Page 26 of Unhinged Omega

Just another Tuesday night in paradise.

A pair of alphas slink past, eyeing me warily. Smart. One look at me is enough to tell most people not to fuck around. I'm tall even for an alpha in these parts—six-nine, according to the last wanted poster—and burlier than the average asshole who haunts these parts, even if there's nothing particularly flashy about my battered leather jacket and denim getup.

Never been a fan of suits.

The eye patch probably helps. There was too much fucking damage for a prosthetic, and covering it up results in less annoying comments.

And I'd rather the odd omega I bed here and there as time permits didn't puke into my mouth while she's knotted and riding my dick. Wasn't exactly an enjoyable experience the last time.

Foreitherof us.

Other than that, I don’t give a shit. Anyone who's survived a little maiming and mayhem in the Outer Reaches has his marks. Sure, mine’s worse than most, but it is what it is.

What does get to me is that the fucker who took my eye is still walking around with all his significant pieces intact. But these shady assholes don't know that. I bare my teeth in what could generously be called a smile and they scurry off like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

I'm not in the mood for trouble tonight.

I round the corner toward my pride and joy. Pandora's Box. Pun absolutely intended.

Well, as much pride as a grimy underground strip club can inspire. But it turns a tidy profit, and more importantly, it's an endless font of information. Amazing what people will let slip when they're three sheets to the wind and distracted by a pair of tits bouncing in their face.

The thumping bass grows louder as I approach, but I still catch a scrap of conversation from Candy and one of my other girls huddled by the staff entrance.

“Swear to god, if he doesn't stop bitching about the music, I'm gonna put nightshade in the next scotch he orders."

"That creep who grabbed your ass?" the other girl—Bree, I think, but it's hard to say when this place is a revolving door—asks.

My hands curl into fists reflexively. Looks like I might have some bones to break after all. But Candy just snorts.

"Nah, I handled that asshole myself. Fucker won't be usingthathand for a while." There's a vicious satisfaction in her voice that makes me grin. "I'm actually talking about the pretty one. Keeps crying into his drinks and moaning about some omega who dumped him or something."

Well, shit. That piques my interest for an entirely different reason.

"The one with the angel face and golden hair?" Candy asks. "Damn, what a waste. I'd climb him like a tree if he wasn't such a sad sack. I'd be afraid of him crying into my cunt instead. But hey, he tips like royalty."

"Honestly, I'm surprised he even likes omegas."

"Yeah, but I heard he goes both ways. Wouldn't mind bein' the beta sandwiched in between those?—"

And with that, I've heard enough. These girls have no standards. Or maybe I'm just getting older.

Even before I stride into the dimly lit bar, I know exactly who they're griping about.

What Idon'tknow is why the hell he's here.

Even though my sense of smell is fucked, the sickly sweet stench of cheap perfume and sweat still manages to burn my nose as I push my way past a three-sided cage containing a gyrating voluptuous beta and the throng of men trying to stuff bills through the bars. Any other night, I might stop to appreciate the view, but apparently, I've got company.

My eye is immediately drawn to the bar. He's easy enough to spot in this shithole. Like a fairy tale prince wandered out of the pages of his fae fantasy and got lost in an apocalyptic tragedy.

A familiar cascade of golden hair—not what you'd expect from his name—spills over broad shoulders, attached to a lean figure slumped over the bar amid a sea of empty glasses. Evenfrom here, I can see his hand shaking as he raises his current glass to his lips and throws his head back, amber liquid sloshing over the sides.

"Another," he slurs, waving the now-empty glass at my long-suffering bartender. "I have nothing left to live for."

I groan, already feeling a headache building between my temples. I should've known things were too peaceful lately.

Too—dare I say it—normal.

Raven.

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