Page 21
The kitchen island is loaded with plates of bacon, scrambled eggs, and piles of toast. We have a housekeeper who does most of the cooking, but Beck likes to make breakfast when he’s not on call at the hospital.
We stand around the island, no one bothering to take a seat. There are dozens of them in the dining room. Another six at the breakfast table. And five along the island. We never use any of them.
Beck grabs a piece of bacon and bites into it. “Where were you two last night?”
Finn’s face goes red. He stays quiet. So do I.
Beck grins. “Oh, I get it.” He makes the fucking gesture with his hands.
“Leave them alone,” Piers says. “Not everyone broadcasts their hookups like you do.”
Beck laughs and flips him off.
We eat the rest of our meal in silence. Beck’s breakfast is solid, so I give it the attention it deserves. When we finish, Piers announces he has meetings all day. Finn mutters something about needing to check on things at the lab.
Beck looks at me. “Guess it’s just us. Want to catch a game?”
“Can’t. New client.”
“But it’s my day off,” he whines.
I roll my eyes. “You’re a surgeon. Surely you can entertain yourself for one afternoon.”
He shrugs. “Apparently not. Let me come with you.”
“There won’t be any omegas there, Beck.”
He looks offended. “I’m a professional, Leith. I only want to spend time with my packmate.”
I sigh. “I’m leaving in ten.”
He fist-pumps. “Hell yeah. Let me change.”
“Wear that.”
“Nope. This is my casual weekend-doctor look. I need something that says badass security.”
“Ten minutes,” I say again.
He jogs upstairs. I take another sip of coffee, willing my mind not to drift to things it doesn’t need to remember. The coffee’s decent. Not as good as Saint’s. I’ll have to order some. Piers would like it.
My mind drifts anyway. Cammie soft and warm in my lap this morning, her plump ass pressed against me while Finn fed her donuts, and she licked sugar from his fingers. I set the mug down harder than I should. No room for that. Dead-end street. Just like I told Finn.
Beck comes down a full twenty minutes later in black dress pants, black button-down, and black loafers. He slides on dark sunglasses and spreads his arms, turning in a circle. He looks like a man-child in security guard cosplay.
“Let’s go, boss.”
twelve
Piers
The bourbon hits the glass with a soft slosh. Twenty-three-year-old Pappy Van Winkle. The kind of bottle that makes Kentucky proud and refined bourbon drinkers weep. I take a slow sip, letting the burn settle deep in my chest as I end the call.
Nantucket isn’t handled. But it is moving forward. The asking price is outrageous. The company that owns the property has done their homework and knows that I can afford it. What they haven’t counted on is that I’ve done my own research. I have time to wait it out. They don’t.
I set the glass down on the massive oak desk that had belonged to my grandfather and open the encrypted file on my laptop. Finn’s latest lab report fills the screen in rows of clean data and sequencing models that I won’t even pretend to understand. My packmate is a fucking visionary. A few more months, maybe less, and his work on alpha/omega DNA will change how alphas and omegas find each other across the world. Once it’s finalized, there will be no more scent cards or waiting for fate to decide it’s your turn. Just science.
I pick up the glass and take another swallow. Four alphas. Still no omega. After all these years. I’m running out of patience.
