Page 17 of Retribution

“That’s the first time I met them,” I state. “I don’t know either of their last names, which is why I said I didn’t know Oliver. I haven’t seen them since. I bought attendance to an omega’s heat, but it went very differently than I expected. I didn’t know that Slick Dreams was full of?—”

“Trafficked and bought omegas?” Isolde asks, her brow raised. She also looks disappointed in me. If she was wearing heels, I wonder if she’d threaten to shove it up my ass. “I did find that out in my extended research to fix my mistake. I loathe people who use omegas in this way.”

Shifting in my very uncomfortable position, I ignore the way my cock twitches. I shouldn’t be turned on by the thought of her heels traveling anywhere near my asshole. Fuck.

“I had no idea,” I promise. My head is mildly better, but my voice is raspy and deep still, as if it’s still dry. “I helped get two omegas out as soon as I realized.”

“You…you’re a CEO,” she scoffs, as if it’s a dirty word. “What assets do you have for a rescue mission?”

“You’re a hired gun who doesn’t do her research,” I snarl. “Talk about sloppy.”

“Well that’s why you’re currently chained up,” Isolde pouts, sitting back in her chair.

“That’s adorable,” I grunt. I should have agreed to a tracker under my skin when Grant proposed it a year ago. Goddamnit. “Slick Dreams shouldn’t even exist anymore. If it does, it’s notfor lack of trying. Bret Harris, the owner, doesn’t treat his omegas well. No nests, little food, no blankets. Makayla wasn’t even mine and I wanted to burn the world down due to her treatment. Instead, I choked her handler out so I could help the alphas with me escape with their omegas.”

“Those alphas aren’t Oliver and Alesso though, correct?”

“Correct,” I mutter.

“There’s not very much information on the other two alphas that attended that heat,” Isolde says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if their presence was simply removed as if it never existed. You know some interesting people. You’re not a criminal, yet seem to have dealings with them. Alesso is a money launderer and Oliver is a hacker on the dark web. Now that my interest is piqued, you’re stuck with me for a while, I’m afraid.”

“I beg your pardon?” I growl. “I have people depending on me.”

Granted, I did most of the heavy lifting earlier today, but I would prefer not to be tied up in a fucking warehouse. If I continue being force fed liquids, I’m also going to need to piss.

Not to mention…

My stomach growls and complains loudly, and her lips twitch.

“You don’t look like you’re used to missing a meal,” she muses.

“Are you calling me fat?” I smirk, amused by the very idea. I’m solid muscle, but I also become a shithead when I forget to eat. “You interrupted my meal earlier if you remember.”

“I do.”

Standing, she walks over to a table and picks up a remote. As she pushes a button that lifts my arms higher, I’m forced to stand, groaning.

At least this helps to move the blood in my cramped legs.

“I’ll go get you food,” she says.

“What about you?” I ask, my gaze moving over her frame.

“I suppose I could eat,” she shrugs as if she doesn’t care one way or the other.

Her comment about never missing a meal hits me hard. I wonder how well she’s paid for her job, even though it’s preposterous for me to care. The issue is that I’m hardwired to want the best for people, unless they’re simply a waste of space.

I’m not getting that vibe from Isolde yet.

“So are you still working for the douchebag that contracted you to kill me?” I ask.

I should have led with that.

Isolde puts down the controller only to walk over and run her hands over my body. My lips part as I watch her because it’s almost as if she doesn’t realize that she’s doing it.

“No,” she says. “I don’t like to kill innocent men.”

Her hand continues down until her nails graze over my erection.