Page 20 of Claiming the Pack's Omega

My keys are cold in my hand as I unlock the door to the garage. I let out a sigh that I can see clouding in the air in front of me. It’s nearly as cold inside my room as it is outside.

I set down my duffel bag full of my heels, makeup, and work outfits by my bed and toss the small paper bag of medicine onto my bedside table.

Theo was kind enough to have some medicine for my fever delivered to the club. I tried insisting on paying for it, but he wouldn’t hear a word about it.

I’m grateful. After Daisy got sick last week, we went through all the medicine I bought for her.

I do feel surprisingly well-rested. Seven hours of straight sleep is a lot more than I’m used to. Usually, I take naps after I’ve gotten my siblings to school, and even if I have a full night, my sleep tends to be pretty restless.

I don’t want to admit it to myself, but sleeping in an alpha’s arms seems to have done something to my brain because I slept like a baby.

I press my hand to my forehead. I still feel pretty feverish. I should take some of that medicine Theo bought me.

I grab the water bottle I keep by my bed and tear open the paper bag. A bottle of fever reducer and pain reliever fall onto my bed, along with a few crisp one hundred dollar bills, and a note.

I stare down at my bed, my brain not processing what I’m looking at.

Did Theo accidentally put what looks like five hundred dollars of cash in the bag? No, of course not. This was on purpose.

I pick up the note.

I’m not stingy with my tips ;)

See you next week

—Theo

I swallow hard, picking up the cash. Even his money is fancy like he only gets fresh new bills whenever he goes to withdraw money from the bank.

My hand lifts to my neck, where the bruises from that other client and that sleazy beta have faded, but the memories linger. I let an alpha choke me so hard I bruised for five hundred and this alpha is giving me five hundred for just sleeping in the same bed as him. Actually sleeping. Not even “sleeping” with him.

If his note is any indication, he plans on seeing me again next week. I’ll have to make it up to him. A regular client like him? Who doesn’t expect ridiculous things from me, tips well, and seems to actually view me as a human rather than an omega sex toy?

I didn’t think clients like him existed.

I open the bottles of medicine, peeling back the tamper seals, before popping a few in my mouth and swallowing them with a swig from my water bottle.

Time for a shower. I still have to get all of this makeup off. Probably wasn’t good that I slept in it, but I’ve definitely done worse to my body before. Hopefully, I won’t break out.

I head over to the makeshift bathroom my dad constructed for me last year when I told him I wanted to move out of “room” in the house so my younger brother Eli could have his own space instead of sharing with our sisters.

That room was a converted closet, so there was barely any space in the first place, but Eli is still twelve, so he’s got a couple of years before that room really starts to feel cramped.

I moved into the garage over the summer, so I didn’t realize how goddamned cold it would be out here during the winter, but I’m not going to complain. Savannah actually has room inside the bedroom she shares with Daisy for a desk for her to study at and Eli actually has privacy.

That seems to be a general theme of my life. I’m willing to put up with a lot for my family.

After a scalding hot shower, I change into an old, threadbare baggy t-shirt, a clean hoodie, and a thick pair of sweatpants and head up to the main part of the house.

Savannah stands at the kitchen stove, cooking what looks like eggs and bacon.

“Shit, Sav, you didn’t have to start cooking breakfast! That’s my job!” I say.

“I’m fifteen, I’m not a kid anymore, I can cook us breakfast.” She looks up at me, her eyes going wide. “You kinda look like shit.”

“Savannah Alice Carver, that’s not a nice thing to say to your sister,” our mom says, flying into the kitchen, her dark brown hair piled atop her head in a messy bun.

“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” I laugh, leaning against the counter. “I feel like shit, so it makes sense.”