Page 2 of Claiming the Pack's Omega
Knock him out and pluck his eyebrows and nose hairs or some shit, I don’t know. No, he’d have to be awake for him to actually register it as a form of torture.
“I need you to go in and make sure Obsidian wins. You’re his ring girl for tonight,” he says.
I inhale sharply. Tonight’s headline fight is a big fucking deal.
Obsidian is new on the scene. Not new enough for people to not know what he’s made of, but he’s also been going up against other new guys. Tonight, he’s going against what people could consider this club’s home champion: Razor.
Razor got his name because he survived, beat the shit out of, and won against a dude who put razors in his wraps during their fight. He’s got a bunch of fucked up scars because of it and a reputation as a beast in the cage.
People are betting up a storm out on the floor right now. It’s a toss-up who’s going to win.
“Why do you want Obsidian to win?” I ask, shifting my weight to my other hip.
Frankie narrows his eyes. “You askin’ to know business?”
“I’m asking ‘cause you’re telling me to ‘make’ a dude win.” I use air quotes as I roll my eyes. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“I don’t fucking care how you do it, just do it. What else is an omega like you good for?”
I just raise one of my eyebrows. A much better-groomed eyebrow than his, might I add.
I’m used to comments about my designation. Everyone has an opinion about omegas. There’s a decent amount of them here in the Southside, if you know where to look, but the places we tend to be… well, they tend to look like this. Full of rowdy alpha and beta men who think they’re entitled to something. Whether it’s a woman’s body, money from the guy next to them, or just something better than this shithole side of town can give them.
And to that, I say get in line, buddy. We all want what we can’t have.
“Fine,” Frankie huffs. “The Sorel family have been poking around Razor and I don’t like it.”
A current of unease flows through me at the mention of the Sorel family. They’re big in a lot of different things, but I first heard about them because they’re big players in the drug trade. A lot of the crime families have bad reputations, but the Sorels are the kind of group that has a reputation for making omega girls like me disappear.
Frankie nods at my reaction. “Yeah, you get it. Bad for the family business, considering what Dom’s got his hands in.”
Dom has his hands in being a pimp, so I can see him being concerned about another family making his inventory disappear.
“So you’re trying to usher in a new champion here, then?”
Frankie shrugs. “The Obsidian guy seems to have the potential and I want Razor out.”
I nod. “Well then, I’ll do it. I’ll make Obsidian win. But I get a bonus.”
Frankie leans his clasped hands on the old, rusting metal table in front of him, narrowing his eyes on me. “Fine, you get ten percent of whatever Obsidian wins tonight. If he loses, you get nothing.”
“Fifteen,” I counter.
“Fine,” Frankie huffs, leaning back.
Damn, maybe I should’ve countered higher if I knew he was going to agree so quickly.
“The pool is 10k tonight.”
My eyes nearly bug out of my head, but I school my expression as quickly as I can. I was never good at math, even before I dropped out of high school, but fifteen percent of 10k is easy to calculate. One and a half thousand dollars is a fuckton of money for me and my family.
I could get Savannah that new test-prep book she was eyeing up. I could get Eli that new video game he’s been begging for. I could get Daisy some new paint since I know she’s been running low for a while.
Hell, I’d probably still have money left over. Maybe I could buy my parents something. Maybe I could getmyselfsomething. That’s a thought I haven’t had in fucking forever.
I clear my throat. “Got it. I—I should probably go and get ready then. He goes on at eleven, so I wanna talk to him before that.”
“Yeah, go do your thing,” Frankie says, turning down to his phone and waving me off. “He’s in locker room two.”
