4- Dangerous games

Whoa, slow down, cowboy. The split of the ransom is just a bonus. I’ve got a quarter of a million dollars in cash for your services,” he said, leaning back.

“And how did a teenager get their hands on that kind of cash?” I asked with a wry smile. If I had to sit here and play these games with him, he was definitely sucking my cock. That had just become a given.

“I’m almost twenty,” Morrison said with indignation. “I’ve set aside every gift I’ve been given since my mother died; every birthday and Christmas card that was filled with cash, I saved it all. My father gave me a lot of money as long as someone was watching,” he said. I started to protest that there was no way he’d been given two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in under four years in his birthday cards, but he cut me off. “Of course that wasn’t enough. My father has a bunch of art and antiques stashed in various places. I sold a piece off here and there. That adds up after a couple of years. It’s shit he’ll never even notice is gone.”

“You want me to kidnap you with money you stole from your father.”

“I’m sure he either stole or killed for the money it took to buy the art, so it all comes out in the wash,” Morrison said with a dismissive shrug.

For a moment, my heart actually ached for Morrison. When I thought about the life he must have lived, it almost made me pity him a bit. Then he opened his smart mouth again.

“So are you going to help me or what? I don’t have fucking time for this, man. I need someone who can handle this shit like a true Alpha.”

Okay, now I had to take the job. Not because Morrison goaded me into it, but because after I kidnapped his spoiled ass, I was going to spank it until he begged me to stop. Somebody needed to take that Omega over their knee for a proper punishment, and I was willing to do the job for a quarter of a million dollars.

“Fine. I’ll take the job. I want half the cash up front and I want the other half as soon as we’re in the wind,” I said right after the waiter dropped off the check. The meal came to two hundred sixty dollars and eighty-seven cents after the tip.

“Good. We’ll work out the details at our next meeting. I don’t want to stay here too long. If it somehow gets back to my father that I’m here with an Alpha, he’ll probably go on a rampage,” Morrison said and stood up. “You’ll have to pay the check. I can’t use my credit card here. There can be no evidence of our meeting.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the little rich Omega?” I growled. “If I knew I had to pay, we would have gone somewhere a little cheaper.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” he said with a smart-ass smile. “Don’t worry, Stefano. I’ll pay you back.”

The way my cock reacted when Morrison said my name let me know he’d be paying me back in more ways than one. In that moment, I didn’t care if he wanted it or not. I would be watching Morrison’s bubble butt bounce up and down while he rode my stick. I’d find a way to make it happen.

The restaurant buzzed around us, oblivious to the storm brewing at our table. I could feel Morrison’s intensity radiating across the space between us, a palpable energy that both excited and terrified me. His heart was racing, and I wondered if he felt the same thrill of danger that coursed through my veins. This wasn’t just a kidnapping; it was a gamble, a game that could end with either of us winning or losing everything.

I took a deep breath, the scent of lobster and melted butter fading into the background as I focused on Morrison's face. The way his eyes glinted with a combination of mischief and fear reminded me that we were both trapped in our own ways. He was a prince in a gilded cage, and I was a predator bound by my own set of rules. I couldn’t help but think about how we were both yearning to break free, even if that meant thrusting ourselves into a chaos we couldn’t control.

“So, what are the specifics of your plan?” I asked, cutting through the tension. “You can’t just expect me to snatch you up and hope for the best. I need to know how deep this rabbit hole goes.”

Morrison leaned in closer, the sweet scent of cinnamon invading my senses once again. “My father has a gala coming up in a few weeks,” he began, speaking in hushed tones. “It’s an event filled with his associates—men he trusts, and men who fear him. I’ll be expected to be there, to play my part as the dutiful son. That’s when you’ll make your move.”

“A gala, huh?” I mused, considering the logistics. “Sounds like a perfect time to disappear without raising suspicion. But what about security? I assume your father keeps a close eye on you.”

“Of course he does,” Morrison replied, his voice lowering even more. “But the gala is chaotic, filled with noise and distractions. There will be bodyguards, but they’ll be preoccupied. My father likes to show off his wealth, and that means he’ll have a lot of guests to entertain. I’ll slip away when the opportunity presents itself. I’ve been practicing my escape plan for weeks.”

“Practicing?” I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

Morrison smirked, a glint of pride shining through his vulnerability. “I’ve had to. If I don’t escape, I’ll be nothing more than a pawn in my father’s twisted game. This is my chance to reclaim my life, to take control. I’ll become the master of my own fate, and I refuse to let him dictate my future any longer.”

His determination was intoxicating. I couldn’t help but admire his tenacity, even if it was laced with a hint of recklessness. For a moment, I imagined what it would be like to break free from my own chains, to step into the unknown with nothing but the thrill of the chase propelling me forward. But could I really trust this Omega? Was he simply a spoiled brat playing at rebellion, or was there a deeper resolve hidden beneath that devilish grin?

“And after we get you out?” I pressed, needing to understand his endgame. “What’s your plan? You can’t just run off into the sunset with a quarter of a million dollars and expect everything to be fine.”

Morrison’s expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty passing over his features. “I... I don’t know,” he admitted, vulnerability creeping into his tone. “I’ve never thought that far ahead. I just know I can’t go back to living under his thumb. I want to start fresh, to find a way to make my own choices without fearing his wrath.”

“And you think that’s possible?” I challenged, not wanting to dampen his spirit but needing to ground him in reality. “The world isn’t kind to those who run away. You’ll need allies, resources—something more than just a pile of cash.”

“I can figure it out,” he insisted, though I could hear the tremor in his voice. “I have contacts, people who can help me. I just need the first step—the freedom to choose my own path.”