Page 15 of Claimed By the Psychos

His gaze lingers on Juniper a beat longer. She doesn't hide what she is. It's often an asset on missions. Omegas can get in under powerful people's guard where alphas and betas can't. But from time to time, a client has something to say about it. Depending on the nature of that something, it's often the last thing they ever say.

This man is a professional, though, through and through. Even though I can tell he's caught her scent, and anyone with eyes can see she's drop dead gorgeous, he moves on as if she's anyone else. Might have something to do with the fact that my eyes are boring into him like laser sights, waiting for the slightest fuck up.

Smart man.

Juniper cocks an eyebrow and gives me a look that screams, "Addams? Really?"

I fight a smirk, and don't bother correcting the fake names. We gave them to his assistant, he knows they're bullshit, we know he knows. It's all part of the dance. "You said you had a job."

"Straight to business. I appreciate that." He moves to the desk but doesn't sit. Another power play, making us look up at him. "My employer has a problem that requires your particular skill set."

"We kill people," Juniper says brightly, folding her hands on the desk, the sparkles in her blue nail polish glinting in the light. "Is that the particular skill set you mean? Because we're really good at it."

The client's mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. "Yes. That's precisely what I mean."

I catalog the exits automatically. Door we came through. Windows that don't open. Private bathroom that might have a service entrance.

"The targets are a team of vigilantes." He pulls out a tablet, sets it on the desk facing us. "They call themselves the Psychos."

"How original," I say flatly, taking the tablet.

Four masked faces stare back at me from the screen. All alphas. All built like they could bench press a car. Military bearing obvious even in the surveillance photos. These aren't soft politicians or corrupt businessmen. These are operators.

"Vigilantes," I repeat, keeping my voice neutral.

"They've been interfering with certain business operations. Costing my employer significant money and resources." He swipes to show a destroyed compound, bodies scattered across the ground. "This was last week. Twelve assets lost."

Assets. Nice euphemism.

Juniper leans over my shoulder, and I catch her scent, flowers and that underlying sweetness that never quite goes away after heat. "They look like they bite."

She's one to talk.

"The pay reflects the difficulty." The suit names a number that makes my chest tight. Enough to disappear for a year. Maybe two. Enough to find better doctors for Juniper, better medications, better everything.

"That's a lot of zeros," Juniper says, but her voice has gone flat. Danger sign number one.

"My employer believes in paying for quality." The man's eyes stay on me. "Your reputation precedes you. The Tucson job was particularly impressive."

My spine stiffens. We cleaned that scene perfectly. No evidence. No trail. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course not." He smiles now, all teeth. "But hypothetically, if someone were to eliminate a certain senator in his hotel roomand leave no trace, that would demonstrate exactly the skill level we're looking for."

Juniper starts humming. Danger sign number two. It's a children's song, something about roses and pockets full of posies. Her tell when reality starts getting slippery around the edges.

"We'll think about it," I say, standing. The meeting's over. I need to get her out before she starts seeing things that aren't there. Or worse, things that are.

"Time is a factor." He produces a business card from his jacket. Thick stock. No name, just a phone number. "I'll need an answer within forty-eight hours."

I take the card. "We'll be in touch."

Juniper doesn't move. She's staring at the tablet, at the hidden faces of the Psychos, and her humming gets louder. "He has kind eyes," she says suddenly, squinting at the picture. I'm not even sure how she can see that much detail through the grain. "The one with silver hair. He has kind eyes. People with kind eyes shouldn't die."

Fuck.

"We're leaving." I take her elbow, gentle but firm. She lets me guide her to the door, still humming.

The man watches us go with the patience of a predator. "Forty-eight hours," he reminds us.