Page 24 of Fired at the Heart

We leave the private room, guards falling in behind us.

Vince walks three steps ahead, his shoulders squared with the confidence of a man who owns this small part of the world. I count each guard we pass. One at the top of the stairs. Two more at the landing. Another stationed by a water cooler who isn’t fooling anyone.

My dress whispers against my arousal with each step, and I will the stubborn heat to fade. It doesn’t help that Raphael’s hand rests at the small of my back, a possessive touch that’s supposed to be for show but feels all too right.

“You’re going to love what I have for you today.” Vince flashes a smile that leaves the rest of his face flat. “My finest selection yet.”

I keep my expression neutral, playing the role of the docile Omega. The submissive pet. My instincts fight against the pretense, but I stifle them. Five years of running my business alone has taught me the art of becoming whoever I need to be.

“I expect nothing less,” Raphael replies, his fingers pressing harder into my back in a silent prod to stay focused.

As if I need the reminder. I can compartmentalize the effect the Alpha has on my body, shift it to the back of my mind to leave the rest of me open to count steps, memorize the path, and note the cameras mounted in corners.

Fifteen steps down the main staircase. Hard right. Twenty-three steps down a narrow hallway with cinderblock walls that the thin wallpaper can’t disguise. The air grows thicker as we descend, heavy with fear-choked pheromones and limited ventilation.

No windows. No emergency exits. Just the staircase we came down and a service elevator at the far end of the hall that requires a key card.

If things go south, there’s only one way out, and it’s through at least six armed men.

“Is your pet always so tense?” Vince peers back at me. “Or is he just excited?”

Raphael’s thumb traces a small circle at the base of my spine. “He’s nervous about meeting his new playmate, aren’t you, pet?”

In answer, I turn my head to nuzzle Raphael’s shoulder and shove my reaction to his pheromones into the same compartment where my desire for him lives.

Vince purses his lips with disapproval. “You spoil him.”

“I believe in rewarding good behavior and punishing bad.” Raphael’s expression hardens. “He learned fast to be good.”

“The carrot or the stick.” Vince’s tongue skims over his bottom lip. “I like it when they choose the stick. It keeps things exciting.”

It takes everything in me not to draw my knife and stab him in his cocky face.

We pause at a heavy metal door at the end of the corridor. Two more guards flank it, both with semi-automatics held across their chests. They eye us with practiced indifference, but I don’t miss how their attention lingers on me for a beat too long.

Typical Alpha posturing. I fight the urge to show them what this Omega can do.

“We’ll need to verify the funds before proceeding.” All business now, Vince snaps his fingers.

A thin man in wire-rimmed glasses steps forward from a side room. He carries a tablet, his fingers tapping the screen with nervous energy.

“Standard procedure,” the man says, keeping his head down. “We need to confirm your… purchasing power.”

The guards shift their hold on their guns in a clear indication that this is not negotiable and what will happen if Raphael refuses.

“Of course,” Raphael’s voice drops to the authoritative Alpha tone that used to weaken my knees. It still does something to me, but I refuse to acknowledge it. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

The accountant—because that’s what he is despite the lack of an official title—holds out the tablet. “Account number and routing information, please.”

Raphael takes the tablet, his movements unhurried. His fingers move across the screen with practiced ease, inputting numbers for an offshore account we set up for this purpose. It contains enough money to buy a small island. The Rockford family’s resources have always been extensive.

Raphael returns the tablet. “Will that be adequate?”

His hand slides from my back to my hip, drawing me closer to his side. The motion is possessive, territorial, a silent message to everyone in the room that I belong to him.

For the sake of our cover, I lean into the touch, tilting my head to rest on his shoulder. I hate how my body responds to the proximity, how my heartbeat quickens and my scent shifts, becoming sweeter. Biological betrayal. Five years should have been enough to purge him from my system.

“Yes.” The accountant’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “More than adequate, Mr. Smith. I’ll just verify the transfer capabilities.”

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