Chapter 4

Harlow

TWO YEARS LATER

My landlord’s voice in the stairwell makes my stomach drop as she speaks to the handyman about the damn light fixtures that don’t work. I cringe, tugging my blazer higher to cover my neck and part of my face, praying she doesn’t notice me. My rent is four months late. I try to sneak past Martha by holding my ratty-looking handbag higher to cover my face, but I don’t go unmissed when I am forced to squeeze past her as I hastily try to escape.

“Zara!” she shrieks, as I try to escape her wrath. I pause and slowly turn to face her. Her reddish, graying hair is pulled into a bun on the top of her head, with two snake-shaped hair picks stuck through it. Martha steps around the handyman standing on a ladder pulling apart the old light fixture high up on the wall.

“Where is my rent money? You promised to have it last week!” she screeches, and I internally groan. Martha is a tough old woman, and she looks the part with her denim jacket, black boots, and dark-blue, skinny-leg jeans on. No one messes with Martha here.

She would kick your ass and toss you to the curb if you tried. I had seen her beat a group of vandals that once got past the crumbling lobby. Martha whipped their asses real good and broke a skateboard over one of their heads. Safe to say, they didn’t return. It secretly makes me wonder if she isn’t human. She strikes fear in everyone, but she is also quite understanding and lovely, too. As long as you’re not four months behind in rent like I am.

“I will have it. I just need a little—” I try to tell her.

“No, it has been four months. You have until the end of the day, 6 PM, missy,” she says, clicking her fingers at me before pointing her index finger at me.

“6 PM,” I nod and gulp.

Martha is usually nice. I, however, have surpassed the tipping point of her generosity. Sure, the place is a dump, but it is cheap. I can’t even afford cheap at this point. I can’t even sell anything because the place I rent comes fully furnished, and I have little in the way of possessions.

“I have a job interview today. Soon, I will have it,” I plead my case to her.

“Soon isn’t good enough. I have bills to pay.”

I rummage through my pockets and pull out my last hundred dollars, besides some loose change floating around in the bottom of my handbag. Brianna, my only friend in the city, recently introduced me to her boss at the local strip club she works at. Talon lets me wash dishes occasionally, so I have enough money to buy some groceries and money to get around the city while I hunt for a job. Martha snatches it, shaking it in the air at me.

“I am sick of the crumbs. I mean it, Zara. 6 PM or I will have Mike change the locks,” she says, pointing to Mike. He hangs his head and smiles sadly. The dude is creepy as fuck and mute, but he always comes running when something needs to be fixed.

“I’ll have something for you this afternoon,” I tell her.

“No, you will have all of it. You owe me nearly four thousand in rent plus utilities. I was nice enough to let you stay here with your fake ID and your shitty backstory, which I don’t for one second believe,” she snaps, turning away from me and dismissing me.

Shit! Martha figured me out. I wonder about how long she’s known and if she saw straight through my fake ID from the start, giving me the benefit of the doubt. God, I hope the company I am interviewing at doesn’t look too closely at me. They may question why I don’t have the scar from Zara’s ID photo. Or why I am using a dead girl’s ID in the first place. Though I always explain away the scar as my expert skills in contouring. Ha! I can’t contour to save my life. They don’t need to know that, though.

Technically, she is my twin. We just aren’t 100% identical. Similar, but not identical. Twins are one and the same, so it’s not like it is exactly a fake. It is my dead sister’s. Not like she is going to use it. And I can’t risk the Omega facility finding me. No one is looking for a dead girl! But I will worry about that later. I have a job interview and need to get to the city center in twenty minutes or I’ll be late.

I race across town for the interview and just make it, with only three minutes to spare. The skyscraper is intimidating as I gaze up at the massive building. I was shocked when I got a call back to be interviewed here. They must be desperate, because just stepping into the lobby makes me feel way out of my element. It’s some tech company, and I am interviewing for a receptionist position.

Walking in, I follow the signs to the elevator and find the correct floor. A woman approaches me the instant I step out through the elevator doors. Her little black dress is tight, showing her curves and ample cleavage. Her blonde, wavy hair is tied in a ponytail, high on her head. She has porcelain-perfect skin and bright red lipstick on. She is beautiful. Her heels click on the marble floors as she makes her way over to me. She sniffs the air as she stops in front of me.

“You must be Zara. I’m Leila. We talked on the phone,” she says, holding out her hand to me.

I gulp, noticing the blood-red ring around her eyes. This woman is a vampire. I take her icy hand, and she squeezes mine gently.

“Yes, I am. Have you been waiting long?” I ask her. That doesn’t look good, if she was waiting in the foyer for me. Am I late? I glance at the huge, gold clock above the elevator doors that are so shiny I can see my reflection in them.

“No. I am conducting the interview, if you’ll follow me,” she says, turning and briskly walking away toward a set of double doors.

I stumble after the woman. Leila is definitely a vampire. Although, I am confused as I catch up to her, and she starts talking about the position.

“Thane wanted to conduct the interview himself, but he and his mates had to leave on short notice for a meeting downstairs, so I am tasked with the interview. I am sorry about the short notice, but you can meet them tomorrow when you start. The other two girls… Well, let’s just say they will not do. You know how Betas are. They don’t take orders well, and all those two could talk about was Thane and Rhen—” she says, shaking her head, and I stop walking.

“Wait, I thought this was for a receptionist’s job? The ad said lobby receptionist,” I ask.

“Thane didn’t want the media knowing he killed another personal assistant.”

My eyes go wide, and I mouth what the fuck to myself. Thane? I’m assuming he is the boss. Why did she keep saying that name? And wait, did she say he killed his last assistant?

Leila keeps talking, not noticing that I’m on the verge of having a panic attack. “Yet, when I saw you are of Omega blood, I knew you would be perfect and controllable,” she says. By Omega blood, I know she means easily commanded and submissive by nature. What the fuck did I apply for? She takes me to the top floor and shows me around.

“Don’t you want to interview me? I have references.” I rummage through my handbag, but her hand falls on my arm.

“No need. I have a strange feeling you are exactly what they are looking for… and what they need,” she says with a soft giggle, while her eyes roam over me from head to toe and she licks her lips. I fight the urge to step away from her hungry gaze.

It is near impossible to find a job in this city, especially one that doesn’t risk your life. The last company I worked at went broke after some vamps killed their manager and set the place ablaze, and I have been up Struggle Street ever since. There are hardly any jobs, and the jobs available require tossing any scrap of dignity out the window and being prepared to do things I am not sure I am comfortable doing.

The ‘interview’ goes for an hour, and by the time I leave, Leila assures me the position is definitely mine. I’m not sure how I feel about that. The last thing I want is to be trapped with four Alphas. They could literally destroy me, command anything of me. I shake that thought away. I can’t be picky. A job is a job, and this is the largest tech company in the city, so if I can survive here, even for just a year, it will look great on my resume.

But now I have something else to worry about. I can’t go back to my apartment empty-handed, and I am starving. So, I do something I thought I would never do. I ring Brianna in the elevator.

In addition to being my only friend, she is the only one I know here on a personal level, and that is only because I helped her when she was locked out of her apartment one day, which just happened to be next door to mine. She has since moved, but we keep in contact. I am seriously thinking about asking her if they need someone on the floor for tonight. I shudder at the thought of being half-naked with leering horny gazes, but I also have no choice with Martha breathing down my neck about the rent.

Briana says the floor is where the money is. In fact, so does her boss. Martha left me no choice, and my new salary is paid monthly, so I need money to tide me over until then. The pocket change jiggling around in the bottom of my handbag will not pay the rent or feed me.

Yet selling my body doesn’t sound that appealing either, considering I am still a virgin, which is rare for an Omega. Usually, packs claim us quickly, or we claim them, but I had been using suppressants for years. My scent is faint, though my ID clearly states what I am, and there is no way I am going to go screaming it from the rooftops. I don’t want to be some Alpha’s bitch.

I laugh bitterly because now I am literally the coffee bitch to four Alphas. I already dread this job, and it hasn’t even started yet. Leila said they are all mates, which is odd. Usually, a pack is comprised of one Alpha, not four, and an Omega. Yet she said it is just the four men.

I plan on walking over to the club. It will take me a good half an hour to walk there. I hope Tal will just let me work behind the bar for the night because I sure as hell don’t want to get on stage with Brianna.

I am lost in my thoughts when the elevator opens, and I step out, thinking it is the ground floor, only to smack into a hard chest. Burning hot liquid tips all over me and I hiss as I bounce off the person and fall on my ass.

A thunderous growl rings loudly through the air, and I yelp when hands reach down and grip my arms tightly. Sparks and warmth slip up my arms, yet the pressure of his tight grip is bone-crushing as the man pulls me to my feet and shakes me.

“Fucking whore, you ruined my fucking suit,” the man snarls. I tremble under his rage-filled, silver gaze and he shoves me backward. My back hits the closed elevator doors, and I realize I have run directly into an Alpha’s path. His tailored suit is drenched in hot coffee, and instinctively I reach out to try to help clean up the mess.

“Fucking useless, Omega,” he sneers as I rush to get tissues from the nearby reception desk. I try to pat his shirt dry when his hands lock around my wrists and the crushing pain steals the air from my lungs, his fingers bruising me instantly.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, I didn’t see you,” I stammer as heat crawls through me, and I curse at myself. His aura is potent and powerful, and despite taking my morning suppressants, slick wet forms between my thighs. Stupid fucking Omega genes! I curse to myself, curse being an Omega.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he sneers, shoving me backward. His jaw clicks as he clenches it tight. The look he gives sears through me. My neck prickles and my cheeks flame as people stare, and I drop my gaze. Tears burn my eyes at the embarrassment of being scolded.

“Now get out of my face,” he growls, shoving me toward the elevator. I do, gladly, anything to get away from the intimidating Alpha.

I wonder who the man is and hope I never run into him again. I leave the place shaken to my core, but after exiting the giant building, I feel myself relax, the tension slowly leaving with every step I take, putting distance between myself and the massive skyrise building.