Page 13 of In Doubt
“Agreed.” This is in direct opposition to how we’ve been advised to work but at least it will keep me as far away from the omega as it is possible to be in a ten by six foot trench. I point my trowel to the end closest to the temple. “I’ll take this end.”
“Oh no,” she says, her hands landing back on her favourite place, her hips. Hips I’ve imagined grabbing as I … “Why should you get the best end?”
“We can swap tomorrow.”
She eyes me. “Fine, then I’ll take that end first.”
She peers down into the trench, assessing the drop and hesitating to jump.
“Where’s the ladder?”
“I don’t think there is one. Here,” I say, offering her my hand.
She flinches as if I’m about to strike her and with an irritated huff, I drop my hand and turn my back on her. Fine, she can find her own way down. The woman seems to think I’m some kind of psychopath half the time. I’m not blind to the way she takes tiny steps away from me or flinches like she just did.
It’s ironic considering she’s the one playing me with her scent.
A minute later, I hear her squeal and twist back to find her tumbling on her arse into the hole. She lands in a heap.
“Alright?” I ask, unable to keep my lips from twitching in satisfied amusement.
“Fine,” she says, scrambling to her feet and dusting the desert muck off her backside. The action makes the globes of her arse wobble ever so slightly and I have to look away.
If I can just lose myself in the work, concentrate on the task at hand, everything will be fine.
Despite what she may think, I am not some feral alpha unable to control my temper and my passion. It sickens me that an omega would possess such prejudices, convinced any moment I’ll rip off my shirt and go on some violent, lust-fueled rampage. I guess that’s what she’s counting on, hoping I’ll lose control, be expelled and hand the spot to her on a plate.
I suppose it doesn’t help that in the past alphas didn’t see fit to control their urges like we do now. They did what they wanted to whomever they wanted. The ancient Egyptians included. If I’m completely honest, there are still alphas who act like that today. Luckily, most of them end up behind bars.
These thoughts swirl around my head and irritate the hell out of me and as best as I try to let the work distract me, I can’t help but probe her on the matter.
“What exactly do you have against alphas?” I snap out. When what I mean is, what exactly do you have against me? She’d taken an instant dislike to me, right from the start. No matter how often I recant our first few meetings, I can never understand why. What I did in those very first moments for her to take against me like she did.
“They’re arseholes,” she responds without missing a heartbeat.
“Most people are,” I retaliate.
“Some betas maybe,” she peers over her shoulder at me, grinning. “All the omegas I’ve met are lovely.”
“All the ones I’ve met are brats.”
She frowns at me before refocusing on her work. But I’m not done talking about this. Her attitude pisses me off more than it should.
“You live with a pack of alphas, right?”
“Yes,” she says, and I can hear the scrape of her trowel against the coarse ground. “Arealpack.”
I pause, my own trowel hovering in the air. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” she says, not pausing her work. “That there are alphas out there posing as packs, trying to lure omegas in with certain promises when all they’re really after is a gang bang with their friends.”
I spin on my haunches to face her. She’s on her hands and knees and that image from the shower comes hurtling into my mind. Fuck!
“What alphas?”
“Carl’s shown me stuff on the internet. Discussions between alphas about how they can lure omegas in.” Her lips curl. “It’s really sick.”
“And you think that’s what me and my pack are doing?” I say in shock.
