Omega's Destiny: Foxes of Scarlet Peak (An M'M Shifter MPreg Romance Book 5)(2)

“But, Mr. Williams—”

“We both know you don’t belong here, Bobby,” he told me, turning away. “I’ll send your final check to your mother’s house. Good night.”

Before I could even open my mouth to respond, Mr. Williams turned his back on me and vanished into the kitchen.

“Fuck…” I whispered to myself as I stood alone in the back room. “What the fuck?”

I was angry – dumbfounded really. I hadn’t seen that coming, but when I really thought about it, it didn’t matter. An hour’s pay at the diner was nothing compared to what I was going to make tonight. Mom didn’t need to know I’d been fired. As long as the money kept coming it, she’d have no reason to believe otherwise. Grabbing my coat, I kicked open the back door and stepped outside into the cool spring air.

In a way, though, my accomplishment and hard work felt hollow. I was helping support my mom, of course, but I couldn’t tell her what I was doing or really show her just how much money I was making. It was like cooking a gourmet meal for a friend and letting someone else take all the credit.

“Keep your head up, Bobby,” I told myself as I pulled open the door to my car. The hinges squealed and I slid inside and fired up the engine, which, as always, took two tries before it would start.

I gunned it and pulled out of the parking lot, trying to get my mind clear for tonight. Everything had to go right, and I needed to be focused.

To hell with you, Mr. Williams, I thought as I gripped the steering wheel and took the turn toward the industrial district. I’ll get mine, no matter what it takes!





2





Clint





“Sorry, man. We just don’t have any room for you.” I tried not to grimace at the bad news. I’d come to The Love Knot, a seedy shifter club, looking for work as a bouncer, but they were full up. Just like the other three bars I’d hit up over the course of the evening. “Did you try Jerry’s? Or The Mill?”

“Yeah, I tried ‘em,” I growled, turning my back on him and heading back across the street. There was a steady line outside waiting to get into the club, and I’d figured that would mean they’d need help, but I guess I was late to the party.

Someone called out after me from the line as I crossed the street.

“That’s quite the beard, big fella!” he shouted. “Bet that’d feel nice against my balls!”

“In your dreams,” I replied, not loud enough for him to hear it. I wasn’t looking for a fight or a piece of ass tonight, and he was looking for one of the two. Better to just get on the bike and head home.

I slid my leg over my Harley, twisted the key and gunned the engine. The dickhead from the line was still hollering at me, so I spun the back tire, spraying smoke everywhere before letting it down and speeding off into the night.

The bike is where I feel at home – where I feel alive.

Maine’s still a foreign state to me. I’d left Texas seven years ago and gotten up to Maine last winter, but the place still wasn’t home. The snow, the pine trees, the hills and coastline – none of it was anything like the dry heat and flatlands of Texas. But I couldn’t live there anymore. Not after what happened.

Like all eighteen year olds, I was an overzealous dickhead and went to work for a biker gang just outside of Austin. They did everything from running drugs, gambling, prostitution and robbing trucks.

I never knew my alpha father. He’d left my father John when I was too young to remember, leaving us to fend for ourselves. We never really got along, and I guess that’s why I found a home with the gang.

The Red Fangs bikers. They took me in, showed me how things worked, how to make money and how to stay out of trouble. They gave me a home. I met an omega, a beautiful boy named Chris, and I fell in love. I was young enough to think that would work out – that the good times would go on forever.

I was also dumb enough to steal from them.

They caught me, of course, trying to rip off half a shipment of cocaine coming up from Mexico. I don’t know how they figured it out, but they did, and they didn’t have any sympathy. I thought they were going to kill me, torture me, or take everything I had. But I was wrong. They did something worse. Something I could never have seen coming.

They killed Chris.

The only boy I’d ever loved, and he was snatched away from me like that – for something I’d done. It was my mistake that had gotten him killed.

“You’re welcome to the money,” they’d told me as I collapsed to my knees in front of Chris’ lifeless body. “But if we see you in these parts again, we’ll bury you right beside him.”

They didn’t even give me time to grieve. I grabbed everything I could fit onto the back of my bike and set out north. I had to get out of Texas. I had to get out of the south. Everything familiar around me reminded me of Chris – of the terrible mistake I’d made.

So I kept riding up the East Coast. It took me years, working odd jobs here and there, but eventually I’d ended up in Maine. I figured I couldn’t get much farther away from Austin and The Black Cross than the Pine Tree State. I’d hoped that leaving would help heal the scars that had formed on my heart, and maybe allow me to love again.

But I was wrong.

The sound of the wind rushing past my ears did little to quiet the roar of my soul. The pain inside me would be enough to kill a man, and I prided myself on the fact that I was still alive. I was still kicking, moving forward, but what kind of a life was that? Who wants to live if all you’re doing is surviving? What is a life without love?