Page 35 of Your Wild Omega (The Feral Actress #2)

Chapter twenty-nine

Callisto

My skin crawls a little as I settle onto a cracked leather stool at the sticky barkeep of the unfamiliar pub.

Eighties music blares from the next room, undershot by the crack of billiard balls.

Cigarette haze hangs in the air, the patrons clearly ignoring every law on indoor smoking. Probably ignoring most laws.

“You look like you’re the wrong guy in the wrong place,” the barkeep tells me, eyeing me up and down. Although she has to be well over fifty, she sports a tank top and fishnet stockings under tiny leather shorts.

I smile wryly. “But am I in the right place for a beer?”

Her eyebrows pop and she shrugs, turning to pour a golden ale. The foam slips over the rim as she slaps it down on the bar. “That’ll be ten bucks. Cash.”

I whistle but fork out when she doesn’t relent. Gotta pay the ferryman on the way to hell. My phone vibrates and I tug it out of my pocket to take a look. A message from my mother glows against the sunset backdrop.

Can you possibly join us for family lunch on Thursday?

A smile toys on my lips as I tap back a reply.

Last weekend was the hardest moment of my life since my father’s passing, and yet, like a trembling phoenix, something good rose from the ashes.

My relationship with Mom is fragile and featherless right now, but so long as I nurture it, we’ll find a way forward.

I always thought I didn’t have time, but it turns out I just didn’t make time available in the right places.

Sipping the frothy beer, I check my calendar and ask Hale to push back a client meeting on Thursday afternoon.

Then I reply to Mom to let her know I’ll attend.

All the while, the eyes of the beefy, tattooed men and hardened women drill through my back.

A yawn tickles in my chest, but I breathe deeply to keep it at bay.

Drowsiness dogs my steps, not only from working long hours to keep up with my caseload, but because for the first time in my life, I’m not sleeping well.

The hotel apartment smells lifeless, and I’ve grown used to falling asleep to the muffled murmurs of Red making love to her men.

A musclehead alpha with more hair on his jaw than his scalp slides in beside me. “You lost, sonny boy?”

I lick foam from the rim of the glass and glance over. My drowsiness drops away, replaced by instinctive alertness, as I jerk my thumb toward the bartender. “She seems to think so.”

The man chuckles and pops his chunky, tattooed knuckles loudly. “Don’t mind Grandma. Menopause made her a li’l cranky and she never recovered. You a cop?”

I wrinkle my nose. I tried to dress down, but since I haven’t been home to collect anything, I didn’t have many options. “No, I’m a lawyer.”

He scoffs. “Better and better.”

I dig out my business card and fiddle with it between two fingers. “Who do I have to talk to about a favor?”

His bushy brows pop. “Yeah, you’re in the wrong place for sure.” He leans back on the bar on his elbows. “That’s prejudice speaking. Just because a motorcycle club runs this joint doesn’t mean we’re doing anything illegal.”

“Sure, whatever floats your boat.” I drop the card on the bench and then unbutton my shirt. I hold it open to show him my bare chest.

He draws back with a scowl. “You look good, lad, but I’m not into—”

I shake my head. “Just showing you I’m not wired.”

“You realize technology has evolved since wires and battery-powered recorders?” His eyes twinkle with merriment.

I flush and slide my phone across the bar top. “What do you need to see then?”

The bulky man crosses his arms over his chest and snorts. “It’s fine. Go on.”

“I got a personal reference for this place. Maybe you don’t do favors now, but once upon a time someone here did, ’cause they helped my dad.

” If I’m really going to investigate this angle, I decided it’s better to deal with someone I’ve never had contact with before, rather than criminals I’ve represented in the past. No traceable ties.

He glances at the card and drags it closer with one fingernail, like someone might take a print off it. “Wren, huh?” he muses aloud while reading my name. Abruptly he stands. “My name’s Dodge. Leave your phone with the lady and come with me.”

I push my phone across the bar but take my pint with me, since I paid a small fortune for it, and follow him into a back room. He snaps his fingers at a few guys along the way and they flow after us like grizzly bears looking for honey. Hopefully not any extracted from me.

“This here is ol’ Alistair Wren’s boy, if I’m not mistaken,” Dodge says once the door shuts behind us, locking us in a wood- paneled room decorated with black-and-white photos of old Harley-Davidson motorcycles.

The second man, equally beefy with a spider tattooed under his eye, scans me up and down. “That right? God rest the gent’s soul.”

The younger of the three men thumbs through his phone, leaning his hip on an old table.

“Barrister over at Harkman and Laurance,” he reads off the screen.

“Currently has a ninety-four-case win streak. Believed to be on track for partnership at the firm.” He chuckles darkly as his gaze flicks up with a calculated look. “Bane of the corporate-crime world.”

I purse my lips. “Don’t recall putting that on my LinkedUp profile.”

The guy grins at me, revealing a couple of black teeth. “Who said that’s where I was searching?” he declares smugly, which reassures me I’m in the right place.

The first guy indicates a chair for me to sit at a round table. “You don’t sound like the kind of man who loses, Callisto, so even though we can’t help you, tell me about this hypothetical favor.” He jerks his chin upward. “And do up your shirt before Jackson here gets any ideas.”

The younger guy grins and licks his lips. “Aww, boss, don’t ruin my fun.”

“No thanks,” I retort, wagging one finger. “My type has less facial hair and nothing dangling between their thighs.”

I contain my shudder as I sit down, taking a long draft of cold beer as a distraction, and it fizzes across my tongue before the flavor melts away.

I fasten my buttons quickly, ignoring Jackson’s exaggerated sighs, but as I do, the memory of a naked Ricky hanging over Zack’s shoulder pops into mind.

Jackson here repulses me, but Ricky . . . well, he’s a different matter.

I return my hands to the chilly glass, dragging my thoughts back to business.

Career has always been the most important thing to me, but just sitting here could jeopardize it all.

It goes against everything I studied in every legal ethics class, and yet I can’t bear the idea of that fucking bastard walking free. My insides feel shivery at the idea.

I draw myself up straight to face Dodge. “You might’ve heard about the illegal omega trafficking hub that got shut down outside the city a few months back.”

The leader’s eyes narrow. It did cross my mind that this club was involved, but considering how many leads the OCB are tracing, I think I’d know if that were the case.

Dodge catches my eye. “We’d never be involved in hurting omegas, buddy. Don’t even think it.” His other pal shakes his head emphatically.

I hold his gaze. “I’m working on the cases in partnership with the OCB. It involves this one fucker about to stand trial who I don’t think I can put away. He was the only alpha arrested at the scene.”

The second guy, whose hair is going gray in streaks, folds his arms across his chest. “Why are you sure he’s guilty if you can’t find evidence?”

I look down and trace the handle of my pint glass. “Because the omega he did it to is living in my house, and she told me.”

Dodge clicks his tongue. “So what’s the problem?”

“She refuses to testify . . . and I can’t blame her one bit. No one would want to relive what she went through.”

All three of them stiffen as the situation settles into place.

I sigh and tighten my grip on the glass. The words taste bitter in my mouth, and it has nothing to do with the foamy brew. “The OCB seized forty-three vials of haze, all hers, during the arrest. And that’s just the leftovers from one heat. She was there for years, going into heat every two months.”

Even these world-weary men grow pale as the numbers stack up.

Hundreds per year become thousands over a decade.

Now and then, Red wears a shirt that exposes her collarbone, revealing the needle scars.

The tracks march over her skin like a colony of ants, probably never quite healing before the next invasion began.

Dodge coughs into his fist. “You looking to plant evidence?”

I grunt out a negative. I’m not above a bit of shaking down, but my love for the justice system would never allow me to bring false evidence to the courtroom.

After shaking my head, I take another long swig.

“I’m going to do everything I can to hammer him over the head with the book .

. . but if I fail and he walks free . . .

” I pause, a lump in my throat growing to an unbearable size. “Well, that can’t happen.”

“Fuck,” Jackson hisses.

Dodge rests a hammer hand on his shoulder to quiet him and nods slowly. “That’d be an injustice, for sure. It sounds like you want him to pay?”

I squeeze my hands around the slippery glass. “I don’t want him walking the same soil as her. That’s all.” Maybe I can’t be by her side, but surely I can protect from the shadows. Doing nothing isn’t an option.

Dodge taps a finger on the wooden tabletop. “If there was someone in some fantasy world who could help, they’d have to verify some facts and get back to you. They’d need a name and then you’d need to buy something. Something expensive.”

I lean forward, holding his gaze.

He waits another long minute, studying me, before he holds out his palm. His silent partner digs into his leather vest and pulls out a little cardboard flip-wallet. Dodge slides it across the table.

I open it to find two sleeves, one with a blank card, and the other with a printed business card. Dodge sets a pen beside my hand with a loud clack, and I write the name on the blank card: Ray Fibbistachi.

A cold chill clutches at me as I slide it back to Dodge and draw the other card. It’s a business slip with the details for a used car dealership. Must be their front. “Which car would I buy?” I ask. “In a fictional world where we both say yes?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Just make sure you get the two-year maintenance package with it.”

I nod and slip the card into my wallet. “I’m guessing I was never here, and you never saw me?”

Dodge spreads his hands. “We’re just having a beer. As a lawyer, you must know a half truth is more powerful than a total lie.”

I snort and rise to my feet. I planned to leave right away, but the idea of a black market for personal information still bothers me. The younger man eyes my body without even trying to disguise his interest.

I clear my throat to focus his attention. “Just a passing curiosity, but what does a man have to do to get a subscription to your interesting little app, Jackson?”

He grins, revealing those spots of darkness in his teeth, and rests his hand protectively over the phone on the table.

“Nothing a squeaky-clean man like you could ever dream about doing.” Despite his smile, an icy undertone shadows his voice, like I gazed too long into the abyss and now it’s staring back at me.

“I see.” He’s right. I want nothing to do with this lifestyle. Usually I’m the one putting men like him behind bars for a very long time. Might even see them in a courtroom in the future.

The second-in-command folds his arms over his chest, his expression darkening. My hair stands on end as his aura turns threatening. “Hope it goes without saying not a word of the business reaches anyone else’s ears? Dodge might be a laid-back guy, but I’m not.”

I nod, my skin crawling. “Of course. I’ll be going then.” I see myself out of the small room, rushing to escape the dangerous energy behind me.

“Mr Wren?” Dodge calls.

I turn in the threshold to find him leaning against the open arch between rooms.

He grins. “Your father did crazy things for his omega, too.”

Heat floods through me, followed by panic. I have to get out of here. I lift my hand to let him know I heard, and then race outside. He’s wrong. I didn’t do crazy things for my omega—I turned my back on her, which is why I’m here now, grasping at rotten straws.

It seems I’ve completely lost my mind.