Page 4 of Wanted By the Cartel

"Neat." His eyes hadn't left me, studying every movement with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "You're new here."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway, clinging to the familiar script. "Eight months." I poured his drink, keeping my movements precise despite the trembling that wanted to overtake me. "That's $12."

He placed a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. "Keep it." His nostrils flared, testing the air, and I strengthened my scent-blocking spells, layering them one over another until they formed an impenetrable wall. But something in his expression suggested he'd caught something—a trace, a hint of what lay beneath my facade.

He may have just found what he was looking for, or perhaps even the person he was hunting. And maybe that person was me.

"Thank you," I said after a few seconds of consideration, moving to put some space between us despite his words, desperate for any excuse to step back, to put distance between us. But his hand shot out, catching my wrist before I could retreat.

The contact sent a jolt through my entire body. Heat raced up my arm, and my magic responded, rising to the surface like a wave. I was almost not able to contain it. His thumb pressed against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel my heart racing.

Even though I wasn't sure, I felt that he was doing this on purpose. He wanted to see what my reaction would be.

"Interesting," he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear it. "Very interesting."

What was so interesting? I almost asked him, but I held back. I knew that would be a mistake.

I tried to pull away, but his grip, while not painful, was implacable. "Sir, I need to attend to other customers." It was a lie—the tavern had gone eerily quiet, everyone trying to pretend they weren't watching this interaction while being hyperaware of every moment. They were all tense because of him.

"What's your name?" He asked, still holding my wrist, his thumb now making small circles against my skin. Each movement sent fresh sparks of awareness through my body.

"Lyrian," I answered before I could stop myself. Stupid. I should have given him the fake name I'd been using, but something about him seemed to bypass all my careful defenses, drawing truth from me against my will.

His eyes narrowed just a bit at my response, and I saw recognition flicker in their depths. He knew something. About me? About my name? About what it might mean? The possibility sent fresh panic coursing through me.

"Lyrian," he repeated, as if tasting the name. "Tell me, Lyrian, how does someone with your... let's say, particular qualities... end up tending bar in a place like this? I feel like you should be doing something greater with your life."

The question carried layers of meaning, and I felt the trap in it. He was right about the last part. I should be doing something better with my life, but at the moment, the option just wasn't available to me.

He suspected—no, he knew something wasn't right about me. But how much did he know? What had given me away? I was so careful about everything.

"I needed a job," I said, forcing a lightness into my tone that I didn't feel. "Mae was hiring."

His lip curled just enough to expose his teeth, but it was still not a smile. "Is that all?"

Finally, he released my wrist, but the impression of his touch lingered, burning like a brand against my skin. I resisted the urge to rub it, to try to erase the sensation of his fingers against my pulse point.

"That's all," I confirmed, stepping back until I hit the back counter. The distance didn't help me—if anything, it gave him a better view of me and allowed him to study me more thoroughly. He could see so much of me now.

He lifted the whiskey to his lips, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact. "You're lying," he said with the most neutral tone I'd heard in a while. "But we'll discuss that another time."

The certainty in his voice—that there would be another time, that this wasn't a chance encounter but the beginning of something—sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn't just about my omega status. He knew about the magic, about what I was. Somehow, he'd seen through every layer of protection I'd built.

He hadn’t even spent more than a few minutes with me, yet he already knew so much about me. Who was this guy? I kept asking myself, even though I knew the answer wouldn’t come anytime soon.

"I'm not-" I began, but he cut me off with a look that stripped away any and all pretense. He was ruthless and cold.

"Careful," he warned, his voice dropping even lower. "Don't compound one lie with another. It would be... unfortunate. Most people who do that around me don't end up with light consequences."

The threat wasn't overt, but I felt it in my bones. This alpha was dangerous in ways I didn't even want to think about right now. And yet, despite the danger—or perhaps because of it—I felt drawn to him, as if some part of me recognized something in him that called to my very nature.

He finished his whiskey in one smooth motion and stood. Even that simple movement conveyed his power and the scale of his authority. "I'll be seeing you again, Lyrian."

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving me shaking behind the bar. The entire encounter had lasted less than ten minutes, but I knew with bone-deep certainty that my life had just changed, and it would never be the same ever again.

The mark behind my ear still burned, but now it carried a different quality—less warning, more recognition. As if it, too, had been waiting for this moment, for this alpha, and the realization was, maybe, the scariest part of all this.

Chapter 4

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