Page 13 of The Violence of Love (The Black Market Omega #2)

“What the fuck do you mean, I can’t claim her?” The alpha in front of me yells, clearly pissed.

Great.

Annoyance settles in my gut, wondering how long this is going to take.

“Sir, please calm down.” The mousey-beta shifts nervously on her little stool.

She looks young, like most of the staff here.

But then again, Myrick looks like he’s barely twenty-five, but my sweet boy is almost forty.

Some betas age well. “All omegas in the showroom require packs,” she says, and shock rips through me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” the red-haired alpha growls, barely containing his rage.

My heart pounds, praying it isn’t true.

“No, sir.” The girl swallows thickly as she glances at one of the betas behind her.

He nods at her, then walks off. I’m sure he’s going to get someone to come and help.

“It says it on both the brochure you received when you entered the market and it’s on the bidding slip.

” The mousey beta pulls a brochure out from somewhere under the table.

“Right here.” She opens it, and I pull mine out of my back pocket.

Yup. It says it right at the bottom of the page.

*Omegas in the showroom are hand-selected, highly trained, and reserved for packs only. You will not be allowed to claim one unless your packmates are present.

Fuck.

My mind races, desperate for a way around this.

“I can pay ten times what you’re asking,” the red-haired alpha snaps. He’s angry, sure—but this isn’t the beta’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” the mousy beta says, shrinking back. “But we can’t allow?—”

“You’re selling omegas,” he cuts her off, voice rising. “And I want to buy one. Why would you turn down that kind of money? Let me speak to a manager.”

“Sir, please—” her voice cracks, clearly on the edge.

“What’s going on here?” A tall she-alpha with sleek black hair and sharp red lips steps up to the booth.

The beta exhales in relief. “Angelica,” she whispers, her shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry. He’s… upset.”

The alpha squares his shoulders. “I want to claim one of the showroom omegas,” he says, glaring. “But she says I’m not allowed.”

“He doesn’t have a pack,” the beta mumbles without lifting her gaze.

“This is bullshit,” the alpha roars, fists clenched tight .

Angelica picks up his bidding slip like it’s something unpleasant. “Mr. Dom Canterman,” she says his name like it’s painfully unimpressive. Her icy blue eyes lift, boring into his face. “Do you know why the Northern Territory governance board doesn’t interfere with our work?”

Dom glares back at her, rage rolling off of him in waves.

“It’s because we take the placement of high-quality omegas very seriously.”

“Who gives a shit!” Dom snaps. “Are you in the business of selling omegas or not?”

Angelica draws in a slow, measured breath before slowly turning to one of the guards. “Get Kent. Mr. Canterman is leaving.”

Dom rages, flipping the table and making a scene. I back up, not wanting anyone to think I’m a part of this mess. Dom is right. This is all bullshit, but it’s clear I won’t be able to claim Autry without a pack. How the fuck do I get around this?

My mind races, trying to figure out what the hell to do. I can’t let Autry go. She’s mine. Ours. Myrick hasn’t met her yet, but she belongs to him, too. We need her.

Trying to think, I turn, but my thoughts are interrupted when a short beta appears out of nowhere, standing right in front of me. It’s the same kid who’s been staring at me.

“Sir?” His voice wavers as he fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His hands twitch at his sides before he forces them into fists. It looks like he’s trying to squeeze the fear out of his body.

I raise an eyebrow, and that alone seems to rattle him.

He swallows hard, then squares his shoulders, attempting to stand taller than he is. “Hi,” he says, a little too loud. “I’m sorry to bother you, but—were you just in the showroom? ”

I tense. Something about the way he’s looking at me—like I’m a rabid dog he’s trying to pet—puts me instantly on alert. “Yes,” I say, slow and careful. “Why?”

The beta’s eyes dart toward the big tent across the field. He shakes his head too fast. “Nothing’s wrong.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “I mean—not really. I just…” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair like a nervous tic. “Are you… bidder four hundred seventeen?”

His question lands like a challenge, and I have to bite down on my irritation. I don’t know who this beta is or what he wants, but I’m tired, I’m angry, and I’m out of patience.

“Yes,” I answer, voice clipped. “Why?”

The beta hesitates again. His hands clench, then unclench.

“Can I—uh—can I see your bidding slip?” He nods toward the paper still in my hand, but doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

I study him. He’s trying to play it cool, but his pulse is pounding in his throat, and the scent of nervous sweat hangs faintly in the air.

I could break this boy in half if I wanted to.

But I don’t. Not yet.

Curious what this is about, I hand over my bidding slip.

“Okay,” he says with obvious relief, clutching the slip like it’s a key to his salvation. “It’s about Autry. I have a proposition for you.”