Page 14 of Shaken Knot Stirred

He snapped the lighter open and took a long drag, but didn’t snap it shut. “You know,” he said, letting the flame sparkle between the two of us, “I like my omegas a little less bitchy.”

“Well, thank all the gods that have ever existed that I’m not yours.” That bottomless pit of dread opened in my stomach. Iwashis, his scent match. Fuck. That was never going to happen. I nervously touched the locket around my neck.

As he got closer, I felt his aura pull toward me. It lit up all splotchy with pale blue bits. That was the color of my aura. Not that I could see it. Another auracle told me it was blue when I was five years old. His aura knew we were mates, even if his nose didn’t know yet.

“After you.” He said like the gentle man he would never be.

I took a step away, unable to tear my eyes from Marty’s haunted look. The door began to scream shut. A smile born of malevolent glee blazed across Beg’s face. His aura went sickly green. Casually, he tossed the lighter into the shrinking mouth of the door. I heard the whoosh of the alcohol catching fire and Marty screaming, “RUN!”

Beg’s huge hand circled my neck, squeezing hard enough to trip the gag reflex. His gun muzzle appeared from nowhere to press into my cheek.

“Are we going to be good or sassy, Moxie?” My name on his lips made my skin crawl.

As I tried to twist to check on Marty and Helena, he squeezed even tighter and pushed me forward. His body pressed against me, trapping me against the passenger door of my sedan.

“Get in.” His voice was at a purr, like a lover.

Without letting go of my neck, he crawled into the car after me. I held back the need to retch as he manhandled me into the driver’s seat, a feat only alpha strength could accomplish. My bag still hung awkwardly around my neck and ended up lodged between me and the steering wheel.

He didn’t need to command me to drive or get on with it or anything. His intentions were quite clear. I fished my car keys out and tried to brush his hand away. Naturally, Beg’s response was to dig his fingers into my neck.

“Asshole, do you think I can drive with this in my lap?”

Beg bit his lip like I was flirting with him. Sick fuck.

I ducked my head as he ripped the duffle out of my lap so I wouldn’t get decapitated by the strap. I stole a glance at the bar in the review. A glimmer of fire danced in the window.

Beg turned completely in the passenger seat, his leg cocked at a weird angle, his gun pressed into my ribs, like he wanted prime viewing of my face when he put a bullet in me.

I slid the seatbelt over my shoulder. It clicked in place with the sound of finality. I clasped my hands demurely and perched them on the edge of the steering wheel.

“Seatbelt.” I said flatly.

“What?” Beg’s voice pitched slightly higher.

“Put. Your. Seat. Belt. On.” I said each word slowly and precisely like I was speaking to a child.

He cocked his head in utter confusion.

“The laws of this county clearly state that both passenger and driver must have their seatbelts fully engaged whilst a motor vehicle is in operation.” Whist? Was that even grammatically correct? I was losing it. I was going to die in this shitty car with my smart mouth snarking away.

“You want the cops to stop us and see this?” I flicked my finger against the muzzle of the gun.

Once he was properly locked and loaded, I put the key in the ignition. The car rumbled sickly.You little piece of shit, don’t you dare stall out on me now?

“Where’s the money, Moxie?”

“Not here. You think I’m fucking dumb?”

His slimy smile said yes, in fact, he did think I was that dumb. He used his gun to gesture toward the road. I put the car in gear, giving the Delta Lounge one last look in the rearview. The place wasn’t up in flames yet. It could burn to the ground. I’d never be able to come back.

Chapter 7

Alistair

I smiled as thedoor screamed. Looking up, I wondered if it was an easy fix. Some WD40 or something. It might take away from the charm that was the Delta Lounge.

That squeak seemed to go on and on, ricocheting through my chest as I took in the room. The air was hazy, as if this was a high-end cigar bar and not a local dive. But it didn’t smell rich and expensive. Burnt fabric clawed at my throat and chemicals stung my tongue. Helena sat at one of the tables, her feet propped up on another chair. She was hugging her knees to her chest. Her wrists looked raw and red.

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