11. Fish ’n’ Chips ’n’ Finger Fucks

Fish 'n' Chips 'n' Finger Fucks

Sinclair

Titus's words hang heavy in the air. I feel the truth of them settle in the pit of my stomach, like an anchor tying me to this place.

During the ceremony, I was too shocked to do anything. I told myself I just needed to get through it and then I could start planning my escape.

Now, I know that hope was nothing more than what he said. A pipe dream.

My stomach rumbles, breaking the silence. I haven't eaten since before the ceremony, but I became accustomed to even longer stretches without food at the Doll House.

Ecker's dark brown-green eyes glance my way, dropping to my stomach. I fight the urge to wrap my arms around my middle to cover myself even though I'm wearing a shirt.

He stands with purpose and claps his hands together. "Burgers. Let's go."

"What?" all three of us exclaim at the same time, making him laugh.

His laugh is bright and warm, like his sun-kissed skin and golden hair. It threatens to cut through the tension and the barbs I've protectively wrapped around my heart. I won't let it. They're there for a reason, and I can't let them take anymore from me.

Feeling a little suspicious, I ask, "Can we do that? Go out to eat, I mean."

He lifts his eyebrows and shrugs. "They never said we couldn't."

I'm not expecting the strange wave of anxiety I feel when faced with something resembling freedom. I suck in a breath, willing my lungs to inflate.

"Burgers do sound good. I'm fucking starving," Bishop muses while idly redoing his bun.

Titus pushes off the windowsill and looks at the other two seriously. "But I'm not sharing my fries. If there's even the smallest chance you want fries, order your own. Got it?"

"Calm down, Tiddles," Ecker chides with an amused smirk.

Titus rolls his shoulders back and exhales through his flared nostrils like a bull. "Don't you start with that shit, too."

"Fish ‘n' chips," I blurt out, and all heads turn to me. "Not burgers."

"Okay . . ." Titus, for some reason, looks confused. Maybe because this is the most normal conversation we've ever had. "But don't start thinking you're calling the shots around here, Azurite." And there it is. He couldn't do something remotely nice without ruining it by throwing a lineage I don't even want back in my face.

Captain Cross's is a small seafood joint that feels like a diner from a small town in the South.

The booths are upholstered with yellow and red vinyl, held together by duct tape in places. Single-leg stools are bolted to the linoleum floor along the long counter, behind which the cooks bustle in greasy, stained white jackets.

I've been coming here since I was a kid with my grandma. When Celia would be in a particularly bad way, my grandmother wouldn't let her see me at home. We would meet here. It was neutral territory with only happy memories.

My grandmother would never tell me ahead of time if my mom would be meeting us. As a child, I thought she just liked surprising us, but now I suspect she just didn't want me to get my hopes up if Celia didn't show. Which was probably more often than not.

In all that time, I've never seen a single plate. Everything is served in red plastic baskets lined with checkered wax paper. Your only drink options are Coke—absolutely no Pepsi—water or sweet tea. And if you want to see a look that could kill, ask if you can get your tea unsweetened.

It's perfect. Heaven on earth.

The four of us climb out of the town car. Having a fleet of drivers at our disposal is not a luxury I'm used to. It puts a part of me on edge too. The only time I've been in such a nice car was when I was driven from the Doll House to the Estate, and we all know what happened after that. Plus, the drivers are loyal to the Echelon, their eyes and ears when we're away from the Estate.

The guys don't seem as uneasy as I am, but I can tell they aren't fully comfortable either. It makes me wonder how similar our upbringings might have been.

In the parking lot, Titus leans over the driver's window. It looks like he tries to give him some cash but the driver refuses, waving him off. Titus catches back up with us and we head into the restaurant.

I smile at the grubby, child fingerprints smudged on the door at waist level. The bell above the door chimes as it opens, and the sound is comforting and nostalgic, like an old friend's laugh.

The tallest cook on the line turns around at our entrance and my chest flutters. His warm brown eyes, comforting like fire in a hearth, light up when they see me. "If it ain't Little Miss Sin."

"Hi, Mr. Captain." I smile, so damn happy to see a friendly face. It almost makes my eyes prick with tears.

He wipes his hands on his chef coat and leans across the counter, offering them to me. "When that car pulled up, I was sure someone was lost. But you ain't lost, baby. You're home."

Okay, maybe I will cry.

I set my hands in his big ones, and he clasps them together. I bite my trembling lip as I soak in this feeling. He looks the same as he did the first time I saw him twenty years ago, save a few more creases in his deep brown skin and strands of silver in his black hair.

His eyes seem to take me in right back, and I am grateful I threw on a hoodie that Seventeen brought me because it covers my burn. I don't think I could bear the look in his eyes if he saw it. This way it's easier to pretend.

"Mr. Captain?" Ecker whispers behind me.

I glare over my shoulder. "Don't question the man."

He pats my hands before releasing them and answering the guys. "You can call me Mister or Captain or Cross or any combination of the three." He spreads his arm out and says warmly, "Now, take your pick of a table, and Barb will be right there to take your order."

We take the farthest booth in the corner. We are surrounded by windows that the alphas keep surveying like they're anticipating an attack. I'd expect their edginess to make me anxious, but instead I feel a slight tingle in my chest like a string being lightly tugged.

I know—I know—any protectiveness they feel toward me is a purely physical reaction or a desire to protect their asset.

It's not actually about me. So instead, I try to trick myself into thinking it's being back here and the warm welcome from Mr. Captain.

Barb makes her way over to us. Just like with Mr. Captain, it doesn't seem much has changed. Her cheeks are heavier and dotted with sun spots but still painted her signature bright pink rouge, her eyes glittering with blue eyeshadow and her hair now dyed to maintain her natural blonde. But she snaps her gum and stuffs her uniform's breast pocket with five different pens just like the last time I was here over seven years ago.

I can't help but laugh when the first thing Ecker asks for is unsweet tea.

"Is it on the menu?" She passive-aggressively taps her pen on the laminated menu in his hands.

"Well, no, but—"

"Then it's not an option, is it, sweetie?" There's nothing sweet about her tone, and I relish the look on his face, like he's both offended and respects the shit out of her.

She continues to take the rest of the guys' orders. When she gets to me, I ask for a large chicken tender basket and sweet tea.

"Chicken tenders?" Titus balks, and both Barb and I look at him like he just spit on a saint's grave. He tries for what I think is his attempt at a diplomatic tone but just sounds like he's constipated. "We came here because you wanted fish 'n' chips."

I hold a finger up as if making an astute point. "I never actually said I wanted fish 'n' chips."

His gaze hardens. "But—"

"Anything else, doll? The Captain says it's on the house." Barb ignores whatever he was about to say. For the second time in as many minutes, I wish I could put their boggled faces on coins and collect them all.

I glance over my shoulder, and the Captain gives me a wink from the grill. After mouthing thank you, I turn back to Barb. "In that case, I'd love two extra sides of ranch." She jots it down and walks away with a parting nod.

"You came to a fish ‘n' chips place for the chicken tenders?" Ecker, who is sitting next to me, looks seconds away from actually scratching his head.

I shrug. "They have the best ranch."

As we wait, I observe. I almost feel invisible. The more they act like I'm not here, I'm shocked to realize they seem scarily . . . normal.

They shit on each other then laugh about it. Bishop makes a paper airplane out of a napkin, Titus's face isn't wearing a permanent scowl, and Ecker jokes about the Elder's "Bambi mask."

Then our food arrives.

I didn't know that manifesting as an omega would suddenly make tartar sauce the new porn.

I've barely eaten one bite. I'm too distracted by the way Bishop brushes the corner of his mouth gently with his thumb. While he wipes the escaped drop of sauce, his eyes meet mine across the table, hooded and flickering with gold.

Or the way Ecker's white teeth snap a crisp french fry in half and my skin tingles imagining his teeth sinking into me.

Even the way Titus drinks his water slowly, his heated stare burning into me over the rim of his cup. I watch, tantalized, as condensation drips down the cup at the same time as a bead of sweat slides down my spine.

"Not hungry?" I jump as Ecker's breath flutters on my neck.

I scoot away from him leaning toward me and tug on the neckline of the hoodie. I don't trust myself to coherently string together a sentence right now, so instead of answering, I shoot him a dirty glare.

"I've heard that right after manifesting, omegas can be incredibly sensitive to sensory input, like sight . . ." I follow Ecker's gaze as he tilts his chin toward Bishop across the table from him. My stomach swoops as Bishop's tongue slowly wets his full lips then pulls his bottom lip through his teeth with a deep sigh.

"Or taste . . . ," he murmurs low and sensually, and Titus reaches across the table, his strong arms flexing as he props himself up. I'm desperately frozen as his thumb brushes a crumb from my mouth. The lightest touch sends shockwaves through my body.

The tip of his thumb nudges my slightly parted lips, and I want so badly to pull away. I am only embarrassing myself.

But I can't. My breathing stutters as he pushes his thumb past my lips, through my teeth until I feel the rough pad of his fingertip on my tongue.

Mindlessly, I flick my tongue over it and the salty taste sends me right back to the night before and the way he smelled like ocean breeze as he manipulated my body to points of pleasure I'd never experienced before. My cheeks heat at the memory, and a swallowed growl rumbles in his chest.

"Or touch." Ecker's low whisper is raw and strained. Titus withdraws his thumb, and I turn to face Ecker.

He flattens his palm on the cushion between us, his forearms flexing. My gaze feels heavy as I drag it up his arm to his neck. It bobs on a swallow and my mouth goes dry.

Finally, I meet Ecker's eyes. Again, I feel like a stranger in my own body. I see his face and remember how it looked all twisted and hot when he thoughtlessly came on my ass like I was nothing but a dirty sock.

And yet, I can barely hear him over the desperate pounding in my ears. "Come here."

I'm doing everything I can to fight my omega nature from ruining me. Somehow, I manage to shake my head in small, shy movements.

Impatience flashes on his face and this time, he alpha growls. "Come here."

As if pulled by an invisible magnet, I slide across the bench until our thighs kiss. I look down at my lap, as it feels harder and harder to get an adequate breath.

"Put your leg over mine," he commands, and in a way, I'm grateful he's forcing me. It makes it easier to accept—though with no less shame—when I lift my leg and drape it over his. My thigh now between his spread knees, he places a hot palm over my skirt and chuckles. "Now that's a good omega."

I can't deny that his praise strokes something in me. Maybe it's not the praise so much as a reminder that it's not me reacting in this lascivious way, but the omega inside me.

"Remember how Bishop was hurting last night?" Ecker's voice is like cool silk against my cheek. "You're hurting right now, aren't you, Omega?" His tone leaves me questioning whether he's seducing or threatening me.

His hand slips under the hem of my skirt, and I find my voice to say, "Don't. Not here."

I'm itching to swat his hand away, but I'm terrified to move, like I'm teetering on the edge of a cliff and one wrong breath could send me plummeting over.

"A good omega gives herself freely to her alphas." His fingertips graze the crease at my hip, and I suck in a sharp breath. "A good omega keeps her legs spread so her alpha . . ." His voice drops to what is now a clear threat. ". . . can finger fuck her wherever he pleases."

I hear screeching plastic and look up to see Bishop's hand digging into the back of the booth, knuckles whitening. His nostrils pulse, and his eyes are almost fully gold.

Ecker teases the band of my panties. "Just be glad I'm not bending you over this table and staking my claim right here." I grimace at the bomb of heat his words drop in my stomach.

In a way, I wish he would. It would be so much easier if he roughly took his pleasure from me rather than this unbearably gentle attention all on me. I pinch my brows together and try to imagine I'm anywhere else.

His fingers glide under my panties to trace my slit. I'm too mortified to look behind me and see who might be watching. Even though Titus has stretched his legs out so his ankles are crossed on the seat next to me, I feel utterly exposed. Like these men shed me of every last ounce of dignity.

And despite all that, my eyes still burn, and I know if I looked in a mirror, they'd be streaked with gold.

His long fingers part me, and he glides my own slick over my clit, making me gasp. I clap my hand over my mouth in humiliation.

"Shove over." Bishop grunts, pushing Titus, who slides over and out of the booth. Bishop follows and says gruffly, breaths choppy, "I-I can't be here."

After he bolts from the restaurant, Titus brings his focus back on me. I'm slowly dying under Ecker's tortuously light and teasing touch. Titus's eyes darken, and he trails them down my chest to my lap. The ghost of a cold smile plays on his lips as he watches the cords in Ecker's forearms move. When he drags his gaze back to mine, there's a wicked sense of victory in his eyes. There is no doubt he delights in my pain.

It's this fucked-up sense of entitlement they have over me and my body that makes me burn with something even hotter than this godforsaken lust. Anger blazing so strong, I'm able to tear my body away from Ecker's spell.

I jump out of the booth and run to the bathroom, inhaling deeply with relief when I twist the knob and it's not occupied. Pushing the door open, knowing there's going to be something solid between them and me has the knot in my chest already loosening.

I don't get a chance to close it before a heavy hand slaps the door above my head and my heart jumps into my throat.