2. Erin

Chapter two

Erin

The bus to nowhere smells like dirty socks and perfume, like someone had squirted twenty pumps of strong, cheap, floral scent into the air, and it now pervades every surface. But still, nothing on earth could mask the dirty sock smell that is embedded in the very frames of this metal vessel of freedom.

Nowhere better have fresh air.

I lean back in my seat and cross my legs, grumbling out loud when my knee hits the seat in front of me. These cramped conditions are ridiculous. Why am I doing this? Oh, yeah, I’ve been sent on an unnecessary break from my firm. And after spending two days wandering around my empty, soulless condo, I researched what people do on a holiday. A trip came up first, so I went to the local bus charter. Booked the first bus out.

I should have thought this through.

Nope. I’m committed. I’m doing this.

Erin Bradley can do a holiday.

Seven people get on and shuffle down the aisle. All of them are old and muttering to each other like chickens in a chook yard. One last person gets on, lucky passenger number eight, a young man who looks like he could be a couple of years younger than my thirty-two. He’s got golden blond hair that falls over one side of his face, a guitar, and along with his all-black clothing, he’s got a crap ton of rings and necklaces. There’s an aura of seduction that surrounds him and arrogance that just oozes out of his pores. He’s slender but muscled, lanky, yet attractively lithe.

I take him in, unable to look away. Everything in me stills. He is incredibly attractive. At last, I draw a shaky breath and force myself to look away.

Golden hour has arrived, bathing the world in gold. It’s my favourite time of the day. For a long moment, I look out as the golden rays turn even this dismal bus terminal into a world of art. We’ll be driving through the night and arriving at our stop some time tomorrow. With a view like this, I can feel hopeful of the success of my venture.

Argh, why did I do this? It seemed like a good idea at the time.

What the fuck was I thinking? Maybe I had a stroke?

I shift on the uncomfortable cushion as the guy takes the seat across the aisle from me. He glances at me, and I note his eyes are a strange blue-green colour, framed by long lashes. I inhale discreetly, but strangely, I can’t catch his scent.

No matter.

The day was cold, but the night is threatening to be colder still. I hope this bus has heating. The street lights flicker on and off. The concrete bus terminal transforms from beautiful to creepy as the shadows stretch. I’m glad I’m on the bus and not out there. I will end today here in this ugly concrete jungle and wake up in some rural paradise tomorrow. How wonderful!

Why am I doing this again?

I reach for my briefcase and have to still the panic when I realise I don’t have it. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose like the work-appointed therapist told me to do. It doesn’t help at all.

“Excuse me?”

I jerk a little and bump my elbow on the armrest. The man is leaning towards me, half over the aisle. Good alpha, he is a stunning specimen of a man. I’d like to lick him. A lot. Like an ice-cream cone but tastier.

“Sorry. I just…could you tell me where we’re going?”

I frown. Who gets on buses without knowing where they’re going? “It’s a small town, population 320, called Twin Rivers. Nowhere that better have fresh air.”

He blinks, surprised. “320? Is that even possible?”

“Indeed,” I say with a half smile. “Dreamy, isn’t it. Peace, quiet, and no one around. Hell on Earth,” I mutter to myself. “I’m going to make their lives hell when I get back.”

“Uh, thanks.”

I study him and realise the arrogance is unease. I soften, cursing myself because I never could resist a cry for help. It’s why I work in contract law, because I have no ability to look at my poor clients and say no. Boundaries, you have abandoned me.

“Erin Bradley, overworked, overpaid lawyer who is looking for adventure and a, uh, temporary escape from corporate boardrooms.”

He hesitates. “Locke Raines.” There’s a hesitation when he tells me his name, which makes me wonder if it’s his real one. “Overworked, overpaid musician who is looking for something different.”

“Well, we’re both on the right bus for that. I’ve never been to a country town with a population of 320.”

He flicks me an amused grin. “You’re obsessed with that number.”

I shrug my shoulders and lean my head back on the headrest. “It’s a good number. I feel good about it. Like something might actually change my life with 320. The way it rolls off the tongue. It’s auspicious. Three hundred and twenty.” I linger over each syllable and shiver dramatically when I’m done.

Locke shakes his head and returns to his seat. He hesitates, then gathers his belongings and moves to the seat in front of me.

I take note that he turns his back to the glass and is careful about looking out the windows in a quick peek. Is someone after him? Is he running from his drummer? Lover’s quarrel?

Stop being so nosy, Erin.

The bus driver gets on, stands in the aisle looking over us, and hoists his pants up high before he plonks his derrière on the seat. He’s a middle-aged man with a gut that cheerfully looks like a balloon. His cheeks are rosy, and his hair is long and hangs in thick dreads.

“All aboard. You’re flying TransBus Travel,” his voice booms through speakers throughout the bus. “We’ll be driving through the dreaming hours and making our first stop on the dawning of the new day in a wondrous town called Caeylon. Now Caeylon is a special town, known for its circular shape and the tea cakes, made by all the finest women I know!”

The group of old people whoop.

“All right, all right, settle down! My name is Hero, by the way, for those of you who don’t know me. And for anyone who stays on this bus to heaven, we’ll be making our ultimate stop at Twin Rivers, a secret paradise that will steal your heart plain out of your chest.”

“I don’t know if he’s serious or not,” Locke says in amusement and brushes his hair back.

I see him without the hair over half his face; I realise he’s actually quite striking, with high cheekbones. When he smiles, it’s painfully potent.

“Sit back, get some sleep, and let me do all the work,” Hero booms. “I got this.”

Sounds kinky. I consider the bus driver and wonder if any of the old biddies know that what he’s saying could be treading a fine line. Oh, of course, they know. The kinky old gals probably love it.

I cock my head to the side. “Do you think Hero is a real name?”

“I don’t know, but it suits him,” Locke whispers, and we both laugh. “So, why are you alone, Erin?”

“Because I want to be,” I say with a small smile. “With whom else should I be?”

He frowns, and I can see him trying to figure out how to ask me what he really wants to know. Hero starts the bus and steers us down the path of destiny. Suddenly, and for the first time, I’m excited.

Locke surprises me, though. His question is blunt and to the point.

“Do you have a pack? A mate? A boyfriend? Husband? Lover? Girlfriend? Wife?”

I laugh, amused. “No, I don’t have a pack. And none of the above. Do you?”

Locke’s eyes turn guarded, but he shakes his head quickly. “I do not.”

Something there, the truth and not the truth. I’d bet my paycheck on there being more to the story.

I lean close to the seat and watch as his eyes dilate. My scent is powerful, and as a female alpha, which is seldom seen, it packs a punch. I smell like mocha, a decadent combination of coffee and chocolate. A scent that appeals to hardened alphas, sweetheart betas, and feisty omegas alike. Until they realise who they have to deal with.

Then they run. Usually after I’ve fucked their brains out. I’m a notch of bedpost, a mark in a little black book. They fuck me, and they run. Wham, bam, thank you, alpha ma’am.

As an alpha, I’m slightly more prepared for the cruelties of this world. I’m stronger, I can smell better, my instincts guide me to protect, and I lean more towards violence, which is where I’m in my element ripping contracts apart. My colleagues say I’m bloodthirsty. I say it’s just me. Alphas also have a bundle of muscles at the base of their dicks that allows them to knot an omega. Or in my case, an extra set of muscles that grips a penis and holds it deep inside me. So far, my experiences have been sadly disappointing in that regard. I could take it or leave. But I’m extra; salty, spicy, mean. However you want to look at it. Erin Bradley is not your typical alpha.

Omega’s, on the other hand, carry a sweeter and captivating perfume. I’ve met a few, none that caught my fancy, and mostly females. I dream about a male omega suffering under my lock. They are often more emotional, appear innocent but can be deadly. I never underestimate an omega. They go into heats the same way an alpha can go into ruts. It’s a deadly dance that can bring them the most amazing ecstasy or leave them vulnerable. The capacity for sexual joy and torrid violence is a knife’s edge during a heat or a rut.

The last designation are betas. Of whom the majority of the population are. They are a more well-rounded example of humanities differences. They don’t have knots, generally can’t take them, but they do have the ability to bring calm and peace to omegas and alphas both.

I just stay away from everyone. But this little mystery in front of me is not giving off any indication what designation he is, at all. He’s got barely any perfume. He looks me in the eye like an alpha. But he’s probably just a beta who is having some emotional distress that’s masking his scent. Interesting. I do love mysteries.

“Do you like chicken and lettuce sandwiches?” My offer baffles me.

He stares at me, his mouth parted, blind and drunk on my scent. I wait, and finally, he shakes out of it and nods. It happens often. As a female alpha, my scent is a powerful hit to anyone who doesn’t expect it. It’s affecting him more strongly than most people. Which is weird.

“Yeah, I mean, yes. Who doesn’t?”

I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t laugh at this adorable and sexy man, pull out two sandwiches and two bottles of juice, and pass one of each to him.

“Join me for dinner.”

He takes the food, hesitates as his finger brushes my hand, and then swallows hard. I freeze, arrested by the shine in his eyes. Why is he so touched about a sandwich? Who is this guy?

“Thank you!”

We eat in silence. The gentle sway of the bus starts a quiet lull in me I find I quite like. I sigh when I’m finished and look up, only to find Locke staring at me. His gaze makes the hairs stand up on my arms, and I find myself wanting to lean in and rub my cheek along his face.

Scent-marking? I think not.

“What?” I say instead.

“That was generous of you. You didn’t have to do that. I appreciate it, though.”

I cock my head to the side and grin at him. “I have ulterior motives.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You do?”

“I really do.”

He frowns slightly. Is that a flash of fear in his eyes?

“This bus trip is very long, and my mind doesn’t like to be idle.”

He snorts a laugh. “I can keep you entertained in exchange for dinner.”

“You can?” I tease. I purposely let my eyes rove over the parts of his body I can see easily.

His eyes heat. Locke laughs and stands up, swinging into the seat beside me.

“All right, so I have five cousins. Ryn and Lia. Kelly and Raider are brothers, but we don’t see them as much and,” he pauses, seeming to get stuck, “Bethany. I can't believe she's finally back.” He speaks with no little awe in his voice and I wonder what the story is. “Ryn’s as responsible as she can be for our family. She’s the mama hen and a problem all of herself, but Lia is the interesting story here.”

He leans in and gets comfy. I catch the soft scent of vanilla. For the first time, he relaxes, and I see a twinkle in his eye and a smile that hits me in the guts like a punch.

“Lia has been fighting with the neighbours, you see, it happened like this…”

I watch him, smiling back at his grin, half-captivated by his enthusiasm.

“Now, this isn’t any kind of war. This is a prank war that has gone on for four whole years now.”

I frown. “Pranking?”

“Oh, yeah. When I visited her last, she’d somehow managed to stick smiley face stickers all over their house and yard.”

I frown. “Was that terribly upsetting?”

He shakes his head. “It's not upsetting. It’s more frustrating because they don’t know how she keeps getting in.”

I snort a laugh. “Do you know?”

“Nope.”

“Ah, plausible deniability.”

“Exactly.”

His fingers don’t stay still, they tap against his thigh and in the air almost constantly.

“You got on a bus with no idea where it’s going,” I point out in the lull. The old people have fallen asleep or are reading. It feels like it’s just us in the entire world.

Locke stiffens.

“Is someone going to hurt you if they find you, Locke?” I ask, not quite hiding the deadly promise in my voice. I will cut anyone who tries to hurt him. Just because.

He’s so tense. My instincts were right. He’s running, but from what?

“No. They won’t hurt me.”

There are lots of ways of being hurt that don’t leave a bruise. But I don’t say that aloud. I just watch him while he looks down at his fingers and twists a ring on his index finger.

“What do you think we’re gonna find in Twin Rivers? I’m hoping for a wishing well with an old lady with a beak of a nose,” I say to distract him. I’ve probed enough for now.

He bursts into laughter. I’m mesmerised. The sound is musical, deep, and something I want to hear again.

“Okay, I guess, um, I want to see a shanty house with an old man shouting abuse at everyone who walks past.”

“Oh, that would be a sight. While the streets are cobbled, and when we walk into the diner, they break into song.”

Locke turns towards me, smirking. “Do you like musicals?”

“I love musicals.”

“What’s your favourite?”

“Er, The Omega and The Beta.”

“I liked that one. I prefer the Alpha From The River Margie.”

We fall into a deep conversation and only share the most trivial pieces of information about ourselves.

He tells me about his obsession with guitar picks, chocolate shakes, and fries with gravy. I tell him about my love of clothes, especially dresses, coffee, and pizza.

The conversation is easy, full of teasing and laughter, and before I know it, hours have passed, and I let out a huge yawn.

“You look tired.”

“I am,” I murmur. “I don’t sleep very well most of the time.”

He murmurs something and then pats his arm. “Lean here. I’ll be your pillow for the night.”

“You don’t move slowly, do you?” I tease and smile when he laughs.

I put my seat back, so it’s reclining a little, and he does the same.

“This isn’t weird?” Locke asks me. “I don’t normally do this.”

“What, sleep next to a stranger?”

“Fucking, yes, sleeping, no.” His voice sounds weird when he says that, though.

“Ditto.” I say and roll my head towards him. If we weren’t on a bus with old people, I’d show him how Erin Bradley says hello. “I promise I won’t take advantage of you.”

Locke chuckles. “I’m a little sad about that.”

I inhale sharply and my smile fades. “So am I. But there’s always tomorrow.”

He wheezes. “Well, there’s a thought, come on, sunrise! Goodnight, Erin.”

“Sleep well, Locke.”

I force myself to close my eyes and stop fighting the need to stare at him. A faint hint of vanilla curls around me, soothing me while it stirs something deeper inside.

I hear my boss’s voice growling in my memory. “How far are you going to go, Erin? What are you prepared to do?”

Nothing. I’m just here for fun, I say back in my head.

Eventually, I fall asleep. The warmth of the man beside me and the rocking of the bus takes me under. It’s the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in years.