6- Are You Differentiating?

“So he’s not a member of your club?”

“Yes, sir. My apologies.”

Ael’s hand stayed on the back of my head, keeping it bowed as we both knelt, his own head bowed too.

The man in front of me— they called him Sam, was an Alpha. I knew this because he hadn’t stopped trying to bathe me in his scent. Not like it mattered.

I’d taken enough Alpha pheromones to find the rest of them slightly intoxicating in their disgusting state.

He was covered in so many tattoos, with women flanking his sides. Guards stood around as well— it was a club of some sort in the basement of the warehouse.

“Hey, you. Golden boy, look at me.”

Ael’s hand on the back of my head tightened as if he was considering it. My dick throbbed slightly at how hard he was trying to keep my head low.

I wanted to look at him. Ask him if this was what he did every night— knelt in front of men who thought they owned him, let them touch him, let them—

“I said look at me.”

I raised my head slowly and smiled.

He studied me. “You don’t look like Dogtooth material.”

“I’m not.”

Ael’s grip tightened again.

I wondered if he’d pull my hair to force me to stay quiet. My dick throbbed again.

Sam stood. He looked down at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Here's the thing, golden boy. You walked into a private operation. That's a liability. So you got two choices— pay twenty grand tonight, or work it off. Actions got consequences.”

I kept my smile in place, even as Ael's fingers dug into the back of my skull hard enough to bruise.

He was trying to tell me something— shut up, stay down, don't make this worse. But his scent was so strong now. Stronger than it ever was. And it felt like I was snorting cocaine.

I loved it. “I’ll work it off.”

Sam's grin widened. “Name?”

“Neven Ambrose.”

He stopped, his eyebrow furrowing. “Ambrose? You know a Damien Ambrose?”

My smile shifted. “No, I don’t.”

“Mhm.” He reached down and grabbed my chin, tilting my face up. His scent hit me like smoke spreading over my face. “Sure, kid?”

Ael's hand was still on the back of my head. His fingers had gone still, but I could feel the tension in them, the way his grip had shifted from punitive to something almost protective.

He didn't want me here. He didn't want me involved in whatever this was.

But it was all his fault, wasn't it? Only if he’d followed me on the morning jog, everything would have been fine. Actions got consequences. “Sure.”

Ael's hand spasmed against my skull. “Neven—”

“Quiet.” He crouched down to my level, his breath sour with whiskey and something metallic. “You understand what this means? You work for me now. When I call, you come. When I say jump, you ask how high. And if you ever— ever— try to fuck me over, I’m cutting up your pretty brother. Got that?”

“You can try.”

His eyes crinkled. “What?”

“You need someone who can help you around the cops, yes? I have access to places your usual guys don't. If you want someone who can move product through circles that actually have money? That's me.”

He tilted his head. “Not worried about the punishments?”

I smiled wider. “I never make mistakes.”

He laughed. “I really fucking like you.” He straightened, gesturing to one of his guards. “You need a form of tattoo so my other guys can know who you are to me.”

Sam gestured, and the guard returned with a small black case. He set it on the table between us and opened it.

Inside was a tattoo gun. He pulled out a small design etched into a piece of paper. A snake coiled around a dagger, fangs bared. “Somewhere nobody sees unless they're looking. Ready for it, golden boy?”

I looked at Ael.

His face was the same as always, numb and uninterested. But his hand hadn’t left my head and it was far more reassuring than anything else.

Because it meant he was here. With me. Always.

Mine. Fucking mine. “Yeah. But I want him to put it on me.”

“Why?”

“Family thing.”

Sam grinned as he looked at Ael. “You heard the kid. Do it.”

The tattoo lasted for almost an hour. It didn’t hurt. Not when all I could focus on was the dedicated look on Ael’s face as he tried to not make a mistake.

The moment he was done, Sam gave me a burner phone and sent us out through a back door.

The moment we were out into the alley, Ael yanked me up by my collar, slamming me against the concrete wall. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You just signed your life away to a fucking gangster—”

“I like the tattoo.” I cut in. It was dark and we were finally alone together. He was holding me not because he was drunk but worried about me. A buzz ran up my spine. “You did a good—”

His hand reached for the tattoo on my hip and squeezed.

The pain was instant but it was mixing with something else in the air. His scent had suddenly changed. It was usually sharp and dangerous but now had a sweet undertone. Like burnt sugar.

I moved before I could stop myself. I pinned him into the wall while my face buried into his neck. The scent was coming from him, growing stronger and sweeter. Like an—

“Get the fuck off—”

My hand clamped over his mouth as I pulled away, my thigh pressing into his crotch as I stared at him. “Are you differentiating?”

Everything I’d managed to hold in check was suddenly out of its cage and I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Couldn't do anything but stare at him— this impossible, infuriating, beautiful creature who was supposed to be my Alpha but was suddenly calling every other Alpha in a five mile radius to fuck him into submission. “And if you say yes, I don’t think you’d be leaving with your legs working the same way.”