Faith & the Dead End Devils (Sweet Omegaverse, #8)
Kathryn Moon
A NOTE ON THIS OMEGAVERSE
There are no shifters in this book.
Aside from the unusual human biology, this Omegaverse is not a paranormal romance. These alphas, betas, and omegas are not shifters. This is an alternate universe to ours, with an alternate human biology that includes animalistic traits adapted to a romance premise. There are fancy sexy bits, mating instincts, pheromones, bonding marks, growls, purrs, and whines, as well as a slight hierarchal social construct. At the most basic, alphas are considered powerful and prone to leadership and they form family packs, omegas as the precious and sexual glue that holds those packs together, and betas are the average and normal.
For a complete list of content information please check out kathrynmoon.com/books but here are some pertinent details!Content information includes:
Murder and violence, past human trafficking, surprise biting, discussion and mention of past trauma including forced medication and forced arousal, closeted mm relationships, mild situational dubious consent.
1. BEAR
My ears rang in a determined alarm as I dragged the lifeless driver out of the front seat, glaring at the gun still gripped in his fist.
A hand clapped on my shoulder and I clenched my jaw, the handle of my gun biting into my grip, finger safely pulled away from the trigger. Ghost released me as quickly as he'd grabbed me.
"Sorry," he said, although the word was swallowed by the siren running in my head and I had to study his mouth to catch what he was saying. "You good?"
"Not shot in the face, if that's what you're asking," I answered, glancing back down at the body at my feet. It was a near thing, the bullet cutting a few strands of hair short. Adrenaline was still whipping through me.
"King wants you at the back before we open it up," Ghost said.
"He's not a Western Wasted," I said, nodding my head toward the dead man.
The driver of the delivery van we'd intercepted was dressed conservatively, the kind of meek and mild-looking beta you'd expect to find going door to door with product surveys. But the van had been equipped with a goddamn booby trap, dropping spikes on the road that had torn up the tires of my bike and nearly my leg as I'd rolled free. And the beta had nearly managed to take me out first, trained well with the gun in his hand. I was trained too, ex-military, but in this moment I'd simply been lucky, and I didn't like relying on luck.
"Brothers are keeping an eye on the road but there's no sign of the Wasted," Ghost said.
My hearing was calming down after the too-close shot from the beta's gun. I bent and retrieved it from his still-warm fingers, then rummaged through his pockets, coming up with keys and a wallet full of cash, but no ID. Ghost pulled an open cellphone off the seat.
"Open to call, but no recent history," Ghost said, flipping up dark sunglasses and running tan, scarred fingers through his dark beard.
"Turn off location and then pull that apart. There's probably more security hidden in it," I added, glaring at the empty passenger seat.
Just one driver? For a full van's delivery?
We'd caught word that our MC rivals, the Western Wasted, were expecting a scheduled delivery via the Wasted VPs girl arriving bruised and bloodied on our doorstep. I warned King, president of our club, it could just as easily be a trap for us as a lead on what the Wasted were up to. They hadn't come right out and started shit yet, aside from a little light dealing of oxy in our territory, but all intel and signs pointed to a new MC looking to grow and eat up surrounding clubs. Interrupting a delivery that crossed our lines and taking whatever shit they were dealing would be, in King's opinion, a swift reminder of the laws of the one-percent.
Stay out of the way of the clubs who can crush you.
"You think it's a weak score?" Ghost asked.
I frowned and shook my head. "I don't know what I think."
"Bear."
I turned and marched toward the back of the van where King waited, glaring at the locked doors, alpha pheromones simmering with the same caution buzzing in my veins. At his side, Chance, a beta birthright member of our club, the Dead End Devils, had his back to the van and watched the progress of the other club members cleaning up the scene.
"We don't have much time," Chance said, pale eyes narrowed and tattooed knuckles clenched white at his sides.
King didn't blink. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at his own severe reflection in the smooth black of the van's paint job.
"Think there's a chance of explosives?" he asked me.
"You mean in the cargo, or it'll set off when we open the doors?" I asked in return, shrugging. "You hit the back hard, so it probably would've gone off already. Cargo is more likely arms or drugs."
King's gaze flicked to mine, icy, considering.
I respected our prez, but the man was a fortress of an alpha. I knew I looked the part of enforcer in size and appearance, but I had no doubt that of all the Dead End Devils, King would be the coldest and most brutal when it came down to it.
"I've got the key. There's no sign of any other device to open the doors. If we're walking into a trap, I don't think it's an explosive," I said.