Alpha in Heat Page 2

  He’d imagined his dad’s disappointment, and he just... couldn’t. Maybe Mom and Dad had had another kid in the time Jesse was gone, as a replacement for him. Jesse didn’t know. He didn’t dare look too hard on their Facebook pages.

  So here he was, interviewing in Meadowfall, too afraid and ashamed to go home. Too much of a sap to live further from Highton, where his family was.

  “I moved out,” he said lamely.

  “Any particular reason why you haven’t been back?” Harris asked.

  “I’m not sure they want me back.”

  That was as much detail as they were going to get. He felt Dom’s stare on him, probably reading too much. Or misreading him, whatever. Fuck him. Not in that sense, but.

  Jesse turned his attention back to Harris. “Anyway, my mom and dad are really happy with each other. That’s what I remember about my childhood—spending time with them. We used to garden together and everything. There was once my mom made a flower crown for my dad; she took a picture of him wearing it. Then she sent it out with all the Christmas cards, and everyone called him Flower Dad for the longest time.”

  Just saying that—it made his throat tighten. Gods, he’d missed them.

  Gareth smiled. Even Harris did. “So if we were to present you with a flower crown, you’d like that, too?” Gareth asked.

  “Maybe,” Jesse said. He wasn’t sure. Did coworkers do that with each other?

  “You tell Alec that, and he’ll bring you ten of those,” Gareth said dryly. “He’s one of our new guys. Very excitable. Loves a good prank or five.”

  They seemed nice. Like people Jesse would get along with. Briefly, Jesse imagined what it would be like, to work alongside Harris and Gareth and that new guy, Alec. It felt like this could... become a second home.

  Dom shuffled the papers, laying them down. “You aren’t going to discuss this?” He slid two sheets over to Harris and Gareth. “Psych evaluation at 60%. He’s not an optimal fit.”

  Jesse’s stomach plummeted. There was that. Toni had said she’d done her best, but she couldn’t lie on an official document.

  “He has two solid testimonials,” Harris pointed out. One from Nate, and one from Toni. “I’m willing to take a chance.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Dom narrowed his eyes, flicking a glance at Jesse. “He came in looking like a mess. Fluid all over his clothes.”

  He saw that? A jolt went up Jesse’s spine. And now he couldn’t decide if he hated this insane nit-pickiness that was Dom, or if he was flattered that someone had seen something aside from his scars. For the first time.

  “I’m not hiring someone who can’t show up decently for an interview,” Dom said. “That’s an immediate fail.”

  Jesse’s stomach shrank into a tiny lump.

  For six months, he’d worked his ass off at the fire academy, taking classes at night, thinking he’d make it to the Meadowfall station and it would be the best thing, because at least he had a friend here. He didn’t know how to make friends. And he was starting to grow fond of Harris and Gareth. To fuck this up because he’d washed his face and not changed his shirt, thinking no one would notice... He hadn’t been counting on meeting someone like Dom.

  I can’t give up right now. I’ve gotten this far.

  “I have two things going for me,” Jesse blurted, his heart about to burst. Three heads turned to look at him. He wet his lips. “I learn things fast. All the skills you see on my resume—the basic car repairs, the driving, the GED and fire academy—I did it all in nine months.”

  Dom’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly.

  “What’s the second thing?” Harris asked.

  This part was risky. Jesse plowed on with it anyway. “I’ve survived a huge deal of pain. You see it on my skin. Burns, punctures, poisons, drugs—you name it. I don’t have any dependents. If you need to send someone into someplace risky, if you don’t want to sacrifice the rest of your team, I’ll do it.”

  For once, Dom had nothing to say to that.

  Harris looked hard at Jesse. “I know we’ve been over this, but give me another answer. Why do you want to be a firefighter?”

  “Because I don’t want anyone else to be in pain.”

  A hint of a smile crossed Harris’ lips. “For the record,” he said, “no one gets sacrificed. We’re all family here. But thank you, Jesse. I believe we’ve come to the end of our interview. If you’ll step outside for five minutes...”

  With every scar on his skin prickling, Jesse stood, excusing himself from the meeting room.

  3

  Dom Gets Grilled

  “What was that about?” Gareth shot Dom a sideways look, his stare probing too deep for comfort. “Never seen you raze a candidate to the ground before.”

  Even Harris raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

  Damn it. Dom shifted uncomfortably. He’d known his questions would garner this reaction from his teammates, but he hadn’t been able to help himself—everything about Jesse Sinclair set him on edge.

  “The psych eval,” he said. “60%, Harris. Really? We shouldn’t even have called him in for an interview.”

  60% was on the lower end of applications they received. It didn’t mean the candidate’s personality didn’t fit. Rather, it was a number that indicated a candidate’s overall mental stability—something that would be strained during the course of the job. They usually recruited people in the 80-95% range.

  Dom always looked at that number first, but he’d been distracted when he’d glanced at Sinclair’s application.

  “He seemed fairly stable to me,” Gareth said.

  “Discounting the short fuse,” Dom muttered.

  “It’s not like you have a long fuse, either.” Harris elbowed Dom in the side.

  Dom scowled. “I don’t need to babysit someone I can’t trust.”

  “He isn’t Mal,” Gareth said.

  Pain dug deep into Dom’s gut, stealing his breath away. That was low. If he didn’t hear that name for another ten years, it would still be too soon. “We’re not talking about that.”

  “But that’s the precise reason you look at all the psych scores first,” Harris reminded him.

  “We’re not talking about Mal,” Dom growled. Perks of having your best friends on your team? You could trust them 200% of the time. Downsides? They absolutely knew how to stab your most vulnerable spots. In their sleep. Even if you knew they meant well.

  “Psych eval scores aren’t the only thing we consider—you know that,” Harris said. “Besides, he isn’t an omega.”

  Unlike Mal, who had been one. Mal had been crazy and brilliant, and he’d had his glorious high days, when he’d grabbed Dom and danced around their living room, his smile blinding. But his low days, well. They’d gone badly, even after he’d married Dom.

  Dom hadn’t been enough to stop Mal, the day Mal stepped off the roof of the tallest building.

  He breathed out the sharp ache in his body, shoving those thoughts aside. “I’m not looking for an omega.”

  “And yet you fixate on the psych scores,” Harris said dryly. “We’re not recruiting a lover for you.”

  “I don’t need to deal with an alpha like that, either,” Dom hissed.

  Except Sinclair’s scent had dug under his skin in the strangest way. Dom hadn’t smelled anyone like that before. He hated that he wanted to smell that scent again. “I’m not into alphas,” he said.

  Harris, the one who was actually married to an alpha and an omega, raised an eyebrow. “Which is why you’re being weird about Jesse Sinclair.”

  Dom scowled. “Doesn’t his scent bother you?”

  Both Harris and Gareth looked oddly at him. “His scent?” Harris asked.

  “Yeah.” Dom paused. “Didn’t you smell it?”

  “Cinnamon, right?” Gareth asked.

  It had been an earthy sort of cinnamon, dark and sweet in a way no alpha scent was. Alpha scents were woodsy, beta scents grassy, and omega scents were the sweet ones, because th
ey smelled like flowers.

  So when Sinclair had stepped into the station, Dom had thought an omega had walked in, at first. Then he’d decided that someone had brought in some cookies. But no, it had been an alpha. Something wasn’t quite right about that.

  “It’s too fucking sweet,” he said.

  “But cinnamon is a tree, too,” Gareth pointed out.

  “I’ve never come across anyone else with that scent.” Dom looked at his friends. “Have you?”

  Both of them shook their heads. Gareth pulled out his phone, doing a quick internet search. “Huh, looks like cinnamon isn’t on the list of human scents. And they even list the rare ones.”

  “Could be a body spray,” Harris said.

  “He doesn’t seem the type to use body spray,” Gareth answered. “The only people who do, are those who have something to hide.”

  Was Sinclair hiding something? Why else would he smell so strange?

  But there was nothing normal about him. Definitely not the slew of scars on his tan skin—deliberate lines and mottled patches on his shaved head, down his face. Bullet scars on his forearms, and strange beads under his skin—body modifications? What kind of person did that to himself? It wasn’t someone Dom wanted on the team.

  More than that, he shouldn’t have noticed Sinclair’s lips, or the striking blue of his eyes. Or how he was a couple inches shorter than Dom, but broader, bulkier, like he’d been on steroids at some point.

  Someone like that shouldn’t make Dom’s blood thrum. Especially not in a way he couldn’t explain. Jesse Sinclair was wrong in every single way.

  “What if his actual scent’s reacting with something to give him the cinnamon scent?” Gareth asked. “Think that would explain it?”

  “Scents don’t react,” Harris shot back. “They just stack up, like honey on top of an omega’s personal scent.”

  “It’s strong, though. I could smell it even before he stepped in.”

  Dom rubbed his face, boggled by the sheer ludicrousness of this conversation. “Look,” he said. “We’re in a meeting. To discuss a potential hire. Why the hell are we fixating on his scent?”

  Gareth and Harris looked at him. “Because you started it,” Harris said.

  Well, fuck. “We’re not hiring him,” Dom said.

  Harris raised an eyebrow. “Actually, we are.”

  “What the hell?” Dom glared, feeling betrayed. “He fails on account of his psych eval alone.”

  “But his motivation is a solid 120%,” Harris replied. “And he loves his family. That’s important. If he’s telling the truth about his learning abilities, that’ll come in really handy. We’ll train him up to drive the rigs, and he’ll be doing a fire science course in no time.”

  “Who learns to drive when they’re twenty, though?” Gareth looked thoughtful. “GED, too. What was he doing when he could’ve been in high school?”

  It wasn’t any of Dom’s business, even if the questions also nagged at him. “I’m not real pleased about this. But if you’re hiring him, there’s no way I’ll agree to a 6-month probie period. One year, minimum.”

  “Deal,” Harris said.

  “And I’m not mentoring him,” Dom added.

  “Damnit.” Harris grinned. “Threw a wrench into my plans, right there.”

  “I’ll do it,” Gareth volunteered. “But you’re telling him he’s hired, Dom.”

  Dom rolled his eyes. “You’re not the boss.”

  “Actually, Gareth has a point.” Harris had the smuggest look on his face. “Why don’t you be the bearer of good news, for once? I’m sure our new hire will love to hear it from your lips.”

  “Fuckers.” If Dom didn’t love his friends, he’d probably have murdered them a long time ago.

  He flipped them off and stepped out of the meeting room. For effect, he slammed the door behind him.

  Paces away, Jesse Sinclair jumped and whirled around, a flash of panic darting through his eyes.

  Something in Dom’s chest pulled tight, something that said, Protect.

  What the fuck? He shouldn’t be feeling that. Not for a new hire, not for his subordinate. Definitely not for another alpha.

  Someone who needed protection shouldn’t belong on the team.

  He whirled around, heading straight back into the meeting room. Made sure he shut the door tight.

  Harris raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

  “Fuck yes,” Dom hissed. “Did you read the psych report before you made your decision?”

  Harris glanced at the papers Dom had left on the meeting table. “Yes.”

  “Then you know he has PTSD. That’s even before he sees any of the shit on the job.” That was why Sinclair scored 60% on that eval. That was why Dom didn’t want him on the team.

  “Yes, I’m aware.” Harris stood, rounding the table. “I spoke to Nate about him. He deserves a chance.”

  “Even if he freaks out in the middle of a call?” Dom narrowed his eyes. “Do you seriously want to put our team at risk?”

  Harris was quiet for a moment. “You know as well as I do that there are already firefighters with PTSD. They’re still able to carry out their duties.”

  Dom nodded at the door. “Jumped when I left the room. We’ve got a more serious case on our hands.”

  “He’ll need some supervision,” Harris said at length. “But I think his past may help him on the job instead.”

  Dom ran Harris’ words over in his mind. Despite Dom’s accusations, Harris took the team’s safety very seriously. So something else must’ve convinced him to hire Sinclair. “What exactly did Nate tell you?”

  But Harris only shrugged. “Talk to Nate yourself. It isn’t my story to share.”

  Like it was Nate’s? Except no matter what Dom believed, nothing changed the fact that Jesse Sinclair wasn’t as mentally stable as Dom wanted him to be. And someone like that... he could pull a Mal, and fuck up Dom’s entire life. Even if he was Dom’s teammate. Especially if he was Dom’s teammate, because all of those guys were his family.

  Dom had spent so much effort putting himself back together, that he wasn’t willing to risk it again. Except Harris was team captain, and when he’d made a decision, even Dom couldn’t sway him.

  Wishing fervently that he wouldn’t regret this, Dom heaved a sigh, stepping back out into the office.

  Sinclair faced the meeting room, his eyes narrowed—but he was completely present. For now, at least. Who knew if he could handle some of the calls they faced?

  Chances were, Jesse Sinclair would fuck up, and Harris would ask him to leave. No need for Dom to get involved.

  Dom headed toward the man, not bothering to stop.

  But as he brushed past Sinclair, and as their arms touched for the briefest second, a jolt of electricity sparked through his skin. What the hell was that?

  Sinclair sucked in a sharp breath. He couldn’t have felt that, too.

  Without stopping, Dom said, “You’re hired.”

  He left the office without a backward look.

  4

  What is That SMELL?

  I won’t fuck up, if it’s the last thing I do.

  Jesse eyed the pool of white sludge that had flooded around the toppled truck, filling up the better part of the wide ditch. When Gareth had said toothpaste truck accident, this wasn’t what he’d pictured in his mind. Especially not the overpowering minty freshness that permeated through the air.

  “Okay there, Jes?” Gareth called.

  “Yeah,” Jesse answered. He sank his foot carefully into the toothpaste, carefully putting his weight on it—there was no telling how deep the toothpaste went. Then he took another step, and another, the toothpaste squelching when he pulled his feet out of the thick, sucking stuff.

  When he reached the truck, Jesse set his ladder next to the cab, so he could climb in to help the driver out. “Careful there, sir,” he said, reaching forward. “Are you hurt?”

  “Naw, I’m fine.” The man grasped Jesse’s hand. He took
a second look at Jesse’s scars, but Jesse was almost used to it at this point. “You okay, boy?”

  That was a surprise—few people ever cared how Jesse was. A smile crept up his lips. “Yeah, I am. Let’s get you out of there.”

  The man climbed out after Jesse, patting his shoulder. Jesse helped him through the toothpaste, all the way to the side of the road. “What should I do next?” he asked Gareth.

  “Retrieve the ladder,” Gareth instructed. “We’ll wait for the tow truck to straighten this up.”

  “Right.” Jesse waded back through the toothpaste, taking a shortcut to the ladder. Halfway there, his foot caught on something solid.

  He was too late to stop his momentum. His stomach clenching, Jesse lurched face-first into the white stuff, throwing his arms out to break his fall. Toothpaste slathered all over his face and his front, cushioning the impact somewhat. Except it also got into his mouth and eyes, filling his lungs with peppermint.

  Damn it. That wasn’t the impression he wanted to make, not on his very first call. At least Dom wasn’t here to see it.

  Feeling infinitely disappointed with himself, Jesse spat, sitting up to recover his bearings. His skin tingled all over with mint.

  “Broke anything?” Gareth called.

  Jesse shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t know how to answer to Dom otherwise.”

  Ugh. Not him. At Jesse’s grimace, Gareth laughed. “Relax,” Gareth added. “I was pulling your leg.”

  “He has something against me,” Jesse blurted. Then, afraid that he’d said the wrong thing, he glanced at Gareth.

  Gareth shook his head. “You’re fine. Get up, get the ladder. We’ll head back to the station soon so you can clean up.”

  Dom would be at the station when they got back, wouldn’t he? He’d sneer the moment he saw that Jesse had fucked up.

  It was no secret that Dom didn’t want Jesse on the team. Jesse had panicked a little when Dom had slammed the door the other day. For a moment there, Jesse had thought the Facility’s guards had shown up, that they were coming to tranq him and bring him back into his cell.