Page 39 of The Violence of Love (The Black Market Omega #2)

Autry

“Wait.” Charlie lifts his fork and knife, eyebrows furrowed. “So crossing them means I’m done eating…but if I jab the knife into the fork’s prongs, it means I don’t like the food?”

I nod, already laughing from the look of shock on his face. “Exactly.”

Charlie groans, dramatically dropping his utensils onto his plate. They hit with a clang. “Who the hell goes to someone’s house and tells them the food sucks—with their cutlery ?” He cuts an exhausted look at Oli. “Who even invented this crap?”

“Assholes,” the alpha mutters dryly. He’s definitely getting grumpier the longer we sit here. He’s managed to memorize the forks, but his expression tightens every time he glances at his cluster of glasses.

“Can we clear these off?” Oli nudges three of the crystal glasses away from him, eyebrows drawn. “I’ll drink water.”

“Can’t do that,” I say, perched next to Myrick at the head of the table. “Unfortunately, rich people treat matching glassware like a personality trait. If you don’t have four different wine glasses, how will anyone know you're emotionally distant and terrible at making eye contact?”

My silly joke earns me a small smile from the alpha, but that’s it—I'll take it.

“So, like… will someone ask me what kind of wine I want, or will they just pour it?” Charlie picks up the tiny sherry glass, turning it in his hand. “Because I wouldn’t know a good wine from grape juice.”

“They’ll pour it for you,” I reassure the beta, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. He exhales, visibly relieved.

But Oli still looks like he’s sitting on a bed of nails.

“What’s wrong, alpha?” I circle around the table to check on him. Everything’s in its place—napkin in his lap, silverware untouched—so it’s not a logistics thing. But I can see the tension in his face. He’s trying to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he says, but when his eyes finally meet mine, there’s a heaviness there. Like he’s sad.

It kinda breaks my heart.

“You look worried,” I whisper softly, then lean down.

I draw a breath to assure him everything is going to be okay, but my lungs fill with his earthy-mint scent.

My body instantly responds before I can stop it, making my skin flash hot.

I immediately back up, not wanting to give anyone the wrong impression.

“Oliver,” Myrick says gently, his tone threaded with quiet concern. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Oli doesn’t answer right away. His jaw flexes, and for a long second, he stares down at the table like he’s considering how much to say. Then, voice low and laced with tension, he mutters, “I don’t want to screw this up. ”

He doesn’t look at me, but I feel the weight of his words, like they’re meant for all of us.

“I don’t care what those boardroom bastards think of me,” he says. “But if I do something that makes you all look bad? That’s different. I don’t want anyone whispering about your pack because of me.”

There’s something steely in his voice, but also something that wavers beneath the surface.

He exhales, shaking his head. “The last thing I need is for Rhett to lose it because I used the wrong fucking fork or said the wrong thing to the wrong guy.”

“What?” Myrick freezes. “Lose it?” he repeats, like the words don’t make sense in the same sentence as Rhett’s name. “Rhett wouldn’t—he’s not like that.”

Oli looks up, meeting Myrick’s eyes head-on.

There’s no challenge in his gaze, just an unwavering kind of caution.

“Are you sure?” he asks, quiet and matter-of-fact.

“It wouldn't be the first time an alpha snapped because he felt disrespected.” His hazel eyes flick to me. “Especially when omegas are involved.”

My stomach pulls tight, and Myrick looks thrown—like someone flipped a table inside his chest. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that Oli might see Rhett as someone to be feared.

It hadn’t occurred to me either.

But now, seeing the way Oli’s shoulders stay braced, how he’s not even trying to hide the tension in his body—it clicks.

He’s not nervous about the party.

He’s nervous about what happens after.

Myrick clears his throat and reaches across the table.

He places his hand on Oli’s, firm but gentle.

“Hey,” he says, steady and calm. “There’s no need to worry.

Not about Rhett or the flatware.” He smiles but it looks tight.

“Just relax and have fun,” he says like it’s that simple.

“And don’t worry about the rest. It’s all bullshit created by people who get off on feeling superior for the dumbest reasons. ”

Oli’s gaze shifts back to me, and I nod in agreement. “He’s right. It’s all bullshit.”

That seems to ease some of the tension in Oli’s shoulders, but only slightly. There’s still something heavy sitting in his expression—like he’s holding something back or he knows something I don’t.

Something about Rhett.

A swift chill cuts through me, but I push it aside. Rhett isn’t like that. He’s never been anything but loving with me. Still, the weight in Oli’s gaze lingers long after he looks away.

“Listen to me, Oli.” Myrick shifts beside him, his voice dropping to draw us all in. “Walk in there, look down your nose at everyone like they’re the ones playing catch-up, and you’ll blend in perfectly.”

“The one percent really fucking suck,” Oli mutters, his voice low and bitter.

“We do,” Myrick says without missing a beat.

I grimace, realizing that Rhett and Myrick are a part of this weird, rich world. It’s just that neither one of them act like it…as far as I know.

“Just remember,” Myrick continues, “show no mercy, because they’ll show you none.”

Oli doesn’t respond right away. His jaw is tight, eyes steady and faraway, like he’s bracing himself for something worse than dinner.

The silence sits heavy for a beat—until Charlie finally exhales and leans back in his chair with a groan, cutting through the tension with a dramatic wave of his hand.

“ Well, that settles it,” he says, giving up.

“I’m not wasting my time memorizing this crap anymore.

I’ll just copy whatever fork the person next to me uses and pray no one notices. ”

It earns a quiet laugh from Myrick, and even Oli’s mouth twitches at the corner. The tension breaks a little.

“Don’t worry about it anymore, Oli,” Charlie says. “It’s not worth wasting your energy trying to impress a room full of scary rich people who’ll eat you alive if you unfold your napkin wrong.”

Oli nods as if agreeing, but he still looks conflicted. “So, what if I don’t want to drink?” His gaze drifts back to the glasses. “Is that expected?”

“No. You don’t have to drink.” Myrick looks much more relaxed, clearly happy with the change of subject. “If there’s a toast, just take a sip and set it back down. No one’ll care.”

“I’m an alcoholic,” Oli blurts, jaw tightening like he’s bracing for backlash. He scans each of our faces quickly, like he’s daring one of us to make a big deal about it.

“That’s amazing,” I say a little too loudly, then realize how off it sounds. “I mean, not that you're an….” I huff loudly, flustered. “It’s really amazing that you’ve overcome something like that.” I nod, happy I finally got it out.

Oli lifts his head, his eyes locked onto mine—obviously shocked by my reaction. “Yeah?” The heat in his deep voice makes my pulse jump, and I have to look away.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “It takes a lot of self-control to break that kind of addiction.”

“Oh my god!!” Myrick gasps loudly, pressing a hand to his chest. “I offered you champagne the other day at the boutique.” He looks horrified. “I’m so sorry. I even knew that you were Brock’s sponsor, but it never occurred to me?— ”

“It’s okay.” Oli waves his hand like it’s no big deal.

“I’ve been clean for five years.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a small medallion, holding it up.

It’s silver with tiny words printed around a large number five embossed on both sides.

“I’ve had some rough days.” He stares at the coin.

“I almost gave it all up more than once—but I didn’t.

I’ve stayed strong.” His shoulders square, and his chin lifts.

He looks proud. And he should be. “But,” he adds, voice rougher now, “stress makes it harder. And tonight?” He grimaces as he glances down at his place setting. “This feels stressful.”

Myrick’s face softens, nodding like he gets it. “Understandable,” the blond beta says. “But we won’t leave you hanging. I promise.”

There’s a pause, then Charlie speaks up. “Would it help if I sat next to you?”

I glance at him, surprised. Charlie’s been open about his discomfort around alphas, but his gaze is steady, and there’s something unusually warm in it when he looks at Oli. It makes my heart swell.

“Actually,” Oli says, turning to the young beta with a grateful look, “Yeah. You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” Charlie gives him that sweet, boxy smile.

“Alright, everyone.” Myrick glances at his watch. “It’s time to get ready. Rhett will be home soon, and we need to be on the road in an hour. Oli,” he leans in, squeezing the alpha’s hand one more time. “Don’t worry. You’re going to do great.”