Page 4 of The Omega Trials: Part One

It’s not uncommon for omegas to get jobs in the service industry or other tip-heavy businesses. Their natural charm and biological allure can turn a regular job into a lucrative gig. Alphas gravitate toward leadership positions or physically demanding jobs. And undesignated people . . . I don’t know. I guess they’re accountants or some shit.

“Hello, beautiful.” I run my hands through my blond hair and give Rachel, the omega behind the counter, my signature smile, one that apparently makes women cheat on their husbands while their kid plays soccer.

“Good morning, Mr. Dirty.” She blushes, using the nickname the baristas have given me. It comes from the large company name and caricature portrait painted across my tailgate.I Like ItDirtyis my mobile car detailing business that charges five grand a night and hasn’t cleaned a single tire.

“The usual?” she asks with a smile, already beginning to type in my order.

“You know it.” I rest my elbow on the counter and try to carry my light and casual tone into my next question. “Has that guy come around asking questions again?”

“Yeah, but he hasn’t asked anything more. Just orders a hot water and sits over there for an hour or two.” She nods to an armchair in the corner. “To be honest, he’s giving some of the girls the creeps.”

“Oh, don’t worry about him.” I place a reassuring hand on her forearm and try to infuse my words with a slight alpha command. I want to take advantage of her omega instincts to trust and obey without her realizing what I’m doing.

“He’s harmless.” My lie does the trick. Her eyes grow heavy, and I can feel a wave of calm radiate from her.

“Right, okay.” She nods, reassured, and smiles warmly. “We’ll call your name when your drinks are ready.” I give her arm a parting squeeze and head to the pickup counter to wait.

Anger crackles down my spine. I don’t know what these Echelon fuckers want from our neighborhood baristas. I know they’ve been keeping tabs on the three of us since we were officially designated as alphas six years ago, but now that we’ve officially accepted their terms to petition for reentrance to the Echelon, they’ve been swarming like goddamn termites to light.

Titus, the cynical bastard, thinks that they’re trying to create a list of people important to us. People they can use against us later. I suspect they just want to intimidate us and continue to flex their omnipresent power.

I say let them try. Try to intimidate us, to threaten us, to bring us to our knees.

Our families have waited a hundred years for this. So go ahead and give it your best fucking shot.

We’re ready.

I arrive at the warehouse still riled up from Rachel’s update. The boys instantly pick up on my heightened emotions.

“What happened?” Titus all but snarls, kicking his feet down off a chair as I pull the rusty garage door closed behind me. Bishop comes to look over the railing of his loft, yawning like he just woke up. When we moved in here three years ago, we each took a corner of the wide, open space and built a loft for makeshift bedrooms.

“One of their goons keeps coming ’round Bailey’s,” I tell them. I know it’s not an Elder but one of their lackeys because Rachel didn’t mention the man wearing a mask. An inducted member of the Echelon would never be so blatant to begin with, but certainly not without his veil of anonymity.

I set the drink tray on the table along with my cash. Bishop makes his way down from the loft, pulling his soft brown curls into a loose bun on the top of his head, his sides faded.

“How was the cougar?” he asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Better than your night, it looks like.” Dark circles under his hazel eyes contrast with his normally bright and warm bronze complexion.

“Yeah, well, spending all night in a tiny room with hotel security and fluorescent lights will do that to a person.” He liftsone shoulder in a half shrug then raises his gaze and smirks out of the corner of his mouth. “Good thing they can’t prove shit.”

Bishop’s got twice the brains as Ti and me combined. And he’s the best damn card counter in Cape Aurelia.

“And he brought in nearly eight grand. Where’s the rest of yours?” Titus looks up from counting my bills.

“She bought a deluxe detailing package with her husband’s card.” I chuckle. CreatingI Like It Dirtyand giving bored, horny housewives the chance to pay for a hot, young alpha to fuck them right under their husbands’ noses is borderline genius if you ask me.

Titus doesn’t even crack a smile, just lifts a brow while keeping a stony scowl. I roll my eyes. “I’ll withdraw everything on Monday.”

“Good. The Trials are less than two months away, and we still have a lot left to raise for our tribute between now and then if we want a half decent omega.”

“Why are you always acting like Bishop and I don’t know what’s going on?” I scoff and look around our barren home. Other than our lofts, there aren’t many personal effects; our only furniture is secondhand and threadbare. The kitchen is nothing more than a workbench with a camping stove and a mini fridge. “We’ve all sacrificed shit and put our asses on the line countless times for this. We’re not gonna forget what’s at stake.”

“Shit, I know,” he grumbles and hangs his head. His palm makes a scratchy noise as he runs it over his buzzed hair. It’s as much of an apology as I’ll ever get from him.

One hundred years and counting . . . We’re ready.

1. Play “Lush Life” by Zara Larsson

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