Faith & the Dead End Devils (Sweet Omegaverse, #8)(14)

"Chance," the beta said.

"Bear calls me Butterfly."

A sharp laugh cracked out of the beta's throat, and he stifled it quickly. "Jesus. I'm…not going to do that." The blur of his hand reached for my face before I could pull away. "How about I just call you 'omega'?" he said with a slightly comical growl.

I tensed at the word and shook my head.

"Fair enough," he murmured, not releasing me.

He wasn't supposed to touch me. Then again, my hand was still holding his wrist, warm and muscular in my grip. And Chance was gentle, holding my jaw between his thumb and forefinger, the others resting against my throat, little tingles of heat. My cheeks warmed, and I realized he was studying me.

"Birdy," he said. My eyes widened, and he continued, "Little bird in her cage."

"Not much better than Butterfly," I said, frowning.

He laughed again and it was a warmer sound. His phone chimed and he pulled away at last. I forced my hand to let go of him too, although I missed his warm skin immediately, a human anchor in the fog of my vision.

Chance's laugh continued as he read whatever message was sent. "King is gonna regret not bringing the club in on this. Grabbing lunch is prospect shit."

"Prospect?"

"Prospect members of our crew. Motorcycle crew," Chance explained.

I recalled the roar of engines before the chaos. Motorcycles.

"Bear, Chance, King… You all have funny names."

"They're road names, Birdy. You join a motorcycle crew, you give up your civilian life and you take a new name. Bear's kind of obvious—man is stacked. King's been lordly all his life as far as any of us can tell, but it also happens to be his last name."

"And Chance?"

He shifted again, moving away from the nest to lean his back against the bed frame. He stretched long legs out in front of him, and I reached out, studying the black denim fabric with my fingers.

"Chance is my real name, actually. My dad belonged to this crew. Gave me and my brother our road names as soon as we were born. It suits, I guess. Not lucky, not unlucky. Just sitting on that knife's edge, waiting to see which way I topple."

I sank back into my pillows, found his T-shirt under my hand, and tangled my fingers in the soft fabric in lieu of grabbing onto the beta. "I think I was born unlucky. I…" I pressed my lips together briefly, debating how much to say, before I found some of the words spilling out anyway. "I lost my parents straight away. And…obviously, it didn't get a lot better later."

"You're an omega," Chance pointed out.

"That's not lucky. Most omegas are packed up before they've even finished fully mentally developing," I said. It was Adam's speech, not mine. I'd been the optimistic one. I'd believed in the fairy tale for a someday we never reached in all our running. "And going into the system as an omega is…living as a product alphas are just waiting to buy."

Chance was quiet, and I ducked my head. A lot of betas resented omegas. Maybe he did too. Maybe I sounded like a privileged girl whining about her pedestal to him—a pedestal I'd sat on while being auctioned off.

But he moved again, shuffling close. And in spite of that supposed no touching rule, he reached into the nest, finding my hand and gripping it in his.

"Good point," he said simply, and I relaxed. "Can't exactly argue your shit luck after yesterday."

"Yesterday was an improvement," I murmured.

His hand squeezed mine. "We'll keep working on that, okay, birdy?"

If Chance's name had left him hanging in the moment between good luck and bad luck, in the opportunity for things to go right or wrong, mine had been the constant belief that all the horrible might one day suddenly be replaced with something nice.

Nice had come in little moments. Brief pauses with Adam as we suffered through. Nice had been sleeping for eight hours. Having a spare room to stay in instead of a couch. Money to eat real meals or, even better, groceries and a kitchen to cook them in.

At the moment, nice was an alpha whose touch set me on fire and who seemed to want nothing else but to keep me hidden and safe. Nice was a beta who smelled good and who held my hand and agreed that in spite of winning the supposed designation lottery at birth, I'd been dealt a shit hand in life.

I didn't know how to find Adam. I could barely see, let alone get my way onto the server we used to contact him. I'd just been stolen from the men who'd paid to own my body.

I wanted to keep nice. I had nice in my grip right now and absolutely no intention of letting it go. I would dig my teeth into nice like an alpha and claim it for myself.





"This was not the agreement."

"I know."

The words rumbled in my ear from the chest my head rested on. Chance was tense, and my arms tightened around him.

"Don't get up," Bear said. "I'm relieved, actually."

Chance didn't really relax, but he didn't move either.

My head had started to throb again after an irate sounding alpha had dropped off a huge tray of bizarrely chosen food—more cans of lemonade, string cheese, a sleeve of crackers, an unopened bag of pepperoni, a can of olives, a box of cookies, and a jar of peanut butter—and I'd had a strange but satisfying feast to myself, with Chance watching from his spot on the bed.