Page 1

Chapter 1

Kobe

I tighten the grip on my gloved hands clasped over my lap and take a slow inhale, shifting on my feet slightly. It’s normal to be nervous about starting a new job, right? I try to silence the pestering worries in my head as I stare at the wall in front of me. All I need to do is what I’ve been told. Wait. Be quiet. Make a good first impression.

Trying to remember the first time I stood before my old boss makes it feel like a lifetime ago. I suppose I was a lot younger and a lot stupider. I didn’t really understand the consequences of what I was getting myself into. Now I do. Now, I know there’s no going back to the way things were before. Ever.

All I can hope for is that this man will find me as useful as Mr. Wilson said he would.

The door opens, making me turn toward it with an anxious twitch. The guy who brought me in walks out and gestures for me to come in.

I remind myself to walk tall and confident. The act has become almost second nature—had to, really—but in moments of high stress, this nervous part of me always wants to come out and take control.

The large windowless office smells of cigars and old books. It smells of history . Of countless deals struck, lives ruined and made. I stop in front of the mahogany table ahead, hands still held together, and nod with my eyes down in respect.

“Kobe, correct?” the man asks, voice smooth and deep.

“Yes, sir.”

Sensing his gaze, I finally look up to see the Solomon Zane. The person Mr. Wilson always spoke so highly of. A mob boss of a much higher caliber than him, as he once admitted to me on one of our late-night drives home. There he sits, surrounded by two battle-worn, tattooed bodyguards.

Zane judges me unabashedly, running his dark eyes up and down. Even at maybe sixty years old, his shoulders are broad and his presence striking. He looks like a man who’s seen a lot. Someone who has a firm grip on his organization; whose aura is sharp and unforgiving.

“So, you are the driver Carlos recommended. I must admit, I expected…something else when he told me you were an omega,” he says with a chuckle, but his voice gets lighter at the end, as if to show he isn’t trying to disrespect me.

Not at all surprising comment.

“I try to not let that get in the way, sir,” I say, tightening the grip of my leather gloves.

Solomon Zane laughs heartily. “I like that. Carlos only had the best things to say about you. Said you had potential. Could do what it takes. Were reliable. Those are good attributes for this line of work. You seem young and strong enough, too.” As he says so, his eyes dart across my frame again.

A faint smell passes in the air between us and I realize that a part of the scent of this room is something more than the books and the years of smoking. He’s an alpha, after all. His pheromones are fainter, as they usually fade with age, and they also somehow perfectly blend in with our surroundings, making it nearly impossible for me to recognize what exactly they remind me of.

“I’ve asked around and heard only the best about you. I always need people I can count on, especially as the business grows. And, of course, someone will have to take over Carlos’ old racket, since he so foolishly retired,” Zane says with a hint of bitterness to his voice. Like the word itself holds a different meaning to him.

I clench my jaw. Carlos Wilson’s decision to abandon his business and leave with his new wife to live on the other side of the planet certainly threw quite a few people for a loop, including his close associates. Things will be rocky for a while around the criminal underbelly of the city, making me that more grateful he vouched for me with his old acquaintance.

“He’s had enough of this life for some time, I think,” I say, immediately wondering if I should have kept that to myself.

The old man and I got pretty comfortable in the years I’ve worked for him. I must remember that things might work differently here. I need to tread that tricky line of being useful and respectful while not allowing people to step over me carefully.

Solomon snorts, tilting his head to the side. I notice he’s playing with a cigar in his hand, tapping it against the table.

“He’s a fool if he believes that. We all have our place in this world. A place where we are meant to be till the end, bitter or not. You understand that, don’t you?”

I meet his eyes with a serious expression. “I know nothing but this, sir. It’s what I do best,” I say, even if speaking those words tugs at something inside me.

I don’t want them to be true, not really. But life is hardly what we’d like it to be. I learned that a long time ago.

He seems pleased, easing some of my tension. At least it no longer feels like I’m standing here being interrogated or waiting for some sort of judgment. Smiling, Zane leans back into his expensive-looking leather chair that looks almost like a throne.

“Good. Now…you will mostly work for my son, Jasper,” he says. I can’t help but notice a hint of exasperation in his sigh that follows. I search my mind for the name. Jasper Zane. Jasper Zane. It sounds vaguely familiar. There are so many names in this business, and Carlos always told me not to worry about them, only about my orders. “I want you to fill the position of his driver. Recently, he’s had some trouble with unreliable characters, so the job is vacant. You’ll do what he asks you to, but at the end of the day, I also need you to keep an eye on him.”

The implication makes me draw in a deep breath and flex my shoulders.

What does he mean by that, exactly?

He notices my hesitancy and leans over the table. “Carlos spoke of your—how should I put this—ability to see certain things more clearly than most people your age usually do. My son’s not much older than you are. He is full of reckless, hungry confidence of youth. Sometimes he forgets he isn’t the master of this beast that I’ve built just yet. You earn that. He’s smart and capable, but he often fails to think about the broader picture before he acts. Or rather, he thinks he doesn’t have to. And that can be a fatal mistake. Though, of course, he believes himself untouchable, as many in their prime do. So…as you did with Carlos, I ask you to try to be a sensible influence on him when appropriate. Report to me if you feel like anything is unraveling in an…unproductive way.”

I don’t enjoy being put in a position to snitch on one dangerously powerful man to another, but it doesn’t seem like I have a choice. “I understand.”

Solomon Zane straightens his back again and joyfully puts the cigar in the corner of his mouth. There’s a crease there in his wrinkled skin that appears to aid in holding it perfectly. Created after years of repetition, probably.

“Very good! Trey is waiting for you outside. He is one of Jasper’s men. He’ll take you to my son’s base of operation and introduce you to him. We’ll keep in touch, Kobe.” He stands and walks around the desk with his hand out.

I’m surprised to see he’s a few inches shorter than me. Even just sitting there, he appeared taller.

Squeezing his hand tightly, I nod. The smell of his pheromones becomes clearer for a moment. It’s something akin to aged brandy with weirdly rusty yet sweet undertones. Funny . Almost like he was born for this life. Can’t imagine a scent like that on a librarian or a nurse.

Whatever little test of dominance he’s conducting as he holds my hand and looks into my eyes, I seem to have passed—he lets go and gives me a pat on the shoulder. I half expected having to prove my worth to him in some intense way, but I’m sure more of that will come. This sort of work always seems to attract cocky and violent alphas like a flickering street light does a moth.

I walk out of the room, feeling his gaze on me as I do, and take a discreet sigh of relief while I close the door behind me. Trey, Jasper Zane’s man, stands to the left leaning against the paneled wall with his back, head hanging down over his phone. He chuckles over a video he’s watching until I step closer and he finally notices me.

Clearly, things are more lax with Jasper. Carlos would have made an example of anyone slacking on their phones. ‘Young people and their lack of focus because of these tiny devilish boxes’, he’d rant and rave to me in the car.

“Huh. Kobe, yeah?” he asks, raising a brow as he studies me over his sunglasses. With a shaved head, some faded tattoos on his neck, and a left eye damaged by whatever caused the thick scar going through it and his eyebrow, he definitely looks the part of a stereotypical gangster. Besides his shoes, that is. They’re the shiny, expensive kind that don’t quite fit with the rest of his vibe.

Nodding, I put my hands in my pockets, finally able to relax my posture. “The boss said you’ll take me to…your boss,” I say awkwardly. “Zane Junior?”

Trey chuckles while shaking his head. “Fuck, don’t let him hear that. Just call him Boss,” he says while putting his phone away and pushed himself from the wall. “Come on.” I follow as we walk through the hall of Solomon Zane’s house, heading back outside. “No ‘sir’ or ‘mister’ or any of that bullshit. Boss don’t like that.”

Stop worrying, I order myself when the bothersome thoughts push their way into my mind again.

If I’ve learned anything in my time in this world, it is to worry about the reckless, ambitious newcomers more than the old league. Carlos or Solomon might have been living this way and toying with people’s lives for decades, and they are worthy of the respect they demand, but I know what to expect from them. There’s this old school sense of set morals and expectations. A creed.

“Sure,” I say. The packet of cigarettes in my pocket calls my name, but I’ll have to leave my nervous habit for later. I gotta focus on making the best impression.

All I want is to come home today knowing I have my place in this ring and solid ground under my feet once again. Or at least an illusion of it.

We drive across the town to a fairly inconspicuous industrial area to the south. It’s the perfect mix between being too rundown and sketchy and being just unappealing and distant enough for regular people to not really venture here. I recognize some buildings and streets vaguely. I’ve driven by them before, though Mr. Wilson had a hand in the more developed northeast areas of the city rather than here.

“You goin’ to be the new driver, then?” Trey asks after a while of silence.

Hanging my elbow out of the open window, I nod. “Heard you had problems with the last one,” I say, discreetly trying to figure out what exactly were the issues that got the guy before me decommissioned .

Trey grins. “He’s the one who had a problem,” he mutters ominously. “All I’m sayin’ is, you better not have a drug issue. Boss don’t like slackers. Or idiots. And especially junkie slacking idiots. Keep bein’ useful and you’re golden.”

“Not my thing,” I say, looking out of the window. I’ve survived this long by being diligent and careful.

I should be fine, right?

We arrive at a decently sized warehouse that stands against some abandoned buildings on one side, with the parking lot against a tall, questionably stable concrete wall and under the overpass above. Boarded-up windows cover most of the building, but the smaller top level has lights coming through. The entrance is the only place that seems put together, with a red neon stripe running above the door, a burgundy carpet, and two bulky men standing guard there.

We park by the side of the road, right next to an upturned trash can. A rat scurries away from it as I step out.

Both of the bouncers lift their chins as we get close, greeting Trey.

“The fresh face?”

“Ya. Approved by the Ol’ Pops,” Trey says.

I nod at each of the guys as we pass, and they give me a passing glance back. One of them is an alpha—he’s spreading his pheromones on display on purpose to intimidate. Thankfully, I don’t think he notices mine by the time I walk away. The word will spread eventually, of course. I just hope I won’t have to fight for my place between the most peacocking alphas around here too hard.

We approach a wide staircase, still following the burgundy carpet.

“This is the Dollhouse,” Trey says with a spark to his voice, glancing at me over his shoulder with a smirk. “I hear your old boss wasn’t a fan of this type of business. Count your lucky stars, cuz ours knows what’s good.”

Before I can even think about what he means, we enter the door with a heavy curtain covering it from the other side. The massive room ahead, guarded by two more bouncers, has a pitch-black ceiling, crimson floor tiles peeking from behind burgundy carpets, and is filled with a strong smell of perfume.

The air is thick; not uncomfortably, but it has a sort of dense quality to it. It must be the mixture of pheromones, various other scents, and expensive alcohol. A lot of it. Sensual, calming music plays faintly over our heads, serving as the background to the moans and grunts.

A brothel. Charming.

“Course…you can only look. No touchin’,” Trey clarifies as we make our way through. It’s quite busy for such an early hour of the night. There are private booths and rooms to the sides, with more voyeurism-friendly little cubicles of pleasure in the middle.

Beautiful, scantily clad women walk around with trays of champagne, coming from the bar across the room.

“Seems like a lucrative venture,” I note quietly as we go.

Trey chuckles. “Sure is. All sorts of important n’ influential people come to see his dolls. Everyone likes to fuck, right? I mean, shit, it’s so simple it’s genius! Builds good faith to give a man a nice hole. And these ain’t no ordinary whores. Only the best of the best.”

I suppress a disgruntled grimace, thankful I’m a step behind Trey. I guess that’s a way to look at things.

In front of the bar, in the near center of the room, is a stage with a large suspended bed. Trey slows down as we are about to pass, almost like he wants to let me witness what’s happening. Among all the debauchery and soulless lust, I see a man being held by another, and the entire scene stirs something inside of me.

Up there on his knees, he’s taken from the back by some sweaty client of the age way past his prime, who grunts as he wraps his hand around his throat. The man flexes his stomach muscles as he tries to hold himself up, eyes closed and mouth open wide. Longer black hair waves softly and falls into his radiant, youthful face and over his neck, sticking to it with glistening sweat.

He’s an omega. I can sense it. Just like most of the dolls here are, I suspect.

His frame is slender and his skin as white as milk. Smooth looking, spotless—that is besides the piercings in his nipples and a couple of small moles scattered here and there.

Something about him is…striking. Or rather, everything about him is? He stands out. He looks like one of those dramatic ancient paintings. The ones with people positioned in the most perfect way. Meticulously crafted. Just as he is, aesthetically pleasing and proportionate, with his long pink cock bouncing up and down as the man behind takes him. The overhead light shines down on him, making him the center of attention, and it suits him. Like he was made for this moment.

“Told ya,” Trey quips over my shoulder.

I blink, realizing I’ve stopped for far too long. I quickly collect myself and turn to him. He has a knowing grimace on his face. I want to tell him I’m not like that; that I don’t lust for that person like some animal, but I can’t really explain why I got mesmerized by him either, so I keep quiet and follow.

Not that he would care, anyway.

Once we leave that place, it’s like returning to the real world. From the warm room pounding with scents, music and passion, we’re back in one of the cold, gray hallways that exist only to be cold and gray.

“The warehouse where we do most of the business is at the back here.” I let Trey lead and explain, sinking into a feeling of familiarity again. The dark, unremarkable corners like this are where I belong. My calling is to be in the background, not the limelight. That’s how I like it.

After that, Trey shows me the rec rooms and the main office at the very top of the building. And that is where I finally meet him. The boss.

Jasper Zane’s office is much simpler and more contemporary compared to his father’s. It shows the modern meaning of money with abstract paintings that probably cost a fortune hanging on the walls, several large monitors on his desk, gadgets, and a gold pistol sitting on a display by his phone. The tall, tinted windows with sleek, adjustable metal blinds allow a look at the city but let no one have a glimpse inside.

Jasper meets me with a fiery gaze. He’s at least 6'2", with broad shoulders and sharp features, especially the strong nose with an arch near the top. He lowers his thick brows slowly while shaking my hand. Right away, I’m hit with the scent of his pheromones, rich and powerful with intention. Unlike his father, he smells of crisp ocean air.

“You’re the driver my old man promised…” he notes drily while looking me over. With no shame, he flares his nostrils and homes in on my scent.

I push aside the wave of discomfort and straighten my back. “I am your man now, from what I understand. Sir.”

He smirks. Stepping away, he rubs his short, full beard and walks around me in a circle. “We’ll see if you’re as capable as they say. Either way, I need a new driver, so I guess we’ll give you a shot.” Making his way in front of me again, his striking blue gaze bores into me. I don’t let him shake me and nod with a faint, respectful smile. “Won’t go easy on you, just so you know.”

“Wouldn’t expect it,” I say firmly.

Jasper leans against his table and crosses his arms. “Let us get started, then.”

I come home in the early hours of the morning, exhausted and longing for nothing more than to turn off my brain. After following Jasper and his entourage of men who seemed more like some fraternity than anything, and driving him around the city, I was told to go and to return the next day.

My nightmares of being hazed or just flat-out refused for being an omega didn’t come true. I’ve been lucky enough in the past, but I heard the horror stories. Seen the videos… Still, the uneasy sensation at the bottom of my stomach remains.

When I quietly unlock the door to the apartment, I can’t shake the feeling of disappointment, even though I should be happy. I didn’t have the courage to leave when Mr. Wilson told me about his retirement, so I’m trapped living this life on the fringes of society.

I should’ve jumped at the opportunity.

He would’ve let me go—I know he would, because he did others—but I was too afraid. Afraid of the change, of the problems it could bring, and of how unstable my place in the world would be after. I’ ve kept myself stuck. Again.

I have to remind myself that in the end, what matters is that it lets me take care of the ones I love.

Hannah, my brother’s carer, stands sharply from the couch where she was reading a book. “Oh. Hello,” she says with raised brows, having expected me later.

“Hey.” I smile at her, already getting out my wallet. She gets paid by the agency, but when she does some extra time outside the regular schedule, I like to give her a tip on top of that. “Thanks for staying even after he went to sleep. How was he today?”

“He got a bit upset near dinnertime, but I think the new medication is helping. He doesn’t get agitated as easily, which is great. It seems to really help stabilize his emotions. I can see the difference already.”

“That’s great to hear.” I wish I could be around more, but the money I place in Hannah’s hand doesn’t come easy. What it buys is safety, care, and a little more order in our lives. “He has classes tomorrow, right? I’ll try to remember to make him lunch this time,” I say with an apologetic expression.

“He’d like that,” Hannah says with a tender smile. She’s a sweet girl. “Anyway, he was completely out after we went down to play some football, so you should be able to sleep in. Marci didn’t feel very well, so she didn’t come with us. I hope she’s better again soon. You have a good night.”

“Thanks again. Be safe on your way home.” If I wasn’t so tired, I would have taken her to her car. This isn’t the best of neighborhoods.

Waving, Hannah sneaks out of the main door and I lock it behind her.

With a yawn, I rest against the wall and close my eyes for a moment. Even with everyone provided for, it never feels like I’m doing enough.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I check on both Skyler and Marci in their rooms before heading to my bedroom. I place my gun in the drawer by the bed, take my shirt off and kick my pants into the corner with the other dirty clothes I’ve needed to wash for days. Having a shower and washing off all the scents and stench from today would be nice, but it would wake up Marci, so I lay down with a sigh, resigned to having to sleep like this.

Faces move in front of my eyes as I close them. Solomon Zane. His son. The glances of the people in the headquarters. Fragments of words spoken today pound in my head faintly, overlapping each other.

They all acted cautiously around me because I’m nothing but a stranger right now. It won’t be as easy going forward. The anxious expectations gnaw at me.

Hoping to get comfortable, I rub my face and turn to the side, sinking into my pillow with my arm bent upward under it.

As my mind refuses to quiet, the sensations of the Dollhouse come back to me. The warmth and pressure in the air. The omega on the stage, beautiful in such a bitterly objectifying way. For a moment my chest gets heavy, as I wonder what I could have seen—who he could be—if he had opened his eyes and let me have a look within.