Omega Mine

Chapter Three

“I need two shots of Jack, two shots of Hennessy and a tall mug of Smithwick’s. And can you put a move on it? I’ve been waiting over ten minutes.”

Ava nodded at the abrasive command and kept moving down the line, working on three previous orders while trying to keep the incoming ones separate. The club was slammed, the bar was packed and it wasn’t even close to peak yet.

What a crappy way to spend—

“You’re the birthday girl, huh?” A roaming hand accompanied the question and she was forced to remain still as a dollar bill was placed into the clip affixed to her blouse that announced she was another year older. When the man finished he patted the area above her breast. “Don’t spend it all in one place, sweetheart.”

She smirked at the asshole and kept going. All she had to do was make it through the next four hours. After which she would be on a bus to Sevierville, Tennessee. Her own private haven from the world. The time couldn’t pass quickly enough.

“Ava!” her boss barked from the other end of the bar. “We’re going to do the auction in a few minutes. I want to get it done before ten!”

She stopped in the middle of pouring a shot of Crown, turned to him and shook her head. “No way, Brett,” she screamed over the voices. “You suckered me into working tonight but that’s it.”

Brett topped off a mug of beer and handed it to a server. He wiped his hands on a towel tucked inside his black dress slacks and walked over. She returned to the half-empty shot glass and resumed pouring when she felt him at her back.

“It’s tradition, Ava.”

“I don’t care.” She walked to the left and placed the drink on a tray. “I’m not auctioning myself off to the highest bidder to make a quick buck.”

“You know it’s not like that. It’s all in good fun.”

She spun around and faced the bartender, part-time DJ and owner of Club Liminality. He was a woman’s wet dream—tall, blond hair, green eyes, a masculine face with a slightly crooked nose and the most amazing smile you’d ever seen—but the boss wasn’t one to sleep around. That was one of the things she admired most about the man. However, Brett dabbled in some kind of magic she pretended not to be aware of. Months of working together and she still didn’t have a fix on what he was.

“I said no. We’re not in Kansas and this isn’t a barnyard social. When I want strange men to bid on my,” she lifted her fingers and made bunny ears, “picnic basket, I’ll let you know, Yogi.”

“What’s with you?” Brett stayed her hand with a light touch of his fingers when she reached for a clean shot glass under the counter and called another server over to pick up the slack when he pulled her to the side. He lowered his voice when they stood against the backdrop. “The last few weeks you’ve been edgy as hell. You don’t stick around after close. You don’t come in early to shoot the shit. You don’t even cut up with the customers anymore. You come in, do your job and clock out. Don’t think everyone hasn’t noticed.”

His concerned face was too difficult to deny and she found herself caving with a half-truth. She was sure her coworkers noticed the shift in her behavior. Four weeks after leaving a certain Omega high and dry and she still couldn’t get the man out of her head. Following what could have been sure disaster, she had barricaded herself inside her home, ventured out only when necessary and told Craig Newlander he could take the locket and shove it where the sun didn’t shine. Unfortunately, after a few weeks the hermit lifestyle had started to get to her. She was a social creature by nature and missed the interaction at the club. Not to mention her rounding ass missed her usual routine at the gym. It was time to reconnect with the world and get her head on straight.

“I just really need this vacation. Some quiet time alone will help me regroup.” When he frowned she patted his hand. “Scout’s honor.”

Brett moved close to whisper, “I know you don’t want to do the auction but think of it as an early vacation present. It’s crowded, the alcohol is flowing and people are bound to be loose with their wallets. It’s one dance.” She met his grass-green eyes and he continued, “Humor me. Let the club send you off with a nice, fat bonus.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll work your schedule so that you’re on every Saturday night for a year.”

That elicited a wince. A year of Saturday nights would damn near kill her.

Brett smiled when she rolled her eyes and nodded. He hiked his head to the right, in the direction of a large group of shifters. “Take care of the bikers and meet me on the center stage.”

She watched Brett walk away before she turned her attention to the group at the far end of the bar. A pang of apprehension stalled her. To the average bear they would look like bikers—covered in leather and sporting multiple tattoos—but when she reached out with her mind there was nothing to greet her.

Damn.

Another thing that had changed in the last few weeks was the notable absence of shifters at the club. She noticed the first night she had returned to work after meeting Diskant Black that the fur-sprouting populace weren’t making their usual appearances and had hoped that maybe they found a new club to frequent. Apparently not, since they were back in force. There were six of them total, four men and two women. The men were regulars, although she could only place their faces. Snagging a clean towel and wiping her hands, she marched over and stopped when her breasts pressed against the wooden counter.

“What can I get you?”

One by one they named their poison—vodka, whiskey, whiskey, Cape Cod, Orange Rambler—until she got to the last man perched halfway across the counter. He was a regular she recognized, one who usually sat quietly at the bar observing everything around him. His short brown hair was messy and his face was scruffy by lack of a recent shave. Yet his caramel eyes were on full alert, and when she met his stare she realized they were frozen on her.

“Yuengling on tap.”

She steeled herself not to look away when she asked, “Tall or short?”

“Tall.”

As she made the drinks she felt the weight of the shifter’s stare. He watched her as she collected the glasses, poured the shots, mixed the Rambler and Cape Cod and made her way to the station to fill the tall, icy mug with the lager of his choice.

She brought the drinks over and placed them onto the counter. “That’ll be thirty-two even.”

“I’ve got it.” He broke his stare to retrieve his wallet. He sorted through the cash inside, removed a couple of bills and passed them over. “Keep the change.”

She shied away when she extended her hand to accept the cash and, instead of handing it over, he brought his head closer, sniffing the air.

She yelped when his chin brushed her hand and she staggered across an empty box on the floor. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Your perfume,” he answered. “It seems familiar.”

Angry now, she took a step forward, snatched the cash and informed him briskly, “I don’t wear perfume, Pepé.”

His hand shot out before she could make a hasty departure, strong fingers winding snugly around her wrist. He brought his body halfway across the counter and pressed his nose to her palm, his nostrils flaring at the mound of Venus. The shifters with him went quiet, observing curiously.

“Definitely familiar,” he growled in a low timbre.

“Let go of my arm,” she said each word distinctly. “Before I call security over.”

“Trey…” One of the men next to the shifter started to interrupt when abruptly he released her. His caramel eyes shifted, becoming gold.

She left before any of them could see how unnerved she was. Her hands were trembling and her heart was racing as she cashed the till and stuffed the remainder into the tip jar. Shifters were the oddest creatures. Always sniffing, licking and fighting over pecking order. Undoubtedly he was trying to reinforce his position with his group and mark his place at the club.

Or maybe he gets off on scaring women shitless.

“Ava!” Delmar, one of the friendlier bouncers, called out for her from the floor. “Brett said to move your ass!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she grumbled.

Before she exited the bar she chanced a look at the shifter with a sniffing fetish. He was on a cell phone now, talking quietly, and those gleaming eyes were focused solely on her. Her stomach flip-flopped and she spun around, marching off to face her doom on the auction block.

Tonight can’t get any crappier…

The music stopped, the spotlight on center stage permeated the darkness of the club and she heard Brett’s deep voice cut through the crowd. “Can I have your attention, everyone? We have a birthday in the house, and you know what that means!”

A chorus of cheers and sexual innuendo carried to her ears and she cringed.

Strike that. It just did.

Ain’t that a pisser?

Trey Veznor couldn’t believe the turn of events. Here he was, out with pack mates for the first time in a month and the cause of his—and the rest of the packs’—suffering was standing directly in front of him with a scowl on her face. He’d never forget that sweet scent, and the description D had passed along was a spot-on match—delicate and small, blonde hair with shades of pink buried within, big blue eyes.

Undeniably beautiful.

D had gone ape-bitch when the little sprite vanished and had called on the assistance of all the shifter communities to locate her. Since the Omega had been born a werewolf—inside Trey’s very own pack some two-hundred plus years previous—that meant the request was personal. He had chosen one place to scour each week—Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, Staten Island—and Manhattan was the final stop.

Of all the dumb luck.

It appeared that Pinkie worked in Times Square, smack-dab in the center of the action, and had been just around the corner from D the entire damn time.

Un-fucking-believable.

His eyes never left the tiny female as he retrieved his phone and found D’s number. Allowing her to vanish into nowhere couldn’t happen. The last few weeks had been awful. Even now D was one grumpy-ass son of a bitch. Thank god he was finally about to get laid and mated. Trey couldn’t stand his surly attitude much longer.

Diskant answered on the second ring. “You’d better make it good.”

“Club Liminality. Get here. Now.” He closed the cell and ended the call before D could ask questions. The man was already operating on a hair trigger, and telling Diskant he’d found his female would only rile his beasts and make him cranky as shit. Not that Trey blamed his pack mate. Twice he’d gotten his hopes up only to have them crushed. At least now the poor bastard wouldn’t suffer disappointment.

The hair on Trey’s nape rose and he turned his head to gaze into the crowd. It was there again, that sensation of being watched. Over the last few weeks the weighty feeling of someone’s eyes on him had been a constant. He inhaled deeply, attempting to scent the air, but came up with mostly cigarette smoke, tobacco and various other repugnant smells, including body odor, perfume and cheap alcohol. He waited, anticipating the fleeting sensation that sometimes followed, of a ghostly hand combing through his hair…

“Is that her?” his second, Nathan, asked and swatted absently at one of the females when she tried to caress his face. At Trey’s confirming nod, he said, “I thought I recognized the scent but I couldn’t be sure.”

“By the time that pillow was passed around there wasn’t much scent left.” Trey fisted his cold mug of beer and took a hearty swig, listening intently to the announcement of “Ava’s” twenty-seventh birthday, followed by the terms of the auction to win a lap dance from the birthday girl herself.

The ramifications of such a thing computed—two plus two equals motherfucking disaster.

D would rip out any male’s throat just for looking at that female. If she were sitting on some poor human’s lap when Diskant arrived, writhing and gyrating…

It’ll be a goddamn bloodbath.

After wiping the back of his hand across his lips, Trey muttered, “Guess I’ll have to win that dance.”

“You think that’s a good idea?” Nathan’s hazel-green eyes came up slowly, meeting Trey’s stare before he averted his gaze.

“No, not really.” He slapped the mug on the counter. “But I can handle D. He’ll kill anyone else.”

“I don’t know—” Nathan was cut short when the bidding began.

“Five dollars!” a loud drunk hollered.

“Ten!” another shouted.

Trey removed his leather coat and handed it to Nathan. Thank god it was a casual night and he hadn’t had to bother with holsters, guns or daggers. He combed a hand through his unruly hair and reached for the mug. Three hefty swallows saw the contents gone. He exhaled softly, put the empty glass down and turned to his Beta.

“Gather up the crew and have them waiting by the doors. When D gets here you’ll have a few seconds before he picks up her scent. I suggest you use that time to explain why his female is sitting in my lap.”

He didn’t wait to hear what Nathan wanted to say. He was about to dance with fire and gasoline while carrying a handful of fucking explosives. But at this point did he have any other choice?

Shouldering past the bodies in his path, he stopped just outside the stage with a soft yellow spotlight shining down. A plain metal chair was placed in the center, the shiny surface waiting for the lucky ass that would take a seat. The female was obviously uncomfortable with the situation. She was fidgeting and staring at the announcer like a terrified rabbit.

Not one to be obvious, he waited his turn, calling out, “Fifty dollars,” after some dumb schmuck yelled out forty-five. Ava’s dark blue gaze came up, and when she placed him as the bidder her eyes narrowed as her plush red lips thinned. He knew the look, had received it here and there upon occasion, and received the message loud and clear.

Don’t even think about it.

Damn, he had this one all wrong. She wasn’t meek, docile or frightened. She was annoyed, insulted and pissed.

Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, Trey smiled at her livid expression. That only made her angrier. Her pretty alabaster cheeks flushed pink and her midnight blue eyes flashed in warning. When another man jumped into the ring he took perverse pleasure in upping the ante, if only to watch her seethe.

Oh, D, he thought, laughing to himself. You are fucked.