Chapter 2

2

T he buzz of my phone jolts me from sleep, and I groan as my stiff neck sends a spike of pain through my body, followed by an ache that spreads down my spine.

I straighten in my computer chair, where I passed out sometime after the sun rose.

Last night, I started researching missing persons in the surrounding area and fell into a rabbit hole as one search led to another. Now, printouts cover my desk. The forums always have new stories, but chasing the leads to figure out which ones are real and which are just sensationalized stories to grab comments for clout takes a lot of leg work.

Grit from sleep sticks in my lashes and burns like grains of sand stuck under my eyelids. I rub them as I peer blearily toward the closed curtains. Light shines around the edges, so I didn't miss the whole day, but the clock on the wall says it was a near thing.

"Dammit." I massage my sore neck and glare up at the pictures of Caleb surrounding me. "You're supposed to remind me to stop passing out at my desk."

He stares back in reproach.

"Yeah, yeah, this is all my fault." I'd been hellbent on tracking down new leads, cross-referencing stories that were never updated, versus those of people who are still missing.

It all felt very important in the dead of night, but now I wonder why I even bother. Do I really think one of these Omegas will lead me to Dylan? Would the cops even believe me if I took them my stack of forum posts and maps that show a pattern?

My back protests as I sweep everything into the folder on my desk and close it. I stop obsessing over this and throw it away, but if I toss it now, I'll just dig it out of the trash later.

That's what always happens.

With a wince of discomfort, I stand and stretch my back. The desire to stumble over to my bedroom and fall into bed, to sleep the rest of the day away, tempts me. But necessity turns me toward the bathroom instead.

In the shower, the warm water cascading over my body soothes my stiff muscles, and I let out a soft sigh. I need to stop doing this to myself, but my mind at two in the morning becomes a cruel spiral of accusation and guilt.

If I had health insurance, I could talk to a therapist about all this and get on some meds to help me sleep. But I don't earn enough to pay for it out of pocket, and freelancers don't get healthcare included, no matter how many stories the news sites publish.

I linger under the hot spray, letting it cascade over my ears and block out my thoughts.

Only when I'm toweling off do I remember the buzz from my phone that woke me.

I walk out of the bathroom naked to grab my cell from my desk and check the screen to see an out-for-delivery notification. My package will arrive within the next hour.

Now, that's a nice way to distract my mind and exhaust my body.

No longer interested in going back to sleep, I dress and slip on my nape guard. The cold plate of metal settles against the back of my neck, and I pull up my collar to hide it. The safety measure won't save me from being attacked, but it will at least protect me from an unwanted Mark.

Grabbing my wallet from the table by the door, I double-check my locks before heading out.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows on the sidewalk as I step out of my apartment building. The air holds a chill, but not enough to go back for my jacket. The convenience store is only a block away, which makes it the perfect distance to pop out and grab dinner. If I had to drive anywhere, I'd lose my parking spot and be forced to walk farther to reach home.

As I approach the store's entrance, glass crunches under my sneakers. The window in front is boarded up again.

The recurring vandalism fills me with frustration. The owner has been talking about retiring soon, and none of his kids want to take over because of how downhill the neighborhood has gone.

A buzzer echoes through the store as I push open the door.

"Hey, Oliver!" Lucy, a Beta who lives in my building, waves from an aisle over. "Eggs are on sale for half off."

"Thanks for the heads up." I don't like eggs, but the bargain is too good to ignore. I'll just mix them into other things for added protein.

I head to the refrigerated section, grabbing a carton along with a pre-made meal for something quick and easy to microwave tonight. A loaf of bread and some pasta go into my basket, too, in preparation for holing up for my Heat in a couple of days.

"Can you believe this?" says a feminine voice as I head toward the front.

A tall, Alpha woman stands by a display near the entrance, shaking her head.

Curious, I follow her gaze to a flier pinned to the corkboard beside the door. A new missing person poster covers the dozen beneath it, the face of a young Omega man staring out.

A numb sensation sweeps over me as I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the information, capturing the man's name and contact number.

"It keeps getting worse," the Alpha woman says, not looking at me. "What's happening to this city?"

"Nothing good." With a nod to her, I walk up to the cashier and place my items on the counter.

"Hey, Oliver," Mr. Parks, the older man who owns the store, greets me with a tired smile. "You find everything you need? "

"Yeah, I did." As I pull out my wallet, I glance back at the flier. "Thanks."

"Good, good." He scans and bags my purchase.

The investigator in me nags for answers, and I tip my head toward the boarded-up window. "What happened?"

"Same thing as always. Just some kids having fun by destroying property." Annoyance wrinkles his weathered features. "The security bars kept them out, so nothing got stolen. Maybe the building manager will let us install metal shutters this time."

"Fingers crossed." Mr. Parks has been petitioning for years, though, so the likelihood is slim.

"Be careful walking home. It's not safe for Omegas to be out on their own this close to dark." Mr. Park hands me the bag. "I don't want your picture to end up on my wall, too."

"Thanks. I'll be careful," I assure him as I head outside.

The streetlights turn on as I walk back toward my apartment complex, groceries swinging from one hand.

Darkness falls fast this time of year, and an uneasy sensation creeps up my spine, like I'm being watched.

My gaze jumps from the shadowed alley to the parked cars, and I cross the street to avoid passing in front of a windowless van.

If I'm kidnapped, it won't be because I wasn't paying attention.

The back of my neck prickles as I near home, and I resist the urge to touch my throat. While my appearance screams Omega, there's no reason to confirm it by messing with my nape guard.

A group of kids loiter outside the complex next to mine, and I focus straight ahead, walking close to the curb to be out of grabbing range.

"Hey, hey, pretty boy!" a voice calls out, and I wince.

Grip tightening on the bag, I pretend I don't hear, hoping they'll lose interest.

"Where you going?" another one taunts, but I continue to ignore them.

Not taking the hint, one of them jumps up and circles me to block my path. The kid can't be too far out of high school, his gangly body not yet filled out, but the cocky grin plastered to his face screams Alpha.

"Seen you around." He puffs out his narrow chest, posturing for his friends. "You're always alone. Must be difficult for you, huh?"

I swallow hard, trying to suppress my anxiety. I didn't realize anyone paid attention to me. Lips clamped shut, I attempt to sidestep him, but he moves with me, staying in my way.

"Come on, cutie." He leans closer, his gaze dropping to my grocery bag. "Invite me up for a meal or something. I'm lonely, too, you know?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," I say, my tone firm.

The young Alpha smirks and inhales as he inches in, his breath hot against my ear. "Call me when your next Heat comes. A little Omega like you shouldn't have to suffer alone."

A shiver of fear rolls down my spine. I don't like how he knows I'm an unclaimed Omega, though at least he didn't shout it to the streets.

The asshole chucks me under the chin and moves to the side with a wink, clearing the way to my apartment.

As I brush past him, our arms bump, and his deep intake of breath raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I hurry up the steps to my building, resisting the urge to look back, the space between my shoulder blades itching the entire time.

The clang of the security door shutting brings with it a sense of relief.

Should I move?

I dismiss the thought as soon as it crosses my mind. Not only have I lived here for so long that anywhere else would come with a significant price increase, but there's also the lingering hope that Dylan will come back one day.

But no more leaving close to dusk.

With a shake of my head, I block the encounter. It's not the first time I've been catcalled, but they're harmless. Just young Alphas wanting to show off for their peers. This is the first time it's been a high schooler, though.

In a few more years, I'll be too old for their target practice.

I head toward the wall of mailboxes in the foyer, eager to check if my package was delivered while I was out.

As I walk past the out-of-order elevator, my eyes water from the stench emanating from it. It worsened overnight, and it will continue to go downhill. The mess won't be cleaned until at least Monday.

The building owner always leaves it to sit as punishment, hoping the tenants won't use it as a bathroom again, but the tactic has now turned into a game to see how fast they can shut down the lift again.

I breathe through my mouth as I unlock my mailbox and find the key inside for the bigger lockbox. Excitement shoots through me. My toy arrived.

With a smile on my lips, I collect my delivery and head for the stairs.

On my floor, I step out into the hall, and a pleasant scent tickles my nose in stark contrast to the stench downstairs. Someone must have gotten fed up with the stink and sprayed an air freshener to combat the overflowing trash room.

At my door, I transfer my package to the same arm as my grocery bag and unlock the multiple deadbolts. This moment of vulnerability, stopped in one spot for too long, always fills me with anxiety, but better this than a thief busting into my home.

Inside, I waste no time dropping the box on the table next to the door and re-securing the locks. As I do, my nose twitches. The pleasant scent from the hall fills my apartment, quickening my pulse.

Is a new Alpha visiting this floor? It's supposed to be Omegas only, but people sneak in lovers.

For a moment, jealousy spikes through me. But I'd have to go out to meet people to find an Alpha. Unless I want to test the resolution of the hoodlum outside.

Snorting at the idea, I head toward the kitchen, where I freeze in my tracks .

A tall man dressed all in black stands in my office, with a skullcap covering his hair. With his back to me, he studies the photographs taped to my wall.

My pulse quickens. The pleasant scent thickening the air comes from the intruder.

"Oliver Kent, I presume?" he asks without turning.

The low rumble sends shivers through me, and my knees tremble in recognition. I've heard that voice a hundred times in interviews.

At my silence, the man turns, his dark-brown eyes sweeping over me.

He arches one red eyebrow. "I'd introduce myself, but I don't think that's necessary, is it?"

I look from his chiseled features to the dozens of photos behind him, the same face, but with an expression I've never seen before.

"Oliver?" he purrs, lifting his arm.

My focus jumps back to him, and I swallow hard. The man from my wall of obsession, my personal fantasy, has come to life.

Caleb Rockford is in my apartment, and he's pointing a gun at me.