Page 23 of Talk About… Dramay
“No,” he argued, but Lane leaned forward and raised an eyebrow, urging me silently to go on.
We’d agreed to take on one last job. Tate was done with this work, it had taken its toll on him, and we were frankly tired of living fake lies. We’d amassed a small fortune, embellished by Tate’s trust fund and our years as escorts before we met him.
‘Escorts’ was a harsh word. Sex and scents were never on the table. We were mainly a hire-a-pack. They filled out the interest form and we picked and chose which ones vibed with us. It was generally meeting families or attending funerals, anything emotionally taking a toll on our client that they need backup for.
We met a lot of interesting characters, but god I was tired.
Some days it felt like I was a ghost. Always using fake names and identities, made up backstories, always some charade we concocted so no one ever saw us.
“Talk,” Tate growled, not all in yet but at least he wanted more information.
“She was claimed, bonded, bitten, and then later rejected by her alpha at eighteen. Left town for a few years but some complications have her moving back. She wants a fake pack to help her show him what he lost and force him to fight for her.”
“Why the fuck would she want him back?” Tate scoffed, taking an aggressive swig of his whiskey.
“They’re mates,” Lane said like it made complete sense. “Some part of her has to know for sure that it will never work.”
It was a guess, but a damn good one.
“This feels like the perfect final hurrah,” I said as I snatched Tate’s glass and took a swig before handing it back to the scowling alpha.
“I’m in,” Lane said. “Let me see her form.”
I handed it over. We always asked them to include a photo and some information about themselves. This omega was gorgeous, that might have been the reason I’d read more.
“She requested scent blockers,” Lane read out loud, unsurprised. We always offered to use them and almost everyone agreed.
Tate simply grunted.
“She’s an omega,” Tate finally said, voice rough and hard. He had sworn off omegas years ago and generally sat out on the omega led missions when he could.
But this was the last one. Would he really miss it?
“I know,” I said, sitting down and staring him down. Tate was an intimidating alpha. His brown hair was shorter, and held a slight wave, falling in front of his forehead. He was older than the rest of us at thirty-seven, his forehead showing the start of fine lines. I thought they only made him look more intimidating.
His dark hair and short beard and mustache combo worked for him. Even with the permanent scowl on his face.
During our jobs, he’d always been a bodyguard of sorts, keeping asshole families or rivals at bay.
I had a feeling it would come in handy this time, too.
His brown eyes were focused on me, bracing himself for my next words.
“We need you. This omega needs you and she gets to get the kind of revenge you didn’t have a chance to get.”
His family were the wealthy asshole types who thought they could control his marriage. He’d agreed out of loyalty, let himself get set up with an omega they adored.
Yet she left him at the altar, saying he was too controlling and that she’d found a real pack. His parents believed he ruined it, blamed and disowned him.
He lost everything that night and if not for his trust fund that they couldn’t take away, thanks to his grandfather, he would have ended up on the streets.
We found him later and he still hadn't ever truly let anyone in outside of us. We were pack and he couldn't deny that. Though, he made it clear, he wasn’t ready for an omega.
I held out hope that when we found her, he’d accept it. He’d see what it was supposed to be like, not the fucked up version his parents created.
“When?” Tate demanded. His eyes were still hard but this was easier than I expected.
“Literally this weekend.”