Page 7 of Retribution

Chapter Three

Two years later

Alesso

Leaning back in my chair, I find myself thinking about the omegas I helped escape from Slick Dreams a few months ago. I have no idea what happened to them, but I find them in my thoughts often.

It was dumb to believe that sex without strings wouldn’t have repercussions. I don’t mean in the form of an STI or a kid, but more in the emptiness that is left behind. I want something more than empty, meaningless sex. If I allow myself to exist in this deluded state, I even want a pack.

Helping Makayla through her heat with four alphas that I didn’t know before walking through the door to find her in pain was eye opening. It made me want more, and the men around me worked so well in sync, you’d never know that we’d just met at that moment.

I even kind of miss the fuckers.

But that’s insane, and the universe is telling me that I’ve grown too lonely in my life. As a money launderer, I don’t have to see people outside of my communication through third parties and the dark web. It’s safer this way, though it doesn't fix my problems of my own company not being enough.

Glancing at my phone, I wonder if Oliver or Lucas feel the same way. Would it be odd if I called them, or would it just make me seem clingy?

What do you even say to someone that you once shared an omega with during her heat.

Hi, we once both had our dick in a girl’s mouth, want to hang out?

“Merde,” I groan. This is pathetic.

We all exchanged numbers before we walked off into the night a few months ago, but not one of us has used them. My lips twitch in derision as I force myself to work instead, tossing my phone away as I move money for incredibly rich and crooked people. I’m paid well for it, and as long as I don’t fuck anyone over, I don’t have any issues.

This doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but it gives me a fair measure of security.

As I scour the dark web while bored, I get a message that makes me frown. I don’t often have people reach out to me unless it’s for work.

Unknown:

I have a proposition for you. You’d need to travel for it and show your face.

Me:

No. If I don’t have more details, I won’t do that. My job depends on my anonymity, so I don’t understand what you want.

Unknown:

I’m less interested in your money laundering, and more interested in where you’ve been putting your cock lately.

My heart begins to race at that because it’s only been inside of one omega in months. How would this person know that? Logging out, I close my computer, my skin already coated in a cold sweat. I think it’s time for a little vacation. I need to get the fuck out of Chicago for awhile.

Standing, I pull off my clothes to shower, preferably under freezing cold water. I smell from the anxiety and unease coursing through my veins. I think a trip to Italy is in order. I can find new clients there, just in case I need to leave America for good.

It’s a good thing I speak the language, no? I may even find some companionship that doesn’t require meeting faceless people on the internet.

Three months later

Isolde

“I need a job done,” Nico Domino says, leaning back in his office chair. I’m dressed in leather from head to toe as I stand before him, heavily armed and covered in scent blockers.

It feels awful to be coated and hidden, but no one will hire an insane omega. It’s such a double fucking standard, one that makes my skin itch. Instead I curl my gloved hands into fistsbehind my back as I pretend not to hate one of the alphas I work for.

He doesn’t know that I have zero alliances, and I allow him to think that he has any kind of control over me. Alphas like him need that so they can pretend their dicks are bigger than they are. The truth is, I would have to be put down like an animal if he didn’t have this thin veil of control.

And so, here I am. Continuing to pretend. I’m packless after two damn years of traveling to complete hits, but since I’m living life as a beta, what else can I expect. An actual love connection?