Good Girl by Sam Hall
Chapter 4
I was regretting this already.
“Hello, darling!” George said, walking towards me. Resplendent in a perfectly white suit, a blue shirt underneath, open at the neck, and loafers on, he looked the perfect part of a billionaire playboy. Because he kind of was.
‘Was’ being the operative word. Coming from an old family whose money had been pissed up against the wall in a blaze of glory still talked about, George was the big bad beta of the upper classes, and now, he was chaperone to those who could afford it. Unmated omegas at social events needed to have either a family member or trusted beta in tow to ensure everything stayed above board.
“Well, look at you!” He held out his hands, taking mine and then spinning me around. “I was shocked to receive your mother’s call, then I half expected you to turn up in fatigues and combat boots.”
I wrinkled my nose. I’d tossed the idea around a few times, ultimately deciding not to spurn what Mum’s money and Madam Colette had wrought. I wore what was usually beta fashion—a slim fitting sheath dress in white linen and oversized sunglasses. All very Jackie O, darling. But to make sure all around me knew what I was, a thick beaten gold collar of a necklace, apparently made especially for me, had been snicked around my neck, a perfect fit.
“Oh, the collar is a master stroke,” he continued. “Every bloody alpha here will be imagining themselves as being the one to place a real one around your neck. I’ll have to fight them off with a stick. Colette’s genius?”
“You were the one who put Mother on to her, so of course,” I said, looking out at the open patio. We were at the home of the Ratcliffe family, or one of them. Daddy came from a long line of robber barons, and this was one of his ill-gotten gains. “So what’s today’s aberration—I mean, celebration?”
He snickered at that, his teeth too white and perfect against his tan. He took my arm in his and led me forward.
“The inaugural start of the season breakfast of course. All the Bloody Marys and mimosas you can stand.”
“Dear god, yes,” I said as he steered us closer to the crowds. “I require a Bloody Mary, extra bloody, stat.”
“Your wish is my command, sweets.”
“George!So glad you could make it. And who is this beautiful creature you’re squiring about the place?”
“Benson Ratcliffe. He owns the place,” George hissed at me, because it’d been seven bloody years since I’d done the circuit. Usually, we met at the Omega Ball, hung around for as long as was required, and then I beat a hasty retreat, leaving him to get pissed with his old friends.
“Is this one of your lovely beta companions or…?”
Benson was older, well preserved, his skin tan, only a few lines around the eyes and a slight silvering at the temples to give his age away. But his designation? That became apparent as soon as he got close. His words fell away forgotten as he took a deep breath in—a breath of me.
Now, he shouldn’t have, strictly speaking. The mating mark Mrs Ratcliffe had left on his neck was there, plain to see, but what was supposed to happen and what did was something else altogether. I saw it, that shine in his eyes, his teeth glinting in the early sunlight.
Walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.
“Cyn Rhodes,” I said, holding out a hand, nicely, genteelly, not squeezing his hand like he did mine. I was a limp little fish in his grip.
“Miranda Rhodes’ daughter?”
And with that, blood was in the water. Y’see, some of the very nice, very esteemed people at this event would be swimming in wealth Mum could never even dream of, but others? I shot a sidelong look at George, with his perfect wave of hair and his crisp suit. Others had the breeding and the social cachet, but no damn money. It wasn’t just my designation that made me attractive.
“Yes,” I replied simply, because what else could I say? A brief recounting of our forward estimates?
“Well, well, where have you been hiding this pretty little thing, George?”
Little, again. Yay. And speaking to George, not me. Even better. But I smiled prettily and waited for him to respond.
And he did, dammit, in the trademark way of his. George’s smile was a slow, secret thing, his focus entirely on me, making me feel like I was the only girl in the world. And for two hundred dollars an hour, I was.
“Cyn’s been broadening her horizons, working out what she wants from life before she rushes into a lifelong commitment. She’s no silly young thing who’s about to embarrass her mate in front of his family and associates.”
Niiiice. George was a fucking master at this, and I was going to smack a big old kiss on those pouty lips when this was done. Blue-blooded omegas tended to marry later than academy omegas, not feeling the same financial pressures. I wasn’t one of the elite, being new money, but that would be appealing to some alphas nonetheless.
“An omega who knows her own mind?” I didn’t think Benson could’ve been any more patronising if he tried. “Well, you must come and meet my son, Orion. I’ve despaired of him ever matching with anyone. Spends all of his time with his ‘boys.’ Shirking his duties and embarrassing his name, is what I call it.”
OK, either Benson and George were really old buds for him to be comfortable confessing this to us, or he was really pissed at his son. I was about to find out which.
We wove through the crowds, people looking on as we passed. That was the way of alphas. They got your attention and held onto it, not letting go until they were done with you. Our journey was a short one, bringing us to the edge of the pool, where a man stood nursing a mimosa like most people would a tarantula. His suit was too dark for the time of day, his tie awry, his shirt tails untucked, but while he looked the very picture of a dissolute young rock star, that wasn’t what drove a cold knife into my heart.
I didn’t go out into the forest often any more. Like all childish things, it needed to be put away, so I never expected to see something from it here. That day, with those boys on that car, with the omega… Had they gone through with it? All of them plunging deep inside her until she…
I knew Orion, even though we’d never had a conversation, never having been formally introduced, like I was now.
“Orion, I’d like you to meet Cyn Rhodes, Miranda Rhodes’ daughter.”
Those pale blue eyes swung to meet mine, and when our gazes met, I felt it like a punch to the gut. Well, make that lower. Damn, I was glad for those super absorbent heat knickers I was wearing, VPL (visible panty line) be damned. He towered over me as he moved closer, taking my limp hand in his, the feel of his skin hot and dry, but that wasn’t what had me swaying on my stupid damn heels. It was his scent. All just about to burn but still caramelising, brown sugar and a splash of rum with just a little smoke. And when I did sway? It was closer, to take a deeper breath in of him.
“Steady there,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder blades—my almost bare shoulder blades, due to this stupid strappy dress I’d been given.
“We’ll leave these two to get acquainted, shall we? Join me for a cigar, George?”
Don’t go, you fucking traitor!I thought furiously, breathing hard, which was only making things worse. I was sucking all that the mysterious Orion was into me, my body rioting, readying itself, swelling and softening in response to—
“Love to.”
“Shall we…?”I heard the slow hiss of frustration from Orion, my omega brain struggling to think of a way to appease that. “Sit down, omega.”
There, an order, that cut through the racket in my head and in my chest and made everything crystal clear. I sat down on the small retaining wall by the pool, while he did the same beside me.
“I should apologise for my father,” he said.
“Why?” I looked up with a start, meeting those green eyes for a moment before jerking them down. Nope, nope, that wasn’t going to happen. All that practise with Kai was nothing now, because when I looked at him, I saw a much younger version, half naked and in the forest, with his wolf tattoo and another girl’s slick all over his face, which just brought on an irrational need to replace it with my own. “I mean, that’s the point of these things, isn’t it?”
I created two imaginary dolls in my hands, walked them towards each other, then forced them to kiss. And bite, that should’ve been the next thing, but I abandoned my playacting when I couldn’t work out a way to indicate that or knotting. Definitely not knotting. He snorted at that, his brows suddenly very mobile as he inspected me thoroughly, but like a damn alpha, his eyes got stuck on the collar. For a moment, he got caught up in that, inspecting the workmanship or some shit, I’m sure, before tugging his eyes away.
“I wouldn’t fucking know,” he replied, but there was no bite to the words. “I just got in, thought I was sloping off to bed for some well-earned sleep, then got dragged out here. Hence my current state of disarray.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were a rock star who’d been extended an invite into the family home,” I replied.
“Yeah?” That smile, too bright, revealing those sharp canines, ready to— “Well all right, Cyn, daughter of Miranda. I thought you were going to be some limpid eyed omega, falling at the feet of the Ratcliffe name.”
“Well, I did think of it, y’know,” I said, laughing my way through the truth of it. His scent, it had a one-two punch Kai would have envied. “But this is the first time I’ve worn this dress, and gravel rash is a bit beyond the pale at the first event of the season.”
“What?” There was a moment of silence as he processed what I’d just said—the very stupid thing I’d just said—and then he laughed. My eyes fell closed as it washed over me, sounding just like the velvet it had back in the forest. His eyes were on me when I opened them again, that smile fading. “I think I need you to sit here with me for this entire fucking breakfast.”
And bang, we were back to alpha and omega. That wasn’t an order per se, but there was a steely centre to it that held me where I was much more effectively than a direct command.
“You want your father to think we’re connecting?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“So he’ll keep the other omegas away?”
A small pause, and then, “Yes.”
“I’m to be your cover, your beard…” And as I said the words, I remembered Marcus McCallum’s hand on his shoulder, sliding down his back and into Orion’s—
This wasn’t what I was here to do, wasn’t what I should be doing. If I was to be a good little omega, sitting here with the Ratcliffe scion as he tried to avoid his familial responsibilities was not going to help me at all.
I told myself later that it was just me helping out a fellow traveller, someone else who was dissatisfied with the barbaric system we lived within, but deep down in my core, I knew differently.
“Well, then I’m gonna need to be a helluva lot drunker than I am now, if that’s the plan,” I said finally and went to get to my feet.
“Sit, omega.”
His hand, his voice, his command, they all resonated through me, all the way down to my clenching, thrashing core. I wanted to feel that hand slide upwards, around my collared throat, replace cold metal with warm flesh, be spread out on top of that bonnet, just as the omega had all those years ago. And I wanted my slick on his lips, not the fucking mimosa he skolled as he stared down at me. Because under all these pretty clothes and even prettier symbols of civilisation, like this house, that was what we were.
“I’ll bring you what you need, and you’ll drink every drop.” I looked up at him, meeting those cool green eyes for a moment, longer than I would have thought possible, all the humour of just seconds ago evaporated. But I nodded, even as I throbbed with the dual need to rebel and submit. “Be right back.”