Page 10 of Forget

Turning my body slightly toward him, I make eye contact with the tall, Irish alpha with dark brown curls falling over his forehead, scruff over his cheeks, and bedroom eyes. Even though I can’t smell him, his commanding presence screams for me to run away.

He’s also fucking huge, if I had to guess, I’d say six-foot-five.

“Girl’ isn’t my name,” I tell him. “Go away, and stop harassing me. It’s not at all attractive.”

What I fail to say is that he is going to go into my spank box. I’ve started to make one that will live in my imagination while I’m getting through my heat alone. Blowing out a breath, I turn away from him, while still paying attention to his every breath, movement, and the possible consequences of blowing him off.

I’ve lived on my own long enough to know better than to turn my back on an alpha, but I’m praying the meager self defense skills I’ve learned will help me. If all else fails, I’m great with a knife.

One of the alphas that Mickey likes to fuck has been wanting to court him with his pack. It makes me laugh, because I didn’t think sex would stay just sex. Regardless, he saw my knife strapped to my thigh one day and asked me if I knew how to use it.

When he saw my face, he taught me the skills I’d need to bring a man twice my size down.

I really hope the alpha behind me doesn’t make a foolish mistake, because the police and I aren’t on the best of terms.

“Why are you making this so difficult?” he growls.

Yanking my arm with the packages back, he shoves me into the brick wall behind me. I drop everything but the knife, pulling it out and holding it to his neck.

“Because it’s my birthday and I fucking can, alpha dick!” I yell in his face. The first rule when you’re being attacked is to be as loud as possible. If he really wants to hurt you, he’ll want you to stay quiet.

The alpha hisses as he feels the blade of my knife, assessing me with his blue-eyed gaze before they slide to look at my hand.

“I don’t want to hurt you, little omega. My boss would fucking kill me,” he grunts. “Where did you get this mark on your hand?”

“It’s a birthmark,” I snarl, pressing the knife against his neck. At this angle it simply appears that he is pressing me against the wall and is interrogating me. No one can see my knife.

“Why the fuck does an alpha need to know about a mark I’ve had my entire life?”

“I know your father,” he mutters.

“I don’t have a father,” I say. “Now, go back to whoever that person is and tell them you’re mistaken.”

“Wish I could,” he says, letting go of my hand to grab his phone. “I’ll let him tell you. Cian told me to look out for that very birthmark. He’s been looking for you.”

The phone rings as I gaze at him with wide eyes. I should run, as fast as I can, but a part of me wants answers. So many times, I’ve wondered if someone was looking for me, and the alpha smirks as he leaves his neck pressed against my blade as a show of faith.

“You’re entirely too brave for your own good,” he says. “Just dangerous enough with a blade, fuck your hand isn’t even shaking. There’s no way you’re not the boss’ kid.”

The alpha takes a deep breath as the wind whips through the street, his nostrils flaring. I wonder if he can smell my scent, and hope for dear life that my panties are holding up to their end of the bargain.

None of my undergarments are anything but scent and slick wicking so no one can smell the mess my pussy makes without any remorse.

Being an omega makes me feel as if I’m the horniest eighteen-year-old in the entire goddamn world. My cheeks heat at the thought, and the alpha smirks as someone picks up the phone.

“Yeah? I’m in the middle of some things,” the man growls. It’s a deep gravelly tone, making my brow furrow. Who is that?

“Sullivan, what did Beatrice say about her daughter?” the alpha asks. My eyes widen at my mom’s name, my head already beginning to shake in denial.

“Hayes, you better not be fucking with me,” my possible father mutters. “She said Aisling has wild, blonde hair, green eyes the color of emeralds, and that she’s about five-foot-nine, though she could be taller by now. Oh, and she has the familybirthmark on her left hand, between her index and thumb. Why?”

“I found her,” Hayes says, taking a photo of my face and sending it to him.

“Hey!” I yell. “God, you’re fucking rude. All my shit is on the ground now, too.”

“You look like her, outside of the hair,” the man on the phone says in awe. “Aisling, I didn’t know about you, I swear on my mother’s life. Bea never told me, and then I found a letter addressed to me from her telling me she was sick and all about you. I searched for you at the apartments, but you were gone.”

“The landlord and the cops threw me out,” I wheeze, feeling as if I can’t breathe.

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