Page 53 of The Violence of Love (The Black Market Omega #2)

Rhett

I sink the last putt on the eighteenth green and offer Jannis a tight, practiced smile as he lets out another booming laugh—louder than necessary and entirely unearned.

“Hell of a game, Rhett!” he bellows, slapping me on the back like we’ve survived a war together, and not spent four hours chasing a tiny ball under a merciless sun.

“Yeah,” I say, already reaching for my towel. “Good match.”

It wasn’t. He cheated on hole six, miscounted his strokes twice, and I haven’t cared about the wind speed since the third tee. I want to go home.

I nod politely as Jannis drones on about his handicap and the "damn caddies these days," but my thoughts are already back at the house with my pack.

Things have been a little weird since Charlie’s heat. I know he’s still settling, and Myrick says to give him time, but I still worry about him and Autry. Omegas aren’t known to be good with sharing their mates .

But at least things seem to be going well with Oli.

The young alpha is doing a better job than I expected.

He’s still a cocky little shit, but since the mating, something about him has changed.

He carries himself differently. There’s weight behind him now.

The fucker still has that arrogant tilt to his head, but it’s like he finally knows what he could lose if he screws this up.

And I’m almost sure he and Myrick fooled around last night.

I heard Myrick humming in the kitchen this morning, which never happens unless he’s gotten off or organized the spice rack alphabetically. I’m not mad.

I’m really not.

We’re a pack now. We all belong together. Connections are going to form. Bonds. Affection. Touch. I’m not na?ve enough to think I’m the only one they’ll want.

But I’m still struggling to get used to the idea. Especially with Autry for some reason. The idea of Oli looking at her the way he looks at Charlie or Myrick? It scratches something deep and primal in me. Something old. Something that doesn’t want to share.

Maybe it’s because she’s unmated.

Hopefully, that'll change once I get my mark on her throat.

It’s a completely different space to have and I’m struggling—watching the people you love, want to love each other. It’s beautiful. And fucking hard.

Still, as long as Oli keeps his canines out of her neck—and Myrick’s, for that matter—I’ll breathe through the discomfort. I’ll give him time. Let their love bloom the way it’s meant to.

“Scotch?” Jannis asks as we reach the clubhouse. It’s too early in the day for scotch, but I’ll do what I have to to close this fucking deal.

“That sounds like heaven.” I force a smile as we step inside the country club’s air-conditioned lobby.

I immediately catch sight of Myrick lounging near the marble-topped bar, sunk deep into one of the velvet chairs like he owns the place. His hair’s still damp, swept back from his forehead in that artfully lazy way that says he walked out of a massage and doesn’t give a shit how ruffled he looks.

Fuck, I love him.

The beta is mid-conversation with an older omega—elegant, polished, probably some board member’s twice-divorced sister. She’s got long nails and a laugh like champagne, the kind of woman who thrives in country clubs and whispers about scandals over martinis.

The pair are leaning in close, heads almost touching, like they’re sharing secrets.

Myrick’s good at that. Drawing people in. Making them feel like the center of his solar system long enough for them to forget how sharp his mind really is.

He laughs at something the omega says and his gaze flickers up and he immediately finds me. That easy, wide grin spreads across his face, and he waves like we’re high schoolers in a cafeteria instead of two grown men surrounded by linen napkins and overpriced cocktails.

I tap my watch in response, a silent reminder that we won’t be here much longer.

Myrick gives me a dramatic pout before turning back to his conversation. And I stifle a laugh.

I make my way toward the restaurant, where Jannis is already flagging down the server like he owns the place. The alpha orders his usual scotch—double, neat—and gives me a long, expectant look.

“Club soda,” I say without hesitation, taking my seat and loosening my collar. I’m so hot.

Jannis snorts. “Come on, Rhett. Don’t tell me Autry’s got you on a leash.”

I smile like it’s funny. Like it doesn’t piss me off every time someone talks about my omega, like she’s the nagging ball and chain.

“She’s got good taste,” I say. “And she’d probably prefer I don’t come home smelling like the bottom of a bottle.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Hell, if that’s what keeps the peace.”

I nod, letting him ramble. Letting him think I’m whipped. It keeps the focus off the truth.

Because what I won’t say—what I’ll never say here—is that I don’t drink anymore because I live with an alpha who’s clawed his way back from the edge of addiction.

That I don’t drink because if Oli walks past me and smells scotch on my breath, it might tear open something he’s worked too hard to stitch shut.

I could never do that to him. Even if he is a cocky ass.

That’s not Jannis’s business. It’s ours.

So I smile. I let the man think whatever the hell he wants while I count the minutes until I can go home.

“Alright, Rhett.” Jannis leans back in his chair, his voice shifting into business mode.

“My lawyers are happy with the packet your team sent over,” he says casually, as if this isn’t the single biggest deal of my life.

“Everything looks clean.” He sounds impressed.

“We should be ready to move forward within the next few weeks.”

I sit a little straighter, tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying loosening in my shoulders. Finally . After all the late evenings, the sleepless nights, the blood I’ve poured into this company—it’s nearly off my back.

“Excellent,” I say, and I mean it. “Glad to hear it.”

He grins. “You’re about to be a very rich man without a single thing to do with your mornings.”

I give him a quiet smile.

“What are you going to do with yourself?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Sleep, maybe. Cook more. Fix the leaky faucet in the guest bathroom.” I laugh, but I’m already planning all the trips I want to take my pack on.

I’ve been thinking about the coast lately—somewhere quiet, where you can hear the waves through open windows. Or maybe the mountains. Somewhere far enough away that the rest of the world stops knocking. Somewhere we can breathe.

“I’ve always dreamed of building my own house,” I say, the image coming easily now—a small log cabin, filled with warmth, love, and fat-cheeked babies toddling around.

Jannis snorts. “Every alpha wants to build a damn log cabin.”

I glance at him, surprised he guessed it.

He grins. “Us city boys all hit that phase in our forties.” He laughs, deep and familiar, and I can’t help but smile.

“Maybe it’s a silly dream,” I admit. “But what’s the point of retiring if you’re not planning projects you never intend to finish?”

Jannis lets out a full, belly-deep laugh, tipping his head back. “Very true, son. Very true.”

“Gentlemen.” The waitress returns with our drinks, and right behind her—like he sensed I was finally in a good mood— Donall walks in.

“Afternoon, boys,” he says, that deep, pleasant voice curling through the restaurant like smoke. He’s all charm, all sharp smiles and glinting eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you two in here.”

Jannis waves him over, too damn friendly. “We wrapped a round. Sit down, have a drink.”

Donall does, sliding into the seat across from me. Another waitress comes over and sets his drink down before he’s even asked. Of course, she does. He probably lives in this damn place.

“How’s the omega?” Donall asks a little too casually as he stirs the ice in his glass. “Haven’t seen her since Jannis’s party.”

I keep my expression neutral. “She’s fine. Settling in.”

I don’t mention Charlie.

Not because I’m ashamed—I could never be—but because Donall’s a cop.

And not any cop. He heads up some kind of specialized homicide unit in the city, the kind that deals with the big, brutal things.

Omega crimes are likely beneath his notice, but if he got even a whiff that I had two omegas, with one purchased illegally…

yeah. I’d be fucked six ways from Sunday.

“Is she from around here?” Donall presses, lifting his drink to his lips, eyes never quite leaving mine.

“She went to school at Waverly Hall,” I say, taking a slow sip of my club soda.

“Yeah, I think I remember you saying that.” He leans back in his chair, looking at me as if waiting for me to say something else.

But I offer him nothing. Autry is none of his business.

“She just looks familiar,” he continues.

“Been on my mind since the party. Something about her face. What was her name, again? Autry?”

Jannis laughs, loud and oblivious. “Careful now. It’s not good to get in the habit of thinking about another alpha’s omega.”

I force a chuckle, but it’s cold. “Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice smooth. “Some lines shouldn’t get crossed. As a cop, you should know that.”

Donall’s smile doesn’t budge, but there’s something flickering behind his eyes. Calculating. “So who are her parents?” he asks. “Does her family mix with your circle?”

And, I’m done.

I lean forward, planting both palms on the table like I’ve got all the time in the world. “Donall, you trying to move in on my omega?” My voice is light, trying to make a joke out of it, but the tension behind my words is razor sharp.

Jannis laughs again, louder this time, slapping the table. “If you boys don’t settle, I’ll be forced to switch tables.” He snorts, trying to lighten the mood. “There’s no way I’m getting banned over you two.”

Donall laughs like it’s all a joke, but then his smile tightens. “No, need to get up,” he says to Jannis. “I’m just trying to take an interest in my old friend's growing pack.” His dark eyes meet mine. “No one needs to get upset.”