Page 79 of Pack Rivals, Part One

"Fine." I bend over the table to take a shot of my own. "Next time you tell us where you're going and we'll be there." I close one eye, squinting down the cue at the white ball.

"You should aim for the other pocket," she tells me, but when I glance up at her, she's already storming back to her gaggle of women. Women who are all glancing our way with interest.

I hit the ball, missing my shot.

Hardy laughs. "She was right."

"About which bit?"

Hardy shakes his head and pockets three balls in a row before missing the next and allowing me to clear the table.

"Book that eye test," I tell him as I smack the black ball into the corner pocket.

"Best of five?" he says, already scooping out the balls to set them up. "And let's make it interesting. $100 to the winner."

"One thousand," I say.

After the second game, I order several large bottles of water and bowls of french fries and send them over to the omega's table. She scowls our way but her friends seem pretty pleased.

We're on our third game of pool when we notice her leave the table and walk towards the bathrooms. She's a tad unsteady on her feet, the pitchers she's sharing with her friends almost empty.

We both stand, leaning on our pool cues as she passes us, rolling her eyes.

"You really don't need to babysit me," she mutters.

We don't bother arguing, pausing our game to wait for her to return. Hardy takes a swig of his beer and chalks up his cue. We're tied one game all and he wants that one grand just as much as I do. Neither of us like to lose.

After five minutes, Hardy glances at his watch. "How long does it take to pee?"

"Women always take a fucking long time in the bathroom, you know that."

"Should have gone with her," he says.

"Yeah, she'd love that."

"The woman needs to understand the dangers."

I lean against the pool table, eyes flicking around the bar. This place stinks of stale beer and even staler scents. It insults my nose, and if it weren't for the omega's sweet scent permeating the air, my head would be aching.

"That's ten minutes now," Hardy says, drumming his fingers behind him.

I sweep the bar again. The three men who've been hunched in the corner all evening are gone. The ones with the snake tattoos. Snakebites. A notorious crime gang. Jesus Christ, how did she find the most dubious fucking bar in the city?

I nudge my head in the direction of the bathrooms. "Let's go check."

Hardy barrels through to the back and swings open the ladies' bathroom door, ignoring the squeals from within. I'm right behind him.

"Bea, you in here?" he asks. "Bea!"

We find her applying lipstick in front of the bathroom mirror, mid-conversation with some girl she's obviously just met.

She lowers her lipstick.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You were gone for over ten minutes and–"

She snaps the lid back on the tube of lipstick and throws an embarrassed look at the other woman. "I'm sorry," she says.

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