a fake ID, and I went to my first casino, out of town. I hit big that night and it’s something I went back to whenever I needed it. I’m not a professional, but I do win more than I lose. That’s mostly down to Alpha instincts. I also have a decent poker face.”

---