The Assignment

Kieran Hunt sat in the gray, depressing office at Elite Security Agency, staring at the coffee-stained wall and wondering why the hell his boss had called him in on his day off. His knee bounced with impatience. He had shit to do. His sister Maya needed money for textbooks, his rent was due in three days, and he'd planned to spend his one free day doing laundry and maybe sleeping for more than four hours. But here he was, waiting like some rookie fresh out of training instead of the best fucking bodyguard this agency had.

The door finally opened and Patterson walked in. The gruff beta looked tired, older than his fifty years, with gray stubble and bags under his eyes. He dropped a thick file on the desk between them with a heavy thud that made Kieran's instincts prickle. Big files meant big trouble. Or big money. Sometimes both.

"Hunt, I've got a job for you," Patterson said, lighting a cigarette even though smoking wasn't allowed in the building anymore. Nobody had the balls to tell him to stop. "High-profile client. Serious threats. Needs full-time protection, twenty-four seven. You'd be living on-site."

Kieran's eyebrows rose slightly. Living on-site meant constant surveillance, no privacy, no life outside the job. It also meant the pay would be incredible. "Who's the client?"

"Elliot Sinclair."

The name meant nothing to Kieran for about two seconds. Then it clicked. Sinclair Corporation. That massive business empire that seemed to own half the city. He'd seen their name on buildings, in the news, everywhere. Old money, serious power, the kind of people who lived in a completely different world than Kieran's shitty apartment in the bad part of town.

"The heir?" Kieran asked, keeping his voice neutral even though his mind was already calculating how much this job might pay. Enough to help Maya finish college? Enough to finally move out of his current hellhole?

Patterson nodded, sliding the file toward him. "Twenty-eight years old, runs the company since his parents died. Smart kid but reckless. Doesn't take his own safety seriously even though there've been six assassination attempts in the past year. His last bodyguard quit because Sinclair kept ditching him to go to clubs and parties, treating the whole thing like a joke."

Kieran flipped open the file and saw a photo that made his stomach do something weird. Elliot Sinclair was fucking gorgeous. Like, unfairly so. Tall and broad-shouldered in an expensive suit, with silver-white hair that marked him as something rare. Kieran's eyes narrowed. Silver-white hair only meant one thing.

"He's S-Tier," Kieran said flatly. It wasn't a question.

Patterson grimaced. "Yeah. Are you okay with that?"

S-Tier alphas were rare as hell. Only one percent of alphas ever tested into that category. They were stronger, faster, and their pheromones were so powerful they could affect anyone regardless of designation. Kieran had worked hard for years to build up resistance to regular alpha pheromones, taking his suppressants religiously, training his body not to react. But the S-Tiers were different. Their scent could punch through suppressants like they were made of paper.

Still, Kieran had never backed down from a challenge in his life. He wasn't about to start now.

"I can handle it," Kieran said, his voice cold and certain. "What's the pay?"

When Patterson told him the number, Kieran's poker face almost slipped. That was more than he made in six months of regular jobs. That was life-changing money. That was Maya's tuition paid in full, a new apartment in a safe neighborhood, maybe even some savings for the first time in his adult life.

"There's one thing you should know," Patterson continued, watching Kieran carefully. "Sinclair specifically requested an Omega bodyguard."

Kieran's jaw clenched. Here it fucking came. The part where this golden opportunity turned into shit. "Why?"

"Didn't say. But I'm guessing he thinks an omega will be easier to manipulate or ignore. Rich alphas usually have that attitude." Patterson leaned forward, his expression serious. "I'm giving you this job because you're the best I've got, Hunt. I don't care what's between your legs. You've proven yourself a hundred times over. But this client might give you hell about your designation. You prepared for that?"

Kieran had been dealing with that bullshit since he was fifteen years old. Since the night his parents were murdered in a home invasion and he'd decided to become strong enough to protect people. Since he'd walked into his first combat training class and had every alpha and beta in the room laugh at the omega boy who thought he could fight. Since he'd worked twice as hard as everyone else just to be considered half as good.

"I'm always prepared for that," Kieran said, his green eyes hard as stone. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow morning. Sinclair's at his penthouse recovering from a minor injury. You'll do a security assessment, set up protocols, and move in by the end of the week." Patterson stubbed out his cigarette. "Don't fuck this up, Hunt. This client could bring in a lot of business for the agency."

Kieran took the file and stood up, all lean muscle and controlled grace despite his smaller omega frame. "I don't fuck up."

He left the office and headed home, his mind already working through the logistics. He'd need to pack light, bring his best equipment, make sure Maya had enough money while he was living on-site. As he walked through the shitty streets of his neighborhood, dodging trash and trying not to make eye contact with the drug dealers on the corner, Kieran let himself imagine what it would be like to live in a fancy penthouse for a while. Probably had actual hot water. Probably didn't have roaches. Probably had more than one room.

That night, Kieran took his suppressants, checked his weapons, and tried not to think about the photo of Elliot Sinclair. I tried not to think about those golden eyes and that confident smirk. Tried not to wonder why his stomach had flipped when he saw the picture. It didn't matter. This was a job. A very well-paying job. He'd do his work, keep the spoiled rich alpha alive, collect his paycheck, and get out.

Simple.

The next morning, Kieran showed up at Sinclair Corporation headquarters fifteen minutes early, dressed in his usual black tactical gear with his dark hair pulled back tight. The building was a massive glass and steel tower that probably cost more than Kieran would make in his entire lifetime. Security at the front desk looked him over with barely concealed disdain when he said he was there to see Elliot Sinclair.

"You're the new bodyguard?" one of them asked, a smug beta who clearly thought this was hilarious. "Aren't you a little... small?"

Kieran fixed him with the dead-eyed stare he'd perfected over years of dealing with assholes. "I'm the best. Size doesn't matter when you know what you're doing."

The beta's smirk faded. Something about Kieran's cold, dangerous energy made people shut up quickly. They gave him a visitor badge and directed him to the private elevator that went to the top floor. As Kieran rode up, he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. His suppressants were at full strength. He wouldn't react to some alpha's pheromones like a bitch in heat. He was a professional.

The elevator doors opened onto a floor that screamed wealth and power. Expensive art on the walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the entire city. Furniture that probably cost more than Kieran's car. Everything was pristine and perfect and cold. No warmth anywhere. Just money.

A stern-looking assistant, an older beta woman with her hair in a tight bun, met him at the elevator. "Mr. Sinclair is in his office. Follow me."

She led him down a hallway to massive double doors. She knocked once, then opened them without waiting for a response. "Mr. Sinclair, your new bodyguard is here."

Kieran stepped into the office and immediately had to fight his body's reaction. The room was filled with scent. Not the neutral, filtered air of the hallway, but thick, rich alpha pheromones that hit him like a physical force. Cinnamon and something darker, spicier, something that made Kieran's omega instincts sit up and pay attention in a way they never fucking had before.

What the hell?

Elliot Sinclair stood by the windows, his back to them, looking out over the city like he owned it. Which, Kieran supposed, he kind of did. The alpha was tall, probably six-three, with that distinctive silver-white hair that caught the sunlight. He wore an expensive charcoal suit tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders and lean frame. Even from behind, he radiated confidence and power.