Page 3 of The Violence of Love (The Black Market Omega #2)

Charlie

We’re not supposed to touch the omegas.

No hugging or snuggling. No holding hands or sitting too close.

Hell, we’re not even supposed to talk to them outside of treatments.

But there’s something about Autry that makes me want to throw my whole life away for a chance to catch the slightest hint of her delicate aroma.

She smells like lemon zest and something sweeter underneath, warm and soft and so completely her.

She’s like an iced cookie. Drizzled and sweet. Meant to be savored.

“How’s it feel?” I ask, tossing the paper sheet and the broken cast into the bin.

Autry slides her fingernails up and down her newly bare forearm. Her small shoulders shiver, and she lets out a breathy little sigh. “Weird.” She giggles softly. But her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

I want to believe it’s because she doesn’t want to leave me , but I’m not an idiot .

She’s perfect—hazel eyes filled with wonder, plush lips, and a kindness that radiates like the sun. And me? I’m nothing special—a shorter-than average beta with a clipboard and a pulse.

Still, I can't stop looking at her.

“This isn’t very attractive.” Autry frowns, looking at the small scar along her mended wrist.

Before I can stop myself, I reach out and trace the edge of the scar with my thumb. Her skin is warm and soft. My hand slides around her arm, holding it—not too tightly. Just enough to ground her. To remind her that she’s not alone.

“It’ll fade a bit with time,” I say, voice low. “At least it’s small.”

Autry sighs, making it clear she’s not happy no matter what size it is. “I’ve never had a scar before.” She stares at it. “Alphas don’t like scars.” The corners of her pink lips pull downward. I want so damn badly to kiss them better.

I arch a brow and lean in slightly to catch her gaze. “That’s not true.”

Her eyes narrow, skeptical.

“That’s not true,” I say, looking into her eyes. “Alphas love scars. They tell the world you're a badass. That you’re tougher than whatever tried to take you down.” Her lips twitch, like she wants to smile but isn’t sure if she’s allowed.

So I go all in.

“Look,” I say, lifting the hem of my scrub top. I hook my thumb into the waistband and drag it down an inch, revealing the faded scar that curls along my hipbone. “Got this wrestling a feral alpha in the back hall when I was eighteen.”

“Oh my.” Autry leans forward, bringing her face close to my waist. Her breath fans across my skin, and my member twitches. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea. “Is that true?”

“No,” I snort. “I fell out of a tree when I was five. I cried so hard I threw up.”

A smile brightens Autry’s face, and she tips her head back, laughing. “That’s so sad.”

“It is, but at least I survived.” I’m smiling like a fool. “But tell me the truth.” Autry leans in, listening carefully. “When you thought I got it in a fight, was it hot?”

Her nose scrunches as she laughs. “Yeah. It was hot.”

My grin widens. “Then maybe your scar is hot, too.”

She looks at her wrist again. This time, her expression is different—thoughtful. Like maybe, just maybe, she believes me.

I drop my shirt, let her wrist go slowly—reluctantly—and step back to give her space, even though every instinct is screaming at me to stay close. To touch more . To pull her in and hold her until the sadness fades from her eyes completely.

But I don’t.

Because she deserves to be chosen—freely, lovingly. Not because I was the only one nearby who made her feel seen.

“You’re stronger than you think, Autry,” I say softly.

She looks up at me.

“And I meant what I said,” I add, voice a little huskier than I’d like. “Scars don’t make you less beautiful. They make you unforgettable.”

And even though I know she’s not mine—won’t ever be mine—I swear I see her gaze drop to my lips for a second too long.

And that’s all it takes for my mind to wander.

Does she like me?

Autry gives me a flirty look and opens her mouth to say something—but the front door creaks open, and she snaps her jaw shut like she’s been caught stealing. The fear in her eyes is immediate, sharp and cold, like a bucket of ice water. It makes my chest ache.

“Mr. Pullson,” comes a voice that could slice glass.

I don’t have to look. I know who it is.

Angelica .

I glance at the clock. 10 a.m. Right on schedule.

“Good morning, ma’am,” I say, turning to face the she-alpha as she steps into Dr. Plume’s office. She’s all sharp angles and power—her gaze sweeping the room like a searchlight.

She’s in full intimidation mode today. Black hair draped over one shoulder, bright crimson lips, and a gray pantsuit that fits like it was stitched directly onto her body.

There’s no shirt beneath the blazer—only a plunging neckline and the kind of confidence that makes even the most intimidating alphas shrink back.

“Where is Dr. Plume?” she asks flatly, her pale blue eyes landing briefly on me, then drifting toward the triage room.

“He’s with a new patient. A young male omega came in this morning. He’s in critical condition.”

“A male?” Angelica’s top lip curls.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She steps further inside the room, her heels clicking across the hardwood like a countdown. “And who is this?” Her voice sharpens as she stops in front of Autry. “What’s your name, omega?”

Autry doesn’t answer.

She’s frozen. Shoulders rigid, eyes glued to the floor. Her chin tips downward in a clear show of submission. I can see her hands trembling where they rest against her lap .

“This is Autry,” I answer, hating that she can’t speak for herself but knowing exactly why she can’t.

Autry mumbles a fragile, barely audible, “Hello,” still not lifting her head.

“Such a pretty omega,” Angelica purrs, and my entire body tenses. Her gaze drags over Autry like she’s inspecting fruit for bruises. Then her piercing blue eyes turn to me.

While alphas don’t have the same effect on betas as they do on omegas, they still make me anxious. They’re too intense for me. Too aggressive.

I was raised by a single beta mother. I went to an all-beta school and have always worked in fields that aren’t known to attract alphas. I really only see them once in a while at the grocery store or in line at the bank. And even then, I try to avoid them.

“Is she one of the girls coming to the Morder today?” Angelica asks me.

I force a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her eyes narrow in approval, like she’s mentally assigning Autry a price tag.

“Has anyone talked to her about what will happen at the market?” Angelica asks.

“I don’t think so.” I crouch a little so I can see Autry’s face. Her hazel eyes are wide and watery. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek like it might help her hold herself together. “Has Mrs. Danner explained anything yet?”

Autry shakes her head, rubbing her scar like it’s a prayer bead.

Angelica takes one step closer. “Omega,” she says in that low, commanding tone that all alphas are born with. Autry flinches, then immediately lifts her head. She can’t help it. None of them can.

“What do you know about the market? ”

Autry’s eyes dart to me, then back to Angelica.

She clears her throat and tries to sit straighter.

“It’s, um…” Her voice cracks, but she pushes through.

“It’s a place where…where alphas come to find mates.

” She pauses, unsure, then adds quickly, “They bid on omegas.” Her hands grip her arms tightly, trying to steady herself.

“And what do you think of that?” Angelica asks coolly.

Autry’s brows pull together. “I…I don’t know,” she says, shrugging a little too fast. “I guess…it makes sense?” But the wobble in her voice says she’s not convinced. “Omegas need alphas.”

Angelica’s expression hardens. “Do you want an alpha?” she presses. “Do you want to be claimed by a pack?”

Autry straightens and nods quickly—too quickly. “Yes. Of course,” she says. Her voice is almost too cheerful. “I’m excited.”

Liar , I think to myself. She’s terrified. I can smell it.

“Um,” Autry starts again, biting her lip. “Are the…” She hesitates. Her mouth opens, then closes.

“Go on,” I say gently. “Are they what?”

Her voice drops to a whisper. “Are the alphas…good people?” She swallows hard. “Or are they…mean?”

Angelica laughs, short and sharp. “All alphas are a little mean, darling. It’s in our nature.”

Autry shrinks under the sound, shoulders folding inward. My hands twitch at my sides, and I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from stepping between them.

“It’s okay.” I try to soothe Autry, tucking a strand of her long hair behind her ear. “I’m sure there are lots of nice alphas there.”

Angelica watches me like a wolf watches a mouse. Her smile is slow, deliberate, and thin. She nods slightly when I step back, and only then does she turn her full attention back to Autry.

“You’ll need to be on your best behavior to attract the nicer alphas,” she says, like she’s talking to a child. “Can you do that?”

Autry nods again, chin lifting. “Yes, ma’am,” she says, with more confidence than before—but it’s a brittle kind. Like glass stretched too thin. “I can.”

Before she can be grilled further, Dr. Plume bursts into the room, red-faced and exhausted.

“I’m so sorry, Angelica.” He yanks off his surgical cap.

His dark hair sticks up in all directions, and there are sweat beads along his flushed brow.

I’m thankful his scrubs are black, otherwise the dark splatter of blood across his chest would be unmistakable.

“We had a rough case come in,” he sighs.

I wonder if the omega made it.

“Yes. Mr. Pullson told me.” Angelica’s frosty gaze slides from me to the doctor. She always looks like she's five seconds from snapping someone in half.

“I see you met Autry,” Dr. Plume says, moving toward the omega.

I step back to give him room. Autry stiffens, but doesn’t flinch as he gently takes her arm.

“Yes,” Angelica says, watching like a hawk. “We were discussing what she can expect today.”