Page 27 of Pack of Crooks
“It’s for Pack Lennox,” Hawk says, thumb brushing over my bare shoulder.
Excitement ping pongs inside of me. Does he realize he’s marking me with his scent?
“Oh my god,” the hostess says quickly. “I’m so sorry, right this way.” She abandons her stand to lead us through the packed restaurant. A private dining space is off the main room, tucked away from the noise and prying eyes. The hostess gestures us in, profusely apologizes and tucks tail to run away.
I tilt my head, watching her flee. “Either you all are in the mafia, or you own the restaurant.”
“What if it’s both?” Killian asks.
Swinging back to the pack, eyes wide, I look at them again. Hawk could be Italian.
“We’re not in the mafia,” he says, eyeing Killian with a bemused smile. “Behave or you’ll scare her off.”
“I think our omega enjoys scare tactics, don’t you, pretty thief?”
There it is again. Our omega. A simple phrase that carries so much meaning.
“Ignore them,” Bear murmurs, placing a big hand on my lower back and guiding me to the seat next to them. “They fuck like rabbits and bicker like an old married pack.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Killian says as we sit down. “It’s a little more rough than rabbits, right Ezra?”
Hawk, or should I say Ezra, blushes, pink staining both of his cheeks. It’s cute. Killian flicks his gaze to me, eyes shimmering with mischief, before he swoops in to capture Ezra’s mouth.
Ezra laughs, pushes Killian’s chest, and shoots a worried look in my direction, maybe for any sign of jealousy or annoyance, but I’m still processing how fucking adorable they are together. “Please, don’t stop on my behalf.”
“Told you she was perfect,” Killian says.
“Are you going to be insufferable the entire time we’re here?” Bear quips.
“Maybe.”
Ezra presses his hand to Killian’s mouth. “Don’t worry, I’ll muzzle him.”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “I actually don’t mind. It’s kind of?—”
“Unhinged?” Bear asks.
“Concerning?” Ezra adds.
“Cute,” I correct.
“In that case, don’t say we didn’t warn you.” Ezra removes his hand, but not before Killian nips his palm.
A server appears, almost panting. “Uh, h-hi-hi. What can I get you to drink? Sirs. Or, ma’ams.” She pinches her eyes shut. “Crap.”
“It’s okay,” Bear says softly. “Treat us like any other customer.”
“Right.” The server breathes deep, shakes off her anxiety, and starts with me. “What can I get you?”
We order our drinks and the pack orders one of everything. I start to protest, but Bear leans into my side and tells me he’ll order two of everything if I don’t stop, so I snap my mouth closed and watch the server rush out.
“So you own the place?”
“It was my mom’s place,” Bear explains. “Ownership was transferred to me when she passed away.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
He shrugs. “Wasn’t your fault.”
