Page 43 of Toy No More

Why am I being asked to be there? By who? His father? I’m just a tool for these powerful men. They give an order and without me truly understanding why, I am compelled to follow it.

With a few swift motions, I get out of the car and catch up with Jasper, staying a short distance behind him as we make our way through the house’s stunning entrance. The guards nod at him and ignore me as if I’m a ghost.

“Wait here,” Jasper orders, not even bothering to turn to me before he enters his father’s office.

I nod and hesitantly stand against the wall a few steps away. The two bodyguards both glance at me. I can feel the judgment in their peery eyes. Thankfully, I don’t sense any pheromones. They’re just betas. One less thing to worry about.

It doesn’t take long for whateverdiscussionJasper is having with his father to become semi-public. Their voices, though muffled by the heavy oak door, start echoing inside the room, almost as if there’s a tempest trapped in there, threatening to burst out.

Solomon Zane’s men seem fairly oblivious to it, or good at acting like they’re not the least bit worried or interested. I can’t help but wonder how different it would have been to work for Solomon instead of Jasper, and why he put me under his wing.

Was it because I’m an omega? Because I’m young and couldn’t be fully trusted with the high level of operation around here?

Or because he didn’t find me adequately important but felt enough loyalty to Mr. Wilson not to just refuse, so he threw me onto his wayward son?

Time passes weirdly in this long hallway of the mansion soaked in the aroma of cigars and covered in expensive dark wood. The voices behind the door ebb and flow, falling quieter—completely silent at moments—before picking back up as the two argue.

Unbeknownst to the betas, a faint scent of pheromones seeps from inside the room. They must be getting really worked up in there. Though, the smell of ocean air is much stronger, telling me it’s mostly Jasper showing off like a peacock in front of his father.

Just as I’m thinking about how glad I am to not be in there, the door opens.

Gulping, I dart my eyes across Jasper, who steps out, pausing in the middle with some sort of grunt. His face says it all, not to mention his threatening demeanor. I’m about to step out to follow him back into the car when he shoots me a dangerously sharp glare.

“No,” he says, voice rumbling deep inside his throat. “He wants to speak with you.”

Shivers run down my spine.Oh,I don’t like the tone he said that with.

“M-me?”

“Gimme the keys. I’m waiting in the car,” he barks at me, raising his hand. I quickly fish them out of my pocket and throw them at him. Jasper snatches them with a reflex of a hunter and rumbles, “Make it quick,” under his breath as he stomps away.

Blinking sharply, I glance up at the two guards, confused. As if they will help me.

“Come in, Kobe,” Solomon Zane’s calm voice invites me from within. One of the betas nods at me and gestures toward the door.

Fuck… Today keeps getting better and better.

I will my body to get it together. It’s hard to seem unaffected when I walk into the brewing smoke bomb of angry pheromones filling the room. Still, I do my best to smile ever so slightly as I meet his eyes and sit on the chair facing him behind his desk.

“Sir.”

“Welcome. I do apologize for…the ambiance,” Solomon Zane says, a touch of annoyance mixed with embarrassment passing through his words. It never fails to surprise me how polite he is. For a gangster, anyway.

“No problem, sir,” I say, trying to navigate the awkward fact that his son, who is my boss, just had a tantrum here with him. “Did you wish to speak to me?”

He leans back in his chair, smiling calmly. Something behind his old eyes tells me he maybe enjoys my uncertainty. Like he can see the scared little omega way over his head somewhere deep inside me. And yet there doesn’t seem to be the same judgment someone like Jasper would display.

“I wanted to make sure how you’re getting on,” he says in an airy tone, slotting his hands together on his desk in front of him. “It’s been, what…a couple of months since you’ve been with us? Tell me, how are things going?”

“Everything’s going well,” I say confidently. In all honesty, they definitely could have gone much worse. No part of me is keen to complain.

“Good. Good…”

There’s some ulterior motive behind these friendly questions. He doesn’t actually care. I’m not a worker under a small family-owned business that values its employees as people. This man is a crime boss who’s spent his entire life doing this. My happiness isn’t his priority.

Narrowing my eyes, I shift in the chair, waiting for him to reveal what he really cares about.

“Remember the first time we spoke?”

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