Page 96 of In Deep
“It wasn’t.” Duncan pats Seb on the back and walks through to the kitchen.
“It was!” I glare at Seb, that same stab of jealousy I’d experienced at the bar returning tenfold. “You can’t be having conversations with another omega behind my back, especially with your ex.”
“Are you telling me what I can and can’t do?” Seb asks, a slight warning growl to his voice.
“When it comes to her, yes,” I say, lifting my chin in defiance and meeting his stern eyes. The woman’s scent is still thick in the air, and it’s driving me to distraction.
“You know you’re mine, Omega,” he says lowly. “You want Ollie and Zane to pin you against the wall so I can claim you, bite you, here and now?”
“Seb,” Ollie warns softly. We all know that would be a bad idea. Claiming me would tip me into heat and my alphas into rut, and the championships are only days away. Besides, it’s not what we agreed. We agreed we’d wait.
I drop my gaze to the floor, but Seb tilts it up to meet his with the curl of his finger.
“I will talk to her, make it damn clear she’s to stay away from us, all of us. OK?” I bite my bottom lip, and nod. “But you can’t talk to me like that, Omega. You know that’s not how it works with me.”
I open my mouth to protest but, before I’ve had the chance, I’m lifted off my feet and flung over his shoulder.
I squeal, lifting my head to find both Ollie and Zane grinning at me.
“I’m taking you to my room,” Seb tells me, “and spanking your arse.”
Chapter 30
“Are you sure we couldn’t have gone to a tattoo studio in a nice part of the city?” Sophia asks me, clutching my arm, eyes flitting about the street, over the rubbish at the curb, the graffiti scrawled on closed-down shops and the worn paintwork of the ones still open.
“This studio has an omega artist. There’s lots of chat about her on the omega online community.”
“Does it matter who does your tattoo?” Sophia asks.
I look her hard in the eye. We’ve been good friends for nearly nine months now, but she still struggles to see what it’s like for me as an omega. “Most tattoo artists are alphas,” I remind her. “That’s not exactly a great situation to be in. That’s why this woman is getting so popular.”
Sophia nods, and we stop outside the door of the studio. The windows are covered in large tattoo designs, and it’s nearly impossible to see through into the shop.
“Are you sure about this?” Sophia asks. “This little tattoo right here.” She points to one on her wrist, “hurt like hell. And I have tough beta skin. I’m not as sensitive to pain as you are.”
I thrust out my arm, and remind her of the constellation of stars I have tattooed over my wrist. Sure, it hurt and my mum refused to talk to me for a week after I got it done, but it was worth it.
Soph shudders. “Oh, I think I’m going to be sick.”
I roll my eyes and push my shoulder against the door. “It’ll be fine,” I tell her. Besides, I want this. I want a way to prove to the boys that I am theirs.
Despite Seb’s words of reassurance, I’m still spooked by Pippa’s appearance. Perhaps I’ll always feel like this. The omega inside me always insecure until we’re bonded. But for now, I think this permanent ink on my skin will help.
My eyes adjust to the dim electric lighting, and together we stroll to the counter where a woman waits on the other side, flipping through her phone. Her cherry-red hair sits in a high pony at the back of her head, tied with a ribbon, and a curled fringe frames her face. She wears lipstick that matches her hair and a tight 1950s-style dress, her bare shoulder covered in a pattern of inks.
“Hi,” she smiles, “Rosie, right?” She addresses me, probably picking up on my scent under the blockers.
I recognise her voice, but I can make out her scent under blockers too. I nod. “And you must be–”
“Connie.”
We’ve been in email contact as well as talked on the phone, and I’ve sent her several designs and ideas.
“Let’s go out back,” she says. A large man who must be an alpha works on a young beta man on the other side of the shop, and I spot their glances towards us from the corner of my eye. “We have a special room out the back for omega clients. Nice and fresh smelling, no contamination from alpha scents.” She jumps down from her seat, and we follow her behind a beaded curtain and through into a small room. She gestures for me to sit on the large dentist-like chair and for Sophia to take the plastic seat to one side.
The lighting in here is softer and rather than the rock that blasts out in the main shop, it’s sultry love songs.
“So,” the woman says. “I’ve worked up a couple of plans for you.” She opens a drawer and lifts out several sheets of paper, passing them to me. Sophia peers over my shoulder as I flick through them. “Like any?” the woman asks, crossing her legs.
