Faith & the Dead End Devils (Sweet Omegaverse, #8)(60)

Chance helped the omega off his lap, sliding out of the booth before her, blocking her from my sight for a moment before she darted through the meeting door. The air was mild and sweet, her perfume pleasant but not overpowering or mouthwatering.

"The plan changed," Chance said as the door to the bar banged open.

I cringed at the sound of the others arriving, so much I wanted to say—to shout—now trapped in my throat.

Chance glanced over my shoulder, the smooth-as-glass serenity he’d been sporting tightening to his usual scowl. Or maybe not quite as dark as before. He turned on his heel, following after the omega without another glance or word to me.

I wanted to chase after him, grab him and prove to him, and to her, that he was as obsessed with me as I was with him. I wanted to turn around and march out of the club, go to the garage and work on the solvable puzzles and problems of machinery. I wanted to start a fucking fight, get punched in the face and knocked down to the ground.

Rider clapped a hand on my shoulder, nose up to the air. "Jesus, King wash off all the good funk out of the place while we were gone?"

He'd washed the omega's perfume out of the air, I realized, grunting in answer to Rider and letting him carry me along with the others toward the meeting room. My eyes found the omega immediately, sandwiched between King and Bear, and at my side Rider's steps slowed.

"The fuck?" he muttered. "You know about this?"

I shook my head, unable to find my own voice, too busy locating Chance in the corner, back propped against the wall, arms and legs crossed.

King stood from his seat, and the omega leaned into Bear's side, but she gazed up at our prez. She looked almost nothing like the creature I'd seen in the van. She was slim and pretty, with a pile of chestnut brown hair on the top of her head and a natural smile on her lips. Her eyes flicked to the back corner of the room where Chance stood, and I understood that flicker of longing on her face. She was exactly the sort of woman I would distract myself with, then discard when her interest peaked. I hated her.

"Quit gaping and take a seat," King called to us, as a murmur of interest and chuckles rose up behind me.

"Didn't know we could bring club ass to meetings, Prez," Skid joked.

King and Bear just scowled. In her seat, the girl shrunk as we rounded the table. I was at Bear's right, and her scent was clearer, a touch sweeter. Something was muting the intensity of it, but it was a poor disguise, and it covered Bear too, like he'd been dipped in syrup. If the others didn't realize she was an omega, she would still be a tempting as hell beta.

Trouble.

The look on her face—on Bear's and King's and Chance's too—said she knew as much.

"Who's the treat?" another man called.

"Sit," King snapped, and even without the command of a bark, out of the corner of my eye I caught the omega twitching.

The Devil's prez glared out over us with the last scrape of chairs and muttered remarks.

"This here is Butterfly," King said, and he didn't have to point to the woman or even glance in her direction for us all to know exactly whom he meant. "She was sold to the Wasted. We found her in the raid."

King waited for the stir of interest and revelation to sweep around the table. I watched my brothers' faces. There were those who relaxed—the ones Rider and Skid had been stirring up suspicion in on the ride—who were grateful to finally have the explanation for what had seemed like a phony bust weeks ago. And there were those who now stared at “Butterfly” with intrigued hunger, who would easily snap her up for the same purposes the Wasted would've.

"She's club property now, by her own choice," King said, expression hardening as a few hoots of excitement rose up. "What she is not is club ass."

"Unless by her own choice, right, Prez?" Rider called, grinning easily up at King with narrowed eyes, drawing up more laughter from his cronies.

Bear had her hand in his on his lap, and her fingers were white as she gripped him.

"She's an old lady. As such, she has our protection," King said, flat and hard as ever, ignoring the slathering grins and stares pointed in the woman's direction. Only half the expressions sobered at the announcement.

"Whose?" I asked, my eyes physically aching with the urge to twist and stare in Chance's direction.

"Mine," Bear said, voice barely stifling a growl.

Now at last the laughter died. There weren't many who would risk pissing off the club enforcer, or any man of Bear's size and reputation.

"And mine," King added, grinding the words out, looking like he was chewing glass as he spoke. But his hand reached for the omega's shoulder, and when her own fingers brushed over his…he didn't soften, but some of that tension turned down.

Silence fell at last. Was it respect or resentment? I wanted to check on the others, but I couldn't pull my eyes away from her. She twisted and arched, and her gaze traveled in the same direction mine always wanted to. The small huddle of betas and prospects parted, and I knew the moment Chance stepped out of the shadows, because she smiled and Rider stiffened.

"And mine," Chance said, a quiet warning anyone to object or argue. He walked forward to her back, almost within reach of me, and I wrapped my hands around my knees and squeezed there until my legs and arms hurt.

"You're fucking packing up in the club?" Rider hissed, starting to rise from his seat. The movement was quelled with one glare from King.