Page 31 of Shaken Knot Stirred

The implications began to fester.

Moxie was an abused child. Potentially a criminal. An auracle. And in the hands of a dangerous man.

Moxie was an omega.

And she was mine.

Chapter 17

Moxie

“That one would shankme and not break a nail.”

“Only for the right price or really good dick.” Lana’s voice was smooth and pitched low. It was nearly unbearable standing next to her. I wanted to crawl right into the warm bath of her aura.

“Emma’s perfectly pleasant until she decides you’ve slighted her somehow. She gets away with it because of her accent,” Lana said as we watched Emma pour drinks at one of the VIP tables at Vig.

“I know it’s insecurity and displaced anger, but still, do you have to be that cunty? She probably has an omega sibling who gets all the attention.” I murmured.

Lana whipped around to stare at me in shock.

“No, it’s not mind reading. Her aura is this washed-out orange color with a mask of fake confidence on top of it. That’s hidden insecurity. I can see a texture of… like, it’s hard to explain, jagged lightning bolts, which are usually birth pack family drama and trauma.”

Lana settled back against the wall we were holding up. I risked a glance at her. I usually kept the auracle thing to myself. I was dangerous for people to know about it. They’d exploit you. But most often, they would just think you were a freak and run away. Nico was the exception. We used to play this game while we were tracking a mark. I’d pick a person, and he’d make up a fantastical description of what their aura was like. He was never right, but that wasn’t the point.

“Can you turn it off?” Lana asked. “Just, you know, stop seeing auras?”

“Nope.” I hit the ‘p’ sound hard, making it pop.

“That’s a lot to be taking in all the time. Must be exhausting.”

Out of nowhere, tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t think of a single time someone had showed concern for me and what it was like to be an auracle. Not Nico, not the parade of counselors, certainly not my parents.

I sought out the edges of Lana’s aura. It was a warm, pale yellow. She had those jagged family trauma markers too, but they weren’t inflamed like Emma’s. Maybe she had moved on enough that it didn’t affect her in everyday life.

“She’s here,” Lana said, pushing off the wall.

I touched the pearl necklace and smoothed out the dress. It was a little too clingy for my tastes, but it was the first one in Lana’s ridiculously extensive closet that fit. The dress code forhosts at the Vig was little black dresses and pearls. Apparently, Beg had declared it “real classy.”

All the auras and scents made the room even more confusing. The layout was honeycombed, with the openings of all the round booths turned at different angles, giving the illusion of privacy. I looked up at the ceiling as if I could peer into the mysteries of the HVAC system. I had worked at Saiko at the Hotel Pantheon. They had elaborate scent-dampening and filtration systems. It was more posh than the Vig. Maybe Beg didn’t want to spend the extra money. I had a feeling he preferred the chaos that heavy scents, money, and mind-altering substances could produce.

I picked my way across the room on borrowed stilettos, following Lana as she intercepted our mark. Lana had run down the basic procedures earlier in the evening. She sorted through the reservation list and rounded up likely suspects to show up based on what was happening elsewhere in the Pax. A hot DJ was playing in one of the dance clubs. The cast of Loner was filming a segment in the main space. The Port Haven Swish had lost their game, so there’d be ballplayers looking to fuck their disappointment away.

Lana ignored all that and tapped her candy apple red nail on one name — Cora Kumar.

The omega sashayed her way across the room. Silk skimmed her ample hips. The halter neckline of the dress covered her completely, yet left little to the imagination. I wasn’t the only one riveted. I passed a booth with two betas and an alpha who were kneeling on the seats to get a better eyeful of the older omega.

Cora was heat in motion. Her dress was the color of liquid fire, and her scent was burnt sugar, so strong I could smell it feet away. Most people went for scent blockers when they went out, but Cora was amplifying hers. By her aura, I could tell she was bonded to an individual, not a pack.

I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. The bond was tight and thick, even though her alpha was nowhere near her. That whisper of energy would always reach out to your packmates, but it tended to get less substantial with any kind of distance. Her energy seemed to swirl in figure-eights. That usually signaled codependency or addiction. It intensified right around her bond marker. The color fluctuated too. There was the thrill of something naughty masking a deep hurt.

When Cora came to Vig, she expected to be lavished with star treatment and attention. She was stepping out on her alpha. By the feel of her aura, she was looking to make her alpha jealous on purpose.

She and Lana air-kissed and then made their way to the central booth. Unlike the other tables, this one was more public. It was where you sat if you wanted to be seen. As the lone omega customer in the room, Cora would be swarmed by alphas and betas alike if she was unattended.

I waited at the bar for a drink order that Lana had already placed. The two bartenders were perfectly proficient. They made their drinks with just enough flair to be entertaining. One poured heavily, the other had a lighter hand.

He was a beta. Tall and athletic, with pouty lips that only came with fillers. A little eyeliner made him look mysterious. He sniffed and rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist. Coke addiction shone in the little whirling eddies of his aura.

---