Chapter 2

My stomach growls as I walk home, the chill night air seeping past my threadbare jacket. I keep my hand clenched around the pepper spray in my pocket and my eyes straight ahead, my steps fast like I have somewhere to be, and maybe even someone expecting me to be there.

After I was forced to give up university to work full time, I had to move, and it took time to get used to my new neighborhood. But so long as I don't make myself look like a target, people mostly leave me alone.

It helps that at three in the morning, even the lowlifes in the area are hunkering down for the night.

The bills in my pocket from my tips always make me feel vulnerable until I can reach the Quick Mart on the corner next to my apartment complex. Cash can be stolen easier than the bi-weekly deposits that go directly to my bank account.

My steps quicken as I near the bright lights of the Quick Mart, the tension in my shoulders easing. My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it until I get inside. No way will I show myself as being distracted while out in the open.

Warm air rushes over the top of my head as I step through the doors and head for the pre-made sandwiches.

If I'm lucky, they'll have one on discount at this time of the night, and I'll have enough for a cup of coffee, too.

The suspicious eyes of the night clerk follow me through the store from behind the safety of the thick plate of glass that boxes in the checkout counter.

Used to it, I ignore him and pull out my phone to check the notification.

My stomach sinks at the reminder from my Heat app that my cycle is coming up. The next three-day break in my work schedule isn't for two more weeks.

Checking my surroundings first, I pull my pill pack from the front inner pocket of my jacket. When I open it, I discover that the blister sheet tucked inside is empty.

Did I take an extra dose while at work and not remember? I could have sworn I had enough to make it to Friday.

A knot forms in my stomach as I check how much cash I have, hoping I missed some bills that are stuck together. But no. If I want to make rent on Friday, I can't afford to replace my suppressants until after I get paid.

Frustrated and angry at my situation, I abandon the case of wilted, soggy sandwiches and walk to the small aisle of canned goods. I grab the cheapest can of beans they stock and head to the cash register.

I drop the can of beans into the drawer in the glass, and the cashier pulls it through to the other side. "No sandwich today?"

"No." My stomach gurgles with displeasure as I scan the prices of the medications behind the counter. "Can I get two doses of the six-hour suppressant, too?"

"Cheaper to buy by the box," the man grunts as he scans my beans.

No shit. I wouldn't be buying them by the pill if I could afford the full box. But I keep those thoughts to myself. "Just the two doses, please."

As he turns away to tear off the two measly foil squares, I carefully count out the bills, then double count the rest to make sure I still have enough for my rent fund.

Hopefully, tomorrow will bring better tips, and I can refill my supply.

Paying for my meager items, I tuck them into the safety of my jacket and hurry the rest of the way toward home.

By the time I reach the run-down building I call home, exhaustion has settled into my bones.

Shadows cover the exterior walkways, the building sitting between streetlights. Boards cover half the windows, and bars cover the rest.

I trudge up the creaking stairs to my floor and fumble with the lock, desperate to collapse into bed.

On the fourth floor, I walk to the last door on the end and unlock it, the hinges groaning in protest.

The single room I rent is barely bigger than a closet, with peeling wallpaper, a lumpy mattress on the floor, and a toilet that only sometimes flushes. No matter how much I try to clean it, the smell of mold, rust, and decay never goes away.

I sigh, kicking off my shoes, then shrug out of my coat. I toss it over the stack of plastic crates that hold my uniforms from work and the threadbare shirts and socks, all the possessions I have to my name.

Exhaustion from the day urges me to fall on the pile of blankets and sleep. Instead, I force myself to stand over the sink in the tiny kitchen and eat the beans cold from the can.

Only once I wash the stink of the club from my body do I allow myself to lie down, but sleep eludes me.

Wide awake now, I stare up at the large stain in the ceiling over my mattress.

How did this become my life?

I'm so tired of this existence, tired of struggling and scraping by with nothing to show for it.

I want more. I want security, warmth, proper nutrition, and rest. I want to feel safe and protected, to have someone care for me the way I never could for myself.

Most of all, I want Nolan.

Just thinking of him sends a spike of heat through my body, easing the gnawing emptiness inside.

What would it be like to be held by him? Would he be a gentle lover? Or rough?

I close my eyes and picture the strength in his broad shoulders, the coldness in his green eyes when they swept over me. He would be possessive. All-consuming.

I slip a hand under my thin T-shirt, tracing my hand up my stomach, my fingers bumping over the notches of my ribcage from too many nights spent without dinner. As I find my nipple, pinching and squeezing it, a gasp escapes my lips.

My other hand slides into my pajama bottoms to palm my semi-hard dick, stroking hard like I imagine Nolan would. Desire curls in my hips, and warmth seeps from my ass, slick coating my entrance, to ease the way for my Alpha.

Would he be big? I curl a knee up and drop my hand lower, to the needy pucker just past my taint. I circle the tight ring of muscles, slick coating my fingers.

What would it feel like to be filled by Nolan?

I push my fingers inside, and my back arches with pleasure at being filled, but it's not what I need. Not deep enough, not thick enough. Just. Not. Enough.

My other hand moves up to my nape guard, my fingers slipping beneath to scratch the sensitive place on the back of my neck where I want Nolan's teeth.

I leave my needy entrance to return to my dick, stroking fast and hard, the wet sounds joining my moans in the dingy apartment as I picture a different room, something that would suit Nolan.

Nolan on top of me. Nolan's hands replacing mine.

I come into my fist, shivers shaking my body, but it's not enough.

My eyes open, and I stare at the mold spots in the corners of my room. This will never be enough.

I wake with a start, disoriented from too little sleep.

For a moment, I can't remember where I am. Then I feel the lumps in the mattress beneath me and the damp, musty smell in the air. My apartment.

Blearily, I look toward the window, where dawn turns the sky a dingy gray. I had fallen asleep less than an hour ago.

What woke me?

I vaguely remember a pounding sound. Are my neighbors fighting?

The pound comes again, and I realize with a jolt that it's coming from my front door.

Heart in my throat, I scramble for the baseball bat I keep next to my bed.

"Open up, Leo!" The angry shout sounds like the man stands in the room with me, the thin wood of the door a flimsy barrier to hold him out. "I know you're in there!"

My pulse spikes as I recognize Gino's voice, and I hastily tuck the bat out of view. Greeting the loan shark with a weapon would be the height of stupidity.

My legs shake as I crawl from the bed and hurry to open the door a crack.

Gino stands on the other side, his cheeks red from the early morning chill. He wears a baseball cap pushed back on his head, and a hoodie under a brown leather jacket.

I hover in the narrow opening, worried that he woke my neighbors. "Gino, what are you doing here?"

He flashes a gold-toothed smile. "I'm here to pick up what you owe me."

Anxiety curdles my insides. "It's not the fifteenth yet."

"Are you talking back to me?" Gino shoves a large hand against the door, sending me stumbling backward.

My heels catch on the mattress, and I fall onto it.

He strolls into my apartment, his lip curled with disgust. "God, you live like a rat in this trash pile."

Shame heats my cheeks. "It's all I can afford."

He stomps to my freezer and opens it. When he finds nothing but an ice tray inside, he grabs the can of coffee that sits on top and dumps the precious grounds into the sink in search of stashed cash.

Annoyed, he turns to stare down at me. "Where are you hiding your cash? If you make me search the whole place for it, I won't be happy."

"I don't have any stashes." I push myself back to my feet. "Everything I have goes to you and rent."

His eyes gleam. "That means you have something for rent. Where is it?"

My hands clench in helpless fear. "It's not the fifteen?—"

The blow catches me on the side of the head, pain exploding through my skull. I crash back to the mattress, my ears ringing.

Gino crouches next to me. "Since you seem to have forgotten, let me give you a reminder. You owe me money, which means anything you have is mine. Understand?"

Cupping my throbbing head, I point to the large flashlight in the plastic crate with my work uniforms, where I stash my cash until I pay rent.

"That's more like it." Gino grabs it and untwists the battery cap.

He pulls out the roll of bills, counts them, and grunts with dissatisfaction. "This all of it?"

Tears sting my eyes. "Yeah."

Not believing me, he grabs my jacket and searches the pockets. He finds my wallet first, tossing the few cards I own onto the floor and checking all the pockets where cash could be hidden before throwing it onto the bed beside me.

He pulls my pill case out of my jacket next, pops it open, and takes the two doses of suppressants inside. "Guess I can get a few bucks for these."

"But I need?—"

I cut off when he raises his hand in threat.

He pockets the cash and the pills before throwing my jacket at me. "You're lucky this isn't worth selling, too."

I clutch the thin material to my chest as he stomps to the door.

"See you on the fifteenth, Leo." With a wave, he stomps out the door, leaving it open.

On trembling hands and knees, I crawl across the mattress and reach out to shut it. Only once the lock slides into place do the tears fall.