Page 4 of A Promise of Forever
The rational part of my mind rejects the idea that I want to protect the owner of that scent. I don't get protective over strangers. I don't care about other people's fear unless it serves my business interests. And I certainly don't have mate instincts toward some random Omega I've never even seen.
But my body doesn't seem to give a damn what my mind thinks is rational or appropriate.
A soft sound from under my desk makes me freeze completely. It's barely audible, just the whisper of fabric against carpet, but my enhanced hearing picks it up easily. Someone is hiding under my desk, and judging by the scent that's making my head spin, he's absolutely terrified.
Before I can investigate further, voices in the hallway announce the arrival of my business partners. Making a split-second decision, I close the door and usher Caelan into the room across the hallway. We’ve rented the whole stretch, so there will be no one to interrupt us but whoever that scent belongs to. I’m not tainting it with business.
Hendricks knocks on the door frame and enters without waiting for permission, followed by two other men I recognize from previous dealings. "Forrest," Hendricks says, extending his hand for a shake. "Thank you for accommodating the schedule change. I know these social events aren't really your scene."
I shake his hand with my usual controlled grip, letting him feel just enough strength to remind him who he's dealing with. "Time is money, Hendricks. Let's get this finished quickly."
We settle into chairs arranged around a small conference table, and I force myself to focus on the business at hand despite every instinct screaming at me to investigate the presence under my desk across the hall. It's taking every ounce of control I possess not to simply end this meeting and deal with whatever situation has driven him to seek refuge in my office. Especially when I notice Hendricks’ wandering eyes. The scent is nearly nonexistent here, but for some reason, it’s like a beacon, stealing my focus and my rational thought when I can’t afford to be distracted.
"The fighters we've recruited from the eastern districts are showing real promise," Hendricks begins, pulling out a tablet with performance statistics. "Win rates are up fifteen percent from last quarter, and the betting volume has increased accordingly."
I nod, reviewing the numbers while half my attention remains focused on the terrified presence just feet away. The Omega's scent grows stronger, either because his fear is intensifying or because my awareness of him is becoming more acute. Eitherway, it's making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on profit margins and recruitment strategies. "What about the new product distribution?" I ask, referring to the drug that makes Omegas more pliant. My hands are in a lot of different fucking pots except for that one. Weapons, fighting, bets? Sure. Drugs? No. And anything I can do to keep it out of my fucking ring, the better. The irony isn't lost on me that I'm discussing a substance designed to subdue Omegas while one cowers in terror beneath my desk.
"Demand is reduced atThe Forge," one of Hendricks' associates reports. "We found some requests at the local college, but haven’t found whoever is selling."
"Keep it out ofThe Forge.The moment drugs enter the ring is the moment we get law enforcement in there and that’s when it gets messy," I tell them. The Omega under my desk shifts slightly, probably trying to ease cramped muscles, and the movement sends another wave of that intoxicating scent in my direction. My protective instincts surge again and I have to grip the arms of my chair to keep from visibly reacting. This is insane. I've built my reputation on cold control and calculated decision-making, but one terrified Omega hiding under my desk is making me feel like I'm losing my mind. Whatever is happening to me, I need to get it under control before it starts affecting my business judgment in ways that could get people killed.
Caelan shoots me a confused look and I have to bite back an exasperated nonverbal response because there’s no possible way he didn’t fucking smell the Omega in that room. I merely just look toward the door, but my brother doesn’t pick up on what I’m gesturing at, so I leave it alone. The meeting drags on for what feels like hours as we discuss fighter contracts, venue security, and payment structures. Every minute feels like torture as my awareness of the hidden Omega becomes more consuming.
"The new venue in the warehouse district should be operational by next month," Hendricks continues, oblivious to the internal war I'm fighting. "Security installations are complete, and we've got the local authorities squared away. I think that covers everything," Hendricks says finally, closing his tablet and standing to leave. "Same time next month?"
"We'll see," I reply noncommittally, eager to get them out of my office so I can deal with my unexpected visitor. After what feels like an eternity, my business partners finally gather their materials and head for the door. The moment they're gone, I head across the hall, preparing to coax out whoever has been hiding there for the past hour. I round my desk and drop into my chair before twisting around to look down at the small form beneath my desk.
And there he is. A small figure curled up in the shadows, practically vibrating with terror. Dark hair that looks like it's been soaked by rain, pale skin that seems to glow in the dim light filtering under the desk. An Omega, definitely, and one who's been through absolute hell if his scent is any indication. He's wearing what looks like an ill-fitting black suit, probably borrowed or stolen, and I can see tear tracks on his cheeks even in the shadows. He looks young, maybe mid-twenties, and so fragile that I'm afraid even speaking might shatter him completely.
Intrigue swirls through my chest at why an Omega would choose this room to hide in when so many people find a Valla’s scent too harsh to endure, but I never get a chance to ask as the door bursts open and slams against the wall.
"Where is he?" An Alpha, and not one I recognize from my usual business circles, stalks inside, dressed from head to toe in a decorative police uniform. It’s not even from this city, but I assume he’s either on duty or here looking for better prospects. Either way, he has no fucking business in my office. Three otheruniformed officers stride into my office without invitation as well, the main Alpha scanning the space as if he’s going to find something. The Omega under my desk goes perfectly still, his terror spiking to levels that put me on edge.
My lip curls up in a snarl as I lean back and place my hands in my lap, fighting the urge to rip the officer’s trachea from his throat. "I'm sorry, who the fuck are you?" I ask, my voice dropping to a dangerous register.
"Detective Wilson Cromwell, MPD," the lead officer says, flashing his badge like it gives him authority over me. "I'm looking for a runaway Omega. Sterling Ramirez, about five-three, dark curls, probably scared out of his mind. Someone reported seeing him enter this building."
Sterling. The name fits somehow, delicate and precious, like something that should be protected rather than hunted. But the way Wilson says it pisses me off. There's possessive malice in his tone, the sound of a predator discussing his favorite prey.
"I haven't seen any Omega," I lie, my Valla instincts shifting into protective mode without any conscious decision on my part. My scent probably reflects the change, becoming more dominant and territorial, and I notice Sterling responding to it with what feels like relief mixed with desperate hope.
Wilson's eyes narrow as he takes a step closer to my desk. "This Omega is defiant and worthless, but he belongs to me. If you're harboring him, you're interfering with police business." His nostrils flare with the influx of Sterling’s scent, but I make no move to reveal anything.
The casual cruelty in his description makes something violent unfurl in my chest like a living thing.Defiant and worthless."Like I said," I repeat, my voice dropping even lower, "I haven't seen anyone matching that description."
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees as I let my Valla nature rise to the surface. Wilson's twocompanions shift nervously, finally recognizing the danger they're in. My reputation in this city is built on violence and ruthless efficiency, and most cops know better than to corner a Valla in his own territory.
But Wilson seems too obsessed with his hunt to care about self-preservation. "You know I could have this place searched," Wilson threatens, though his voice lacks conviction. Desperation creeps in around the edges of his authority. "I could make things very difficult for whatever business you're conducting here."
"You could try," I agree, letting him see exactly how much that prospect amuses me. A cold, predatory smile spreads across my face as I thread my fingers across my stomach and cross one leg over the other. "But I think you'll find that my lawyers are very good at making police harassment disappear. Along with the officers responsible for it."
It's not an idle threat. I have judges and district attorneys on my payroll, connections that run deep enough to destroy careers and end lives. Wilson might have a badge, but I have power that goes far beyond what any government authority can provide. One phone call from me and Detective Wilson could find himself facing internal affairs investigations, federal scrutiny, or worse. Besides, I’ve never even fucking heard of this Detective Wilson before today, which means that he can’t be all that big of an issue.
When Wilson refuses to stand down, I just sigh, my gaze moving to the single red rose in the crystal vase on my desk. A decorative touch added by the venue staff probably meant to emphasize the romantic theme of the evening. The flower is perfectly pristine, its petals just beginning to open. An idea forms in my mind, cold and calculated and absolutely perfect for the situation.
I reach for the rose, Wilson watching with growing confusion, clearly not understanding what I'm planning. His confusionturns to shock as I crouch down beside my desk and extend the flower toward the shadowy space where Sterling is hiding. Up close, I can see him more clearly. He's beautiful in a fragile, broken way, gorgeous tattoos covering light brown skin along his neck and disappearing beneath his collar, those dark brown eyes looking up at me with a hope I really don’t want to shatter.
"There isn't much I can do," I say, meeting those terrified eyes in the darkness, "but I can do this."
