Page 1 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

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COLT

Agood deal’s just a lie wrapped in a smile. Lucky for me, I’ve got a killer one.

“Four gallons for that price, Jimmy? You think I’m made of silver bars?” I lean against my bike, flashing just enough teeth to make him think we’re friends, even if the glint in my eye says I’d slit his throat for less.

Jimmy shifts from one scuffed boot to the other, clutching his clipboard like it’s a lifeline. An ancient tanker truck sits behind him, a lumbering beast in the dying sunlight. Gas is worth its weight in gold out here, and he knows it.

“Colt, you’re breakin’ my balls here,” Jimmy mutters. “You know the supply chain’s shot to hell. I can’t go lower.”

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “Shot to hell. Like that’s news.” I tap the handlebars of my motorcycle, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him sweat. “Tell you what. Throw in another gallon, and I’ll toss in this.” I pull a silver lighter from my pocket, flicking it open to reveal the engraved initials. “Genuine pre-Convergence relic. Works like a charm.”

Jimmy eyes it, his greed warring with suspicion. The lighter glints in the fading sunlight, a piece of pre-Convergence nostalgia he can’t quite resist. That’s the trick: show them something shiny, and they never see what you’re really taking.

I keep my expression easy, relaxed. Let him think he’s got the upper hand. While his focus is locked on the lighter, I slide my free hand into the open pocket of his jacket hanging on the truck’s side mirror. I move slow, precise. No sudden jerks, no giveaways.

My hand closes around a pocket knife, the blade dull but serviceable, and a pack of matches.

Nothing flashy, but in a world like this, even the scraps can mean survival. And hey…this is better than a useless, shiny lighter.

Jimmy finally grunts, his shoulders dropping. “Deal,” he says, snatching the lighter from my hand. He doesn’t even test it, too eager to feel like he’s won.

“Pleasure doing business,” I say, letting the corners of my mouth curve into a smile that never quite reaches my eyes.

Jimmy moves to the tanker, dragging the hose to my bike’s gas tank. The liquid gold flows, the soft gurgle like a song while I rest a hand on my bike. It’s seen me through fire and ruin, through lonely highways and near-death scraps.

A rare piece of machinery I’ve kept alive through sheer will and scavenged parts. My lifeline, my escape hatch. The closest thing I have to a home.

Jimmy disconnects the hose, swiping a hand across his sweaty brow. “All topped off.”

“Appreciate it.” I swing onto the seat, kicking the engine to life.

Jimmy waves me off with a grin, holding up the lighter like it’s a trophy. “Safe travels, Morgan.”

“Always,” I call back, the word rolling off my tongue like a joke.

There’s no such thing as safe out here.

The highway stretches out before me, cracked asphalt glowing amber in the setting sun. The wind bites at my face as I ride, the engine’s growl steady and familiar. It gives me time to think—dangerous as that is.

Because this isn’t just a joy ride; I’m headed west for a reason. The Gulf Pack are looking for their lost omegas, and I’ve heard a rumor that one of them is hiding out in Austin. She’s not just any omega either…she’s the Prime’s daughter.

A prize worth more than all the gas in the south.

A person.

The thought hits me like a sucker punch, and for a second, I can’t shake it. Not just a person…an innocent girl. A girl who ran away for a reason.

I clench my jaw, shoving the thought aside. It’s a job–and when work is as hard to come by as it is in this hellscape, you take what you can get.

Besides, I've done worse for less.

I skirt around what used to be Houston, take old and forgotten roads past waterfalls and rivers, scattered with abandoned, rusted out cars. Off to the north, I can see the looming shadow of the Celestial Curtain, a scar on the horizon. All are reminders of the old world–a world I don’t remember, though I’m sure it was better than this. I work for the Angels, yeah—they pay better than the rebels—but I don’t believe in them.

Nothing divine about them. They’re just monsters with tech that make us look like ants under a magnifying glass.

By the time I hit the outskirts of Austin, the sun’s just a burnt ember sinking below the horizon, smearing streaks of orange and red across the sky. The air here feels different—thicker somehow. There’s a sweetness to it, like wildflowers and honey, though I know it’s not quite wildflower season. The scent lingers, faint but persistent, threading through the usual mix of dust and diesel.

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