Chapter Eleven

Bronson

Finally, it was time to take Tate home. And by home, I certainly did not mean the fleabag motel where he’d been paying by the night. To all appearances, some of the clientele was paying by the hour. While we were waiting for the manager or clerk to come to the desk, I counted three separate omegas wearing clingy clothes going in and out of a couple of rooms on the end, accompanied by alphas who were most certainly not their own.

My wolf and I both bristled that Tate had ever stayed here. What if one of those alphas had happened upon him when he was going in or out of his room and decided to force themselves upon him? “None of those guys ever approached you?” I asked, just in case one of them needed to die soon.

“Not those, no. A couple of others, but the sex workers hanging around on the corner swooped in and informed them that this was their turf and that ended that. I tried to make it really clear that I was not in their line of business, and since they didn’t threaten me or anything, I guess they believed me.”

“I see.” Nobody here at the moment we could tear up. I banged the bell on the counter a couple of times. Tate didn’t have the key to his room on him when he went to the hospital, and since he hadn’t been paying for the room, his things were probably not in there anyway. “Anyone work here?” I raised my voice. “Is there a manager on-site?” It was the middle of the day, and the door to the office was unlocked. Surely, someone was on duty. I was considering climbing over the counter and searching them out when, finally, the curtain dividing the office from whatever lay behind twitched and a short, balding male covered with freckles hustled out, rubbing his eyes.

“Can’t a girl get a moment’s rest around here?” She planted his hands on his hips and glared up at us. “All the hourly rooms are taken. You’ll have to come back this evening.”

“I’m not here for…that,” Tate said in a low voice. “Remember me? I was staying here and then didn’t come back to check out?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Oh, it’s you! If you want your things, you’re going to have to pay for the nights we’ve been holding onto them.”

“This omega has been in the hospital after a serious accident,” I said, barely controlling my temper. “And what is your fee for holding on to a few bags for someone?”

“We charge the full room rate,” she blustered. “After all, we didn’t know if you’d come back and need to use it.”

“So, you kept the room empty all this time and never rented it?” The traffic outside, people coming and going, had kicked up while we stood there. “Is that your contention?”

“Correct.” She bobbed his head with assurance. “That is what I did.”

After all his time in the hospital, Tate did not need this. What he needed was to be tucked into bed in my comfortable home—preferably my bed—and convalescing. I probably could throw a few hundreds at this weasel shifter and get Tate’s belongings and be on our way. Or tell her to keep it all and buy him new things.

But even this early into knowing the omega, I recognized he had his pride, and everyone had a care for their belongings, no matter how meager. Well, what was the point in going to law school if you didn’t use your license to fight the bullies of the world.

“Mr. Tate?” I really needed to get his last name at some point. But it felt like we’d skipped right past that point already. “Can you identify for me which room number you stayed in?”

He thought a moment. “Sixteen. Right over there where that alpha is going in.”

“Into the room Mr. Tate is expected to pay for?” It was no trouble to let outrage color my tone. “That is in violation of at least six city, county, and state statutes—off the top of my head. But I am sure there are a few more. I’ll need to place a call to be sure…”

I pulled my phone out and scanned the contacts. “Before I do, I believe my client mentioned some other issues with the room. Mold, was it? Stained and torn bedding?”

“Client?” The weasel’s voice came out squeezed. “What are you? His pimp?”

Let the record show, I did not murder him on the spot. Or at all. Instead, I fixed her with my best prosecutorial smile. “His attorney. With some good friends in the various offices of this city.”

For some reason, five minutes later, we had stowed Tate’s things in the back of the car and were on our way home having not only paid nothing but having received Tate’s original payment back. The weasel waved us off, shouting something about no hard feelings and no need to call anyone.

The omega watched me with open admiration. “How did you do that?”

“All part of the service.” I winked at him and turned onto the main street. “Hungry?”

“Starved.”