Page 66 of The Forgotten

On second thought, whoever is over there right now can keep their dicks for her or himself. I don’t need them that badly.

Me:

No worries. Enjoy your booty call. I’ll find another alpha to service my pussy.

Hmm. Too much?

My feet still move quickly as I hurry down the sidewalk, the shadows long with the minimal light from the streetlights.

I change my number every quarter because I don’t want the alphas who helped me through my heat to contact me again. It’s only awkward when I run into them at a club, and I haveto tell them I changed my number when they ask why I’m not returning their calls.

My life isn’t what I thought it would be. It’s just what I need to be able to keep my head above water.

Shoving my phone away in my purse, I keep my eyes moving to make sure no one steps out in front of me, and I stay away from the alley entrances. The last thing I need is to be betrayed by my body by a would-be rapist.

“Hey pretty mama!” a voice crows.

“For real?” I huff.

I want to tell him to fuck off, but I really just want to get home. A cramp hits my stomach, making me bend over from nausea as I whine. Fuck, the world must hate me. I thought I had more time.

Moving even faster, I curse as I see a couple of betas smoking in the alley. Typically, I won’t see anyone, and now it’s a fucking party.

I feel hot and sweaty, the cooler air doing nothing to help me. I want to strip down to my underwear. As my condition deteriorates, so do my inhibitions.

I vaguely hear someone call my name, which shouldn’t be possible. Twisting around, I see three men standing behind me with masks over their faces.

Fuck.

Deciding that the best option is to run, I take off down the street. I’ve seen too many horror movies to be the girl who waits for death to find her.

My skin feels like a thousand needles are stabbing me, my anxiety is pushing my heart rate high enough that I’m gasping for air, and I know I’m in serious shit. I’m an omega going into heat in the middle of the fucking city. Sobbing out a breath, I take a gamble and cut down a side street, intent to try to get tothe fire escape of my apartment. If I can just climb up, then I can get inside through my window.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Orla!” a deep, dark voice yells. Instead of helping, my pussy clenches on nothing, making me whine as I slick. Fuck, now is not the time to think that the sexy masked men are sexy.

My brain must be melting down, because I notice how ripped their bodies are. Their thighs were thick with muscles, their sweatshirts pushed up their arms to show off delicious ink, and their hoods pulled over to hide their hair.

Why the fuck am I also thinking about licking up their muscles, wondering what their sweat tastes like? Apparently, I’m a thirsty bitch.

Shaking out my hands, I put some more speed into my run. I’m wearing comfortable boots, I can make it. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been on my feet for ten hours, or that I have slick pushing out of my pussy. I have toys with knots in my nest I can use, and I’ll hole up for the next three days alone.

It can't be any worse from any of my other heats where the dicks are attached to selfish alphas, right?

Chapter

Two

ORLA

Desperate times makeme believe I’m Superwoman. There’s no other reason to explain why I thought I’d be able to escape a pack of alphas. Sprinting down the street leading to the back of my building, I pray that I’ll be fast enough to outrun the large men whose footsteps are pounding down the pavement. My ears ring as my heartbeat drops, rises, and explodes to the tune of what I am.

Prey.

I don’t know why they know my name, but anyone who is masked, isn’t someone that I should want to catch me. I go out a lot with Mickey and his pack to dance, and I use the time to find my next heat hookup. There could be a lot of reasons why someone knows me, yet they wouldn’t be hiding their faces from me like this.

I also don’t know anyone who is as gorgeous as these men. Fuck, no. Bad Orla!