Faith & the Dead End Devils (Sweet Omegaverse, #8)(76)

"His sister," I said, shrugging. King's head tipped to the side, eyes narrowing, and my skin was hot and uncomfortable. "A helpless omega! The idiot little sister who got caught—"

"Hey," King said, catching one of my flailing hands in his, tugging me across the couch cushions, and ducking his head until he caught my eye. "Enough. What was your favorite subject in school?"

I gaped at him. "I…"

Adam's had been math and drama. He'd even starred in one of his high school plays before we ran away. But King wasn't asking about Adam.

"I liked the easy classes," I admitted, staring back at King, snagged in his trapping gaze. "Umm, art and gym. I didn't really want to be in school."

King grinned at that, his arms stretched out over the back of the couch sliding down so his fingers could toy with the ends of my hair. "Me neither. Shop was my favorite, and I learned to like economics after I got lucky on an investment project."

I sighed, sliding the laptop away from me and helping myself to King's chest, outrageously pleased when his arms circled me. "Before our last home, we spent a couple years with this family that had a bunch of property, and it was all wooded, and…the woman ran a Girl Scouts program, and I just remember spending all of my time, when I wasn't in school or sleeping, outside in those woods." I still missed them, actually. Missed the smell of the air and the cluttered quiet of sounds that made up nature. I blinked and shrugged. "Not that that's something useful, really."

"Joy doesn't have to be useful, princess," King said, digging his fingers into my hair and scratching gently. "I didn't join this club or run for prez because I love the thrill of micromanaging. I find my joy on the road. On my bike. In the hoard of us together, moving like one."

"You don't have to be president for that," I murmured.

"No, that comes down to being ambitious, I suppose," King said, and he sounded weary. "And wanting to make sure the club survived, grew stronger."

"Adam is ambitious. He wants to take down Omikron, dismantle the market of putting omegas directly into the hands of wealthy packs," I said.

"Good for him." He sounded nonplussed, and my lips twitched.

"I'm not ambitious," I admitted. "I want what Adam wants, but I…"

I was tired of running, tired of being in danger. I wanted my nest and my pack and the reassurance of keeping both and remaining safe.

"You don't have to be ambitious, princess. You don't have to be useful to matter."

My face was hot, but King was too comfortable to move, his scent cloaking around me, its intensity almost defensive, like armor.

Who are you? King's words echoed in my head.

An orphan. A sister. A little helpless. Able to identify over two dozen types of trees and almost as many birds by their songs. A bad con artist. A dismal cook. An omega.

"I need to get back to work," I murmured, but made no effort to move.

King's beard whiskers brushed over the top of my head, and I thought he might've grazed a kiss there. "Me too."

"What do you do?" I asked.

King laughed. "Answer questions, mainly. Send emails. Make sure all the businesses we own in part are running smoothly, all the loans we give out return with interest. There's feet on the ground for all of it, I just have to keep the facts straight." He groaned and stretched his legs out, toes reaching toward his desk. "Landed myself in a desk job somehow."

I grinned and twisted to face him, my back to his desk, his arms around me keeping me balanced on the couch. His hair was dirty blond and silver, kept short enough and styled in a simple swoop. Unlike the others, he had no visible tattoos when he was dressed, and with the glasses perched on his nose, it was harder to tell how many times his nose had been broken.

"Bet if we put a suit on you, you'd look more like a CEO than a biker prez," I said, combing my fingers through his beard and smoothing his mustache.

King growled in response, eyes narrowing, "You trying to earn another spanking?"

I rose up to my knees, prepared to turn and plant my elbows on the arm of the couch, giving him the perfect pose to do exactly that, and King barked out a laugh, his hand landing on my shoulder and pushing me to the opposite side of the couch again.

"Get back to work, princess. You have one hour," he reminded me, rising up from the cushions and heading for his desk. "Then you can demand a distraction of your choice."

With a promise like that, it was hard to remember that I'd been dead set on working until I'd cracked into the server. Focusing on anything other than ideas of what to do with King seemed next to impossible.

But the conversation had shaken loose old cobwebs in my head and unwound the stress from minutes ago. I tweaked aimlessly, more interested in wasting time now than confident I'd succeed.

Until suddenly a familiar frame took over my screen, rudimentary and old-fashioned, almost clumsy-looking. I gasped, fingertips still hovering over the keys, prepared to continue editing the code even after I'd finally pieced everything together. The login box waited for me, cursor blinking.

"What is it?" King asked from across the room.

"I did it," I said, staring dumbly at the screen.

King rose from his chair and I shook my head, diving into typing again, hands trembling and mind blanking over my password.