Page 28 of The Night Movers: Season One

“No!” Ridley shouted. “No, no, no, no, no, no!”

A tiny explosion had his whole body sagging and then whining in disappointment. Diesel gave a triumphant cry, smirking when he saw Ridley glowering at him. He sighed, dropping the handheld gaming device onto the bed beside him, then stretching until his joints popped.

Diesel used the opportunity to dig his fingers into Ridley’s armpits, making him squeal then wiggle around until his head accidentally made contact with the alpha’s dick, causing him to hiss in pain.

“Serves you right,” Ridley said, then stuck his tongue out.

Diesel snorted through a grimace, but just tweaked Ridley’s nose. The alpha sat half-reclined on his bed, back against a pile of pillows. He wore only a pair of loose-fitting black pants, his little tummy visible if Ridley just turned his head slightly.

Ridley had made a bed out of Diesel’s belly, the back of his head resting just above the alpha’s hip.

He stretched out sideways, his legs propped up on the wall, crossed at the ankles.

He wore one of Diesel’s hoodies and a pair of thick wool socks.

He hadn’t bothered with underwear. It just got in the way.

The last two days had consisted of nothing but eating, sleeping, fucking, and, now, playing video games.

They’d been holed up alone in Diesel’s room for the last forty-eight hours or so while Ridley rode out his heat cycle.

The others—except Titus—had taken turns bringing them food but, otherwise, had stayed away.

Ridley tried to pretend he didn’t mind, but he felt a little like a pariah.

Diesel seemed to enjoy hanging out with Ridley, but part of him couldn’t help but wonder if the alpha had drawn the short straw.

It didn’t feel that way when Diesel was buried inside him, whispering filth into his ear about putting a baby in him, but he was quickly learning that Diesel took all things in stride.

The alpha seemed stuck in laid-back mode.

It was probably easier to be chill about everything when you sat at the top of the food chain versus hovering at rock bottom.

Today was the first day that Ridley hadn’t woken up sweating and panting, begging Diesel to use him.

When Ridley had woken up to find Diesel next to him reading some kind of glossy car magazine, he thought he was waiting to kick him out, send him back to his own room.

Instead, he’d just gotten excited that he was awake and then handed him an aqua-colored gaming device that looked exactly like his own.

Ridley had never used any video game before. Arcades were dangerous for omegas and Ridley couldn’t afford that kind of thing for his house. That kind of tech was for rich people. Yet, Diesel had two. What had Ridley gotten himself into with these men?

“Wanna go again?”

Ridley startled. The alpha couldn’t be horny again already. “What?”

Diesel held up the hot pink device in his hands. “The game, Strawberry. Another round?”

“Oh,” Ridley said, letting out a heavy breath that had Diesel snorting.

“Wow. You’ve been hanging off my knot for days but, now, you look like I asked if you wanted to play Russian roulette. Damn, that’s cold, princess.”

Ridley shivered at the silly nickname. It had irritated him at first, but it now stoked something within him. Now that he’d heard Diesel moaning it into his ear, it only served to turn him on. At least when said in the alpha’s low rasp.

“Shut up,” Ridley muttered, turning his head to the side to look at Diesel’s pretty brown eyes. “You know I’m just sore.”

“I know,” Diesel said, combing his fingers through Ridley’s red locks.

Ridley let him pet him but his mind was racing. “Why do you have two of these things?” he asked, gesturing absently to the device sitting beside him.

“I didn’t. I had Steele buy one when he went to the market last night. I wanted you to be able to play with me. I figured your heat would be lifting today.”

Something warm pooled in Ridley’s chest. “You did?”

“Mm,” Diesel said. “Your scent changed.”

Ridley shook his head. “No, the game. You had Steele buy it for me?”

“Yeah? Is that weird?”

Ridley turned to look at the alpha’s face. “Aren’t they expensive?”

Diesel’s low chuckle had his belly shifting, making Ridley’s head bob. “You really don’t know who we are, do you, princess?”

Ridley frowned. He didn’t know them. Not really.

He was now mated to Titus and claimed by the entire pack but he knew next to nothing about any of them.

To be fair, today was the first day he’d felt clear-headed enough to even contemplate his circumstances since the night his life had collided with theirs. “So, tell me.”

Diesel gave him a soft smile. “What do you want to know?”

“Am I a hostage?” Ridley blurted, then flushed.

That wasn’t what he’d meant to ask. Luckily, Diesel just laughed softly.

“No, Strawberry. But there are rules.” When Ridley snapped his gaze to Diesel’s, the alpha sighed, then ran his finger down Ridley’s cheek. “For all of us. Not just you.”

“Oh.”

Ridley snagged Diesel’s hand from his face, taking it between his own to play absently with the alpha’s fingers.

He had large hands. Wide. Like…bear pa ws.

When Ridley held his palm to Diesel’s, it was dwarfed, like a child’s.

Ridley had always admired people who had elegant hands.

Graceful bones, long, tapered fingers. It had always screamed money, refinement.

He’d always thought of them as artist’s hands.

Which was kind of silly, but it was always the first thing that popped into his head.

Diesel’s hands were…anything but. His hands, like his arms and chest and legs—his everything really—were covered in ink.

Each finger held something different. The skin beneath his first knuckle showed a wrench, a crude silhouette of a wolf’s head, a checkered flag, and what looked like a boxing glove.

Below the second knuckle were letters F-A-S-T.

It was clear Diesel loved cars and racing and that showed on his hands.

Not just the tattoos—there was a speedometer tattooed on the back of his right hand—but his nails were painfully short and a permanent black ring stained his cuticles.

Motor oil, probably. His palms and fingers were dry and rough, like sandpaper, and cracked in some places.

They looked awful, but when they glided along Ridley’s naked body, they left goosebumps in their wake.

“What do you do for them?” Ridley asked.

“My hands?” Diesel asked, confused.

This time, it was Ridley who snorted. “No, it’s clear to see you do nothing for these,” he said, shaking the hand he held.

“You really need a moisturizer before your skin turns to dust,” Ridley chastised.

“But I mean for Titus, for the gang…the crew…the pack? Like…what do you do? What do any of you do? How can you afford to do what you do? How can you afford all of this?” He held up the game again.

Diesel shrugged. “The pack makes money in a lot of ways. Street racing. Fight clubs. Personally, I’m a mechanic. I’m the mechanic. I keep our cars in top form. Well, Jensen and I. He uses his egghead skills to tune the engines, and I build them. We make money off the bets. Off the events.”

“Street racing?” Ridley echoed, turning the idea over in his head.

Diesel nodded. “Mm. Your new mate is the top racer on the circuit. People come from all around trying to beat Titus. They never do. Yet, they just keep trying.”

Ridley made a face at the mention of Titus. He was still brooding apparently. Devastated over having accidentally claimed Ridley or whatever. Diesel laughed when he saw the face Ridley pulled.

“Don’t be too hard on him, princess. Titus has a…complicated history with omegas. He’s the only reason the Night Movers even exist. Without him, we couldn’t rescue as many people as we do.”

“The Night Movers?”

Diesel nodded. “It’s an underground network created —in large part—by Titus. A way to smuggle omegas out of bad situations and get them to sanctuary cities where they are safe to live their lives how they want.”

Ridley frowned, asking the question he’d wanted to know from the beginning. “No offense, but why would a bunch of alphas give a shit about how omegas are treated? Guilt?”

Diesel’s bright expression darkened, black clouds rolling across a blue sky. “In a way, yes? We all have our reasons for doing what we do. It’s not my place to tell other people’s stories. But not every alpha wants to subjugate an omega.”

Ridley’s stomach soured. He resisted the urge to ask if he was sure about that.

Instead, he said, “Yet, you exist in a world that only sees us as commodities. How do you get away with saving so many omegas right under their noses? How has nobody caught on to what you’re really doing? Especially the New Guard?”

Ridley’s lip curled at the mention of the corrupt officials. The ones who were supposed to be upholding the law, not breaking it.

“It’s not a pretty story,” Diesel said hesitantly.

“When is it ever?” Ridley countered. “I never believed in fairy tales. The world sucks.”

Diesel scoffed. “You look like an angel but you’re one of the most cynical people I’ve ever met. ”

Ridley rolled his eyes. “Show me an optimistic omega and I’ll show you a crazy person. The only bright side to living every day as prey is that we get really good at spotting the predators. Now, explain to me what I’ve gotten myself into.”

Diesel sighed. “You’re so pushy.” When Ridley just stared at him, unblinking, Diesel rolled his eyes in return.

“Fine, we run the races and the fight clubs. People pay to watch and pay to play. It’s high stakes but it makes us a lot of money.

It not only funds keeping the network alive, but keeps the other packs from getting suspicious about the omegas we ‘purchase.’”

“And the others in the pack? What do they do?”

“Sugar and Steele fight. And they win. Ryker is our medic. He’s also our…diplomat.”