12. Brinlee

12

After leaving the hospital, I always feel drained, mentally and physically. I feel as if someone has kicked me about, punched my stomach, bruised my ribs. My bones hurt. My skin itches. My eyes burn.

Today it's particularly bad. Last night, work was grim, which means I didn't sleep much, and kept waking up in a cold sweat. Fussy customers, making insistent requests, and a guy who demanded I sit in his lap, although that will never happen.

Worst still, my boss was looking the other way, obviously not giving a shit if the guy molested me.

Being a pole dancer is the best and the worst job.

I love dancing. And it pays well. The tips can be terrific, and they are life savers. But then you will always have customers who expect more, who think a pole dancer is a synonym for a prostitute. And no dissing people who have to sell their bodies for money, but I hope I'll never have to go that far.

Even if the medical bills are mostly covered by the State Medic-Care, the copays are a killer.

Health is the greatest luxury, it seems. We pay for it more than we'd pay for a race car or a villa by the sea. It's our lives at stake, and yet it's a business targeting those who have money already.

What a strange world.

So I'm beat, and the thought of having to go back to work this evening is killing me. Everything is killing me—this hospital I'm shuffling out of, my steps leading me to the exit without any need of input from my brain anymore, the noise of the city slamming into me as I step outside, the weight of all the worry and stress crushing me.

At this point, getting abducted by aliens might do me good. It will be a vacation. I hope they have coffee slushies and good books to read. We can raid a library together.

The air is laced with the fumes of passing cars, but also incongruously, flowers. It's spring, so that shouldn't come as a surprise, but I never noticed the trees blooming on the sidewalk until now.

I pause. Take in the avenue. As a rule, I rush away from the hospital until I'm far enough not to smell its nauseating stench of antiseptic and bleach and death, until I can take a deep breath and not gag, but today the scent of those flowers is a reprieve.

I have been rushing through life all this time, never stopping for a breather, never even realizing what a nice neighborhood this one is.

Beside the hospital is the Omega Sunshine Shelter. I've noticed the sign before, but never stood long enough to take in the fa?ade. It's painted yellow and white, I suppose imitating the sunshine in the name.

Another incongruity of our time. How omegas who are not only the least common designation, but also necessary by law to form an official pack, are often so mistreated. Treated as yet another luxury commodity one can buy and use, then throw away.

Granted, the law is antiquated and should be amended. It's a remnant of older times when alphas could only reproduce with omegas, and omegas were the only ones capable of producing children. Nowadays, male omegas rarely get pregnant anyway, and betas and other designations, produce just as many children.

They say omegas and alphas evolved in a time of great genetic changes in the world. Nuclear fallout? Climate change? Some other catastrophe? They evolved to survive the fallout, evolved specifically to fit together and repopulate the earth. Then the circumstances changed again and the rest of us—betas, deltas, epsilons, and so on—became the norm. Apparently, we are closer to the original genetic make-up of our species.

If I'm really a delta, as I was told at school when we were tested and that bold D was put in my digital ID. If there wasn't any mistake, as I have often heard of cases that?—

"Excuse me," a bass voice says, jolting me. "Miss…"

"Stay away from me." I whirl about, fishing inside my bag for my pepper spray, the sight that greets my eyes taking a long moment to sink in.

The alpha is tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a gray suit, with dark hair and bright sky-blue eyes. Like Superman in the movies, I think, my breath knocked out of me, when he's pretending to be human… Or was it the big bad wolf, following little Red Riding Hood through the woods, pretending to be good? There's something so primal about this alpha, and his scent, hitting me a moment later when I draw in a breath, is partly to blame: musk and pine with a subtle hint of anise.

"Excuse me," he says again. So well-mannered for a sexy alien, or a wolf in disguise.

"Yes?"

"You don't need to be afraid. It's okay."

Is it? Why is he saying that and giving me that concerned look?

"You only have to walk inside," he goes on, with that damned bass voice. "You don't even have to give your real name. Just go in and ask for help."

It hits me a second later.

He thinks I'm an omega.

That I'm, in fact, an omega in dire need of a shelter, and that's why I'm staring at the fa?ade of the Omega Sunshine Shelter. I wonder what I look like, what my expression must have been. Sadness? Despair? Confusion?

A nervous laugh escapes me. "Oh, no," I say.

"I beg your pardon?" God his voice is so sexy it makes me shiver.

"No, I'm not an omega."

"Oh. I thought…"

"Yeah, many make that mistake," I mutter. "Don't worry about it."

I am aware I look like a female omega, tiny, with large eyes and plump cheeks.

He's gazing at me with a small crease between his dark brows. "You don't have to be an omega to ask for help at the shelter."

"I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He rolls his massive shoulders in a shrug. Then he extends his hand to me. "My name is Archer. I help out at the center."

"Brinlee," I whisper, clasping his hand. It engulfs mine, and it shouldn't feel so nice, but God help me, it does. His grip is firm but careful. I bet he could crush my fingers easily.

"A pleasure," he murmurs, and his blue eyes dip to my mouth. Or my boobs?

It makes my skin feel hot, and it starts a throb between my legs.

Danger. Sexy alphas are a danger to everyone with a pulse. I know that, and yet I can't make myself move away, my hand still held in his. I know it, and yet it has never happened to me before quite like this, the attraction so strong it takes my breath away.

I want him to kiss me. Touch me.

Oh God, what's wrong with me? He smells so good, and he's gorgeous, and the way his eyes darken tells me he's interested in me.

Very interested.

That finally registers, and I step back, pulling my hand away. "I have to go. Thank you…"

"Archer," he repeats, as if he thinks I've forgotten his name already.

Doesn't he know his name is already engraved in my memory?

I turn to go, and almost plow into another tall man.

"Whoa," he says, and his voice is less deep but still smooth like dark caramel. "Careful there."

The hand that grabs my arm to steady me is strong, and his face is beautiful. What is going on today? Assault on all fronts.

"Sorry," I breathe.

"Hi," he says, his lush mouth tilting in a grin, and my panties catch on fire. "I'm Roman. Who are you?"

A beta, I think, from the scent and the general shape of him, but he's just so pretty.

Not as pretty as Sawyer, a little voice whispers at the back of my mind. True. A different kind of beauty.

Thinking of Sawyer reminds me of his voice, his face, his words to me at the library, and again I move away.

Only to find the alpha in front of me again.

He's holding something out to me, something small. "Here," he says.

It's a business card.

I take it automatically, glance down at it. ‘The Alpha Bet bar. Manager, Archer McGraw.'

"Oh, I don't…" I shake my head. "I won't…"

"Keep it," he says. "It doesn't matter if you're not an omega, or if you don't need help right now. If you ever find yourself in dire straits… Give me a call."

And he'll come running, like a knight in shining armor? I frown at the card. That's not how real life works.

"Thanks," I murmur, tucking the card away into my bag, glancing from one handsome face to the other and wondering if they know each other. They seem comfortable, standing there side by side. "Have a… good day."

I hurry away, stumbling once because I can't focus on where I'm going, not with the two studs at my back.

Archer and Roman. So tall and strong, so intense. They made me feel… small. Delicate. In a good way.

But there is no good way for that right now. I can't feel small and helpless. Despite the business card tucked away inside my bag, I don't know these guys. I can't expect help.

Since I was little, the only person I could depend on was myself, and that hasn't changed…