Page 83 of Carmichael's Omega

No. I need to know how involvedPapáis with the Diamorte Cartel. I have to play this game out so I can protect my mates. Protect. Provide.

"I want theputato get me inside the Cartel. Both of them will still die,sí?" I rasp out gutturally.

His eyes measure me, weighing my intentions, my intelligence, possibly my sanity. "Your show. Let's go, Punk."

I grab the rope tied to Dylan's barely-healed midsection and drag him. We walk, in silence, for a few miles, into a pretty, well-tended forest. I barely hold back my snort. It's nothing like the forests of the north. This is a walk in the park, literally.

The hole is just like I hoped. Deep, with just enough room to lie down if the bitch curls up. The bottom is dirt, and the sides are cold, smooth, concrete. Scratches and claw marks litter the bottom half, but it's deep enough that even if theputastands on Dylan's shoulders, she won't reach the top. There's nothing else in the hole. It's a coffin.

The bitch stands up, snarling, as we approach. She's on paws, but when we dump Dylan's body into the hole, she shifts back to avoid being hit.

"What the fuck?" she screams. Her hair is tangled in clumps. Bloodshot eyes appear glassy and crazed even in the dim light. She's shaking and holding her body as if her muscles are cramping.

"A gift, Alice," the Beta calls down, still grinning maniacally. "From the Alpha. See, he wants a spy in the Diamorte Cartel, and he thinks you'll be just perfect."

"Are you fucking insane? I don't need to do shit."

I crouch down at the edge of the hole. "No? You like it down there,puta?"

She falls silent, fuming, as Dylan moans and rolls in the tight confines.

"Soon,puta, he will wake up. What will he do to you?" I ask her.

"I can kill him now," she snarls.

The Beta laughs. "Can you eat the body before it rots, bitch? I'm not bringing it up."

I cluck my tongue, shaking my head. "No,puta. You can't, ey? I wouldn't kill him."

"It's either you or him," the Beta says. "Do you really want to die now, Alice? All that running for nothing?"

"Fuck you!" she screams, "I don't believe you!"

"Alice," I croon, "you can be free from this little hole,sí? You feel like aratita, puta? Clean sheets, a shower, clean clothes-"

"Water, food, and blow, not necessarily in that order," the Beta calls down.

She curls her lip at him.

"I don't have much time, Alice," I tell her. "Tick-tock."

Indecision plays over her dirt-streaked face. I'm not worried. She wants out of the hole, and she's dumb enough to think that she can escape from us.

"Fine," she hisses through clenched teeth. Her wild, angry eyes meet mine. "I agree."

---

21 - Loco Lobo

Carmichael

TheLoco Lobois a shithole, that's for fucking sure. It used to belong to an MC years ago. The war between the LoboGris and the Diamorte Cartel sent the motorcycle gang running with their tails between their legs. It's still a popular spot for bikers. When I pull up, I don’t even get a second glance from the bartender. His rheumy eyes and bald head tell their own story.

Other patrons look. Theputaswho think they can hop on the back of my bike make a special point to flirt. One scowl, and they keep their interest in licking their bright-red lips and thrusting their tits up in their tiny shirts. I don't bother with them as long as they keep their distance.

The scarred male who sits next to me is a different story. He scares off nearly everyone in the vicinity. "What the fuck, Devel?" I sigh, tipping the bottle to my mouth. I slam it down on the bar and single the bartender for two more, sliding one Devel's way.

Devel twirls the neck of his bottle between his fingers. Long, lean, graceful, much like the wolf himself, he is a sleek predator. Quick reflexes, muscle toned like an Olympic swimmer, Devel is intimidating without the scars crisscrossing his entire body. With them, he's just downright scary.

---