Faith & the Dead End Devils (Sweet Omegaverse, #8)(24)

She'd dressed in silence, face blank, and when we'd reached Chance's door, drawing him out, she'd taken his hand rather than mine. I was trying not to examine how much that bothered me, and the fact that it meant King might be right about my being too attached.

Fucking King.

I'd heard the crew ride out at dawn, and I'd actually sighed with relief. I could let my guard down a little bit with Butterfly, bring her out of the room if she wanted.

Listen to her beg and whine and gasp with pleasure without worrying about who might hear and question the sounds. Let her perfume flood my room until it embedded itself in the walls.

I tightened my fists. Too attached? Who, me?

There's a bond. Or something like it–a little softer and quieter and easier to push aside, from what I knew about bonds. A definite thread tied between Butterfly and me. What would happen if…when…if Preston Bowers walked out of the club with her at his side?

A growl rose in my throat as we reached the bar, and I buried the sound. I needed to be calm, or Butterfly would pick up on it. Because as much as I thought King was an absolute bastard for springing this on me, and her, he was right. She needed a pack to protect her. One with money, connections, a real fucking nest.

But I knew for a fact she'd be taking everything I'd gotten for her into that nest and those alphas would be stuck smelling me for days. Good.

Preston Bowers was, as far as I understood, the grease behind the wheels that turned the state. He wasn't a politician and he wasn't a businessman, or at least not outright; but he had hands in both of those worlds. And he wasn't so squeaky clean as to not be tangled up somehow with our crew. King probably paid him off to keep our asses out of minor offenses. I wasn't sure how I felt about him being chosen for Butterfly, but it wasn't like King would know very many alphas who weren't dirty in some way.

Bowers stood in the middle of the room, looking like he both owned and hated the bar. I hoped to god the former wasn't true. He was dressed in some kind of preppy-casual costume that I was sure had cost a small fortune. He didn't look at us right away, surveying the stains on the ceiling before slowly turning in our direction. He was handsome, clean-cut, and in decent shape.

King stood behind him, holding my gaze, a warning in his stare. Don't interfere.

"This is her?" Preston asked, as if I were likely to parade out some other omega we had on hand.

She was dressed in a pair of soft leggings, cheap foam flip flops, and a loose hoodie layered over my T-shirt. She had her own, but she'd pulled mine from the nest with a defiant jut of her chin and I…

I hadn't had the fucking sense to stop her. I'd wanted her in it.

Her hair was brushed, but it was already starting to go wild around her head, and altogether she looked small and fragile and wary. And so fucking beautiful it took everything in me to force myself to step back, to give room for Preston to move in.

King didn't know Butterfly couldn't see very well; he didn't know she had headaches. He hadn't given me time to tell him that she'd slid back into her hindbrain yesterday, stress and the heat muddling her into a state of biological emergency. I should've forced the knowledge onto him and Preston, maybe it would've changed things…

Maybe that was what I was afraid of.

Preston stepped forward, surveying her like a fucking car or a piece of furniture he was considering for his house.

"You are in rough shape, aren't you, little omega?" he said in a purr.

Chance tried to release her hand but she was clinging to him, and she let out a soft snarl of warning to Preston, who paused briefly. I kept my smile under control as he glanced at me, tried to bury the pride in my chest.

"She's stressed, it's understandable. Maybe we should talk first, about what I know of her state so far," I started.

But the man scoffed and stepped forward again, just out of reach. "Omega," he said, and the hairs on my arms stood on end at the command in his voice. "You need to behave—"

I glared at King, my entire body stiffening at the bark in this asshole's voice. King's eyes were narrowed on Preston's back, his scruffy jaw clenched, and I missed the moment my girl had enough.

There was a snap in my chest that drew out my growl, tuned in chorus with Butterfly's, and I twisted around again just in time to watch her swing a clawed hand in his direction.

"Fuck," I bit out, lunging forward as Preston caught her wrist.

That didn't stop my little butterfly. For a jealous moment, I wondered if she would bite him too, but I watched with a panicked pride as she headbutted him in the sternum. She clawed and scratched and shoved at him, Chance reaching for her with wide eyes.

"Little bitch—" Preston snarled, his hand tightening to white knuckles as my own did the same at my sides, ready to lunge at the other alpha.

"Enough!"

King's bark was stronger by far, cutting through Preston's hiss and stilling Butterfly, even pausing my own steps. Chance wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her away, and Preston stomped forward before I caught him by the shoulder.

"She's feral," he growled.

"Of course she is," I snapped. "She's frightened. Traumatized. I tried to explain," I said, glaring back at King briefly. "Chance, get her back to the nest."

"She smells like you," Preston pointed out, narrowing his eyes and glancing between me and Butterfly.