Page 22 of Unhinged Alphas
Distant sounds echo all around us. Raucous laughter, muffled shouts, the clang of metal on metal. A veritable symphony of depravity and lawlessness, each dissonant note a siren's call that has my blood boiling with excitement.
Too bad I'm still on an invisible leash.
I'm sure Thane gave Plague the kill switch to my chip. I like my odds of getting it off him better than Thane, but still… it would be a risk. And there's a twisted, fucked-up part of me that doesn't want to escape.
Not without Ivy.
The next time the Council sends her out on a mission with us both, though… all bets are off.
"We getting close?" Plague mutters, his voice tight with barely-leashed tension.
"Relax, princess," I drawl. "The real fun's just getting started."
"Where are we going, anyway?" he growls as we enter a long corridor lined with vendors, each hocking their overpriced and subpar offerings to the disinterested crowd.
"To see an old friend," I call back over my shoulder. "He deals in information, and he'll be able to point us in the right direction."
Plague scoffs, the sound dripping with disdain. "Of course he does. Should've known a sleaze like you would only associate with the dregs of society."
I flip him off without looking back.
The crowd thickens the deeper we plunge into the heart of the black market, the cacophony of sounds and smells reaching an almost overwhelming crescendo. There's not an omega in sight, but I can smell their cloying sweetness joining with far less pleasant cocktails from the alphas and betas teeming in the dank, tight corridors. Probably cloistered in the brothel I know to be further up the market, heavily guarded—and for good reason.
Once upon a time, I might have been tempted to visit it to let off some steam, but the truth is, I haven't even thought about another omega since Ivy. I've never had more than a passing interest in anyone other than her, and even now, the scents I once would have found at least mildly enticing seem sickly sweet and unappealing in comparison to her intoxicating, honeyed scent.
Somewhere up ahead, a roar rises up, the unmistakable surge of bloodlust that can only mean one thing.
My lips curve into a predatory grin as I lengthen my stride, my excitement building with each chant of the crowd.
Plague curses under his breath but follows, his boots ringing against the metal grating as we round the final bend and emerge into a vast, open chamber. A makeshift arena has been erected in the center, a rickety cage of twisted rebar and chain link fencing. Within the rusted confines, two massive alphas are locked in vicious combat, trading blows with ruthless intensity as the crowd bays for blood.
I come to a stop at the edge of the seething mass, crossing my arms over my chest as I drink in the scene with undisguised relish.
This is what I live for.
The thrill of violence made flesh, the intoxicating scent of adrenaline and desperation thick in the air.
Beside me, Plague has gone rigid, his body coiled tight as a whip. He takes in the bellowing crowd, the snarls and grunts of the combatants, the spatters of blood painting the cage in macabre streaks of crimson.
"Don't tell me the mighty Plague is getting cold feet," I say in a cloying tone.
"Fuck off," he mutters, curling his lip slightly as one of the alphas dislocates his opponent's jaw. "What a savage pursuit."
I bark a harsh laugh. "Pays good, though." I give him a nudge to keep walking. "Just try to look a bit less...stuffy. These people can smell uptight morality a mile away."
He scowls at me from behind his scarf. "I'm wearing combat boots. What more do you want?"
I laugh, but I'm already moving, shouldering my way through the throngs until we reach the very edge of the arena. I scan the spectators for the man I'm looking for, and sure enough, there he is in a front row seat, sipping a drink out of a massive iron tumbler with a scantily clad female beta sprawled across his lap.
His black eyes meet mine as if he possesses the same sixth sense that always tells me where an ally—or an enemy—is watching. Geo has been both over the years, but in these parts, we don't keep score. The line between the two is much too thin, and the man who saves your life one day may well be the fucker who ends it tomorrow.
"Well, well," Geo purrs in a deep, smoky voice. "If it isn't my favorite psychopath. Last I heard, the Council gave you a twine necklace."
"They tried, but I've never looked good in natural fabrics," I say dryly, walking over to his table.
He waves off the beta dismissively, ignoring her exaggerated pout, and rises to greet me. His face splits into a wide grin as he reaches out to clasp my hand in a firm shake. "I knew you'd find a way to slip out of trouble, old friend."
"Is that so?" I ask. "And here I heard you bet on me in the dead pool."