Alpha in Heat Page 3

  But it had only been Dom. Jesse had calmed himself down, he’d breathed through the panic.

  And That Bastard had brushed right by like he’d seen Jesse as someone incompetent.

  Hate was too strong a word for what Jesse felt, but damn—he wished he could’ve punched off that condescending look Dom had given him.

  Even this morning—Dom had glanced right over Jesse when he’d done the morning briefing. As though Jesse wasn’t even on the team. It wasn’t fair. But Jesse had convinced himself that he was sticking through this job, he was going to make sure Dom never looked at him that way again.

  Jesse wiped the toothpaste out of his eyes, fetched the ladder, and set it back on the fire truck. Then, while they waited for the tow truck to show up, he tried scrubbing off as much of the toothpaste as he could. Gareth pointed him to some paper towels.

  Later, as they were driving back to the station, Jesse sniffed at his clothes. “I still stink of toothpaste, don’t I?”

  Gareth sniffed at him. “Somewhat. Hey, it’s better than sewage.”

  Jesse winced. “True. It was a lot of toothpaste, though. I thought they transported that in tubes. Or metal drums.”

  Gareth shrugged. “Maybe some company was trying out something new.”

  Probably. And Gareth was right—toothpaste wasn’t the worst thing ever. Maybe Dom could somehow be convinced of that.

  They pulled into the station, Jesse still with toothpaste caked into his clothes. Almost immediately, he spotted Dom on the far side of the garage. So Jesse made sure to keep out of his view, wiping off the traces of toothpaste he’d left on the seat. Then he climbed out of the truck, tagging along as Gareth briefed him on his off-call duties.

  “Make sure to replenish the truck supplies,” Gareth said. “You’ll find a checklist—”

  “What is that smell?” Dom’s voice cut through the garage, rumbling and low. Some of the alphas looked up.

  Heat burned through Jesse’s face. Could you not?

  But Dom rounded the truck, six-foot-four of solid muscle. His gaze locked immediately onto Jesse. And all the toothpaste on Jesse’s skin tingled.

  “It’s just toothpaste,” Gareth said dryly. “I have some on my pants, too.”

  Dom ignored him. Instead, he surveyed Jesse, his gaze raking down every inch of Jesse’s body. Not in the way the potential buyers had leered back at the Facility, no. Dom’s gaze was hard, cold, and it almost felt as though Dom could see through Jesse’s clothes to his skin.

  Somehow, that odd something in Jesse’s body jolted again. Like it had that very first day.

  What’s that supposed to mean? Jesse rubbed self-consciously at the smears of toothpaste he’d missed, wishing he’d thought to look in the truck mirror. So he could tidy up before Dom inspected him to hell and back.

  “You tripped and fell?” Dom glanced at Gareth for confirmation. “On your first call.”

  Jesse’s cheeks scorched. He didn’t want Dom to see him as some fumbling idiot.

  “Give the guy a break,” Gareth said. “There was toothpaste all over the ditch. Bet you fifty bucks that you wouldn’t have made it through without falling over, either.”

  Dom scowled and turned away. “Make sure you’re ready to handle the next call. Quit teaching him to slack off, Gareth.”

  Gareth sighed. “Yes, sir.” In a lower tone, he said to Jesse, “You know what, let’s get through this real quick, and you can go grab a shower. Can’t learn well if you’re scratching all over.”

  How was it that Gareth could be so nice, and That Bastard had to be an asshole all the time?

  Jesse made sure to remember all of Gareth’s instructions.

  When Gareth dismissed him, he headed into the locker room, shed his clothes, and brought the shirt and pants with him to the shower stalls. Just to see if he could scrub them off at the same time.

  Like the Facility, the showers here had no doors. Jesse thought he’d heard a couple of the guys grumbling about it, but it wasn’t a big deal to him. Countless people had ogled and prodded and photographed his naked body by this point.

  None of his teammates had seen him naked, though. None of them knew the extent of the scars he had. Probably for the best that no one asked about them.

  Jesse stepped into the very last stall, turning the water so scalding-hot that it stung his skin. He scrubbed the dried toothpaste off his scalp, dug it out of his ears, and wiped down his sticky chest with his shirt.

  In the midst of all the other scars, that large silver line stretched right down the middle of his abs. That cut had hurt him inside, for weeks. He’d almost thought he’d heard Rutherford say something about six months, but six months had come and gone, and nothing had happened. It wasn’t until a year ago, that Nate had blasted through the walls of the Facility and pulled Jesse out.

  With his body clean, Jesse picked up his pants, holding it under the shower to soak it through. Then he began scrubbing the paste out of the heavy fabric.

  Oddly enough, water started to pool at his feet. It shouldn’t—the drain was right here in his stall. And there was no hair clogging it up.

  With an ear perked for the station’s alarm system, Jesse scrubbed the toothpaste off half his pants, and shut the water off. The stagnant water was starting to creep toward the stall entrance.

  He threw the shirt over his shoulder and stepped out into the locker room, searching for a plunger or a drain snake—there was no fucking way he’d let Dom blame him for this, too.

  Right then, voices sounded from elsewhere in the station. The voices stopped outside the locker room and the door swung open, two alphas stepping in.

  “I thought about doing some investments,” Gareth said to the person behind him. “Don’t have an omega to spend it on, but Sawyer’s in college. I thought it might come in handy.” Then he looked up, staring at Jesse’s body. “Damn, son.”

  But because some higher power had decided that today was Jesse’s unluckiest day, Dom was the one who stepped in next.

  The locker room door squeaked loudly as it swung shut.

  Dom had stopped just behind Gareth, following his stare. Jesse’s skin prickled everywhere Dom looked.

  So what if he was naked? They were all alphas. Big deal. Except Dom’s attention dragged over his skin like a physical touch, hotter and heavier than it had any right to be. Dom scrutinized Jesse’s chest and abs, his gaze dark, intent, like he was cataloging every single scar. Jesse fought the urge to cover himself up.

  He knew he should. Those scars were from a time when he was powerless, at the mercy of his captors. But by hiding them, he was admitting to a past he was ashamed of. So he clenched his fists by his sides, and let Dom look.

  At Jesse’s hips, Dom’s attention lingered. He could’ve been looking at the 301 scar. Or Jesse’s cock. More likely the scar, because why the hell would Dom McAsshole be interested in Jesse’s junk?

  And yet something inside Jesse jerked under Dom’s attention. He fought the feeling of his blood swooping between his legs. Why the hell is this happening to me? Dom’s an alpha. I’m not interested in him.

  But maybe Dom was being an asshole because part of him wanted to look at Jesse’s cock. That was insane. But still a possibility.

  “I’m looking for a drain snake,” Jesse blurted, trying to see if Dom would react. “The shower’s flooded. I’m gonna fix it.”

  Gareth waved toward the lockers. “First door, it’s unlocked. But gods, Jes. What happened to you?”

  Dom’s throat worked like he wanted to say something. He dragged his eyes back up Jesse’s body, leaving warmth all over Jesse’s skin in a way that was so wrong, he had no words for it. Then he met Jesse’s eyes, his gaze unreadable. Intent. Surely it wasn’t anything good.

  Gareth. He’d asked a question. About Jesse’s scars. And there was no way Jesse was explaining himself, not with Dom about to judge him any second. “Shit happened.”

  Gareth nodded, heading to his locker. “Ah. Gotcha.”
<
br />   This left Dom on one side of the room, and Jesse on the other. Jesse set down his pants, then his shirt. And he realized belatedly that the 301 on his shoulder was now visible, too.

  It wasn’t like they were tattoos. They were burn scars. Jesse didn’t know a normal person who’d had numbers branded into their skin.

  When he looked back at Dom, he found the alpha staring at his shoulder. Dom was fixating on the burn scars, then. Maybe, with the way he’d ogled Jesse’s body, maybe Jesse could get on his good side.

  Jesse swallowed all the obscenities he wanted to hurl at his deputy. “Thanks for giving me a chance on the team. I really appreciate it.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Dom’s stare hardened; his lips thinned. “It wasn’t my choice. If it were, you’d be long gone by now.”

  Who the fuck said shit like that? Jesse stared, trying to believe what he’d just heard. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me.” Dom didn’t even look like he possessed an ounce of remorse.

  Hot anger bubbled through Jesse’s gut. I say thanks, and this is how you react? You’re seriously a deputy? He clenched his fists, forcing down the temptation to lunge at Dom. But he let himself stalk forward, closing the distance between them. Until his chest bumped against Dom’s and his cock rubbed against the rough fabric of Dom’s pants.

  Dom’s copper-brown stare pierced his eyes, unrelenting. His breath soughed onto Jesse’s mouth, and that taunting blackwood scent filled Jesse’s lungs.

  “Fuck you,” Jesse breathed, almost dizzy with how much he wanted to punch this man. “I’m gonna stay, and I’m gonna prove you so damn wrong, you’ll wish you’d never said that to me.”

  Dom held his stare. In the barest hint of a whisper, he answered, “What makes you think you’ll be the one doing the fucking?”

  It took Jesse a second to wrap his mind around that. Another moment for him to realize that Dom was talking to him about fucking. And that Dom wouldn’t be the one on the bottom. No, he would fuck Jesse into the ground.

  A dark thrill shot down Jesse’s spine.

  Before he could begin to react, Dom pushed back, his chest solid against Jesse’s, his bulge grinding onto the bare skin of Jesse’s cock—which was even more sensitive now that it was half-hard. Pleasure shot down Jesse’s nerves; it was the first touch he’d gotten there in a while. And it had been from Dom.

  “Fuck you anyway,” Jesse hissed.

  “You’ll never win this,” Dom murmured, his eyes flashing. His nostrils flared, like he was memorizing Jesse’s scent.

  With a final hard thrust—coarse fabric scraped against Jesse’s cock in a mix of discomfort and pleasure—Dom whirled around, striding out of the locker room.

  His sudden absence left a draft of cool air against Jesse’s front. Jesse’s erection jutted up traitorously; he hated that it had reacted to Dom that way.

  He flipped Dom off with both his hands. Didn’t matter that Dom wasn’t here to see it. Then, before Gareth could turn and glimpse Jesse’s hard-on, Jesse pulled on his underwear, hiding his arousal with a spare pair of pants.

  He wasn’t going to jerk off to that bastard. He just wasn’t.

  The only person he hated more than Dom, was that crazy psychopath, Dr. Larson. And it was a very good thing that Larson was now in prison.

  5

  Bar Nights Part 1

  Of all things, Alec had to invite Sinclair to bar night. Worse, Dom had agreed to show up—because he always did. That was before he’d found out that Sinclair would be there, too.

  He stared at his reflection, straightening his collar. Trimmed a few stray hairs off his eyebrows.

  He was stalling. In fact, he was running kind of late, because he was still hanging on to the possibility that he could sit this one out.

  Bar nights were a chance for Dom to kick back with his team, talk about stupid things, and not have their conversations interrupted every ten minutes by a call. Bar nights were when Dom went a bit easier on his family—just slightly. But he talked about things he liked, he listened to his friends, and... became better friends with them.

  It was part of bonding. But he was not willing to bond, in any way, shape, or form, with Jesse Sinclair. The stakes were too high. Especially after that incident in the locker room. When Sinclair had rubbed up against him, and all of Dom’s instincts had roared, Pin him.

  Sinclair was Dom’s subordinate. He was half Dom’s age, old enough to be his son, and Dom couldn’t get that thick, flushed cock out of his mind.

  It had just been curiosity. Dom had wondered what sort of cock that alpha had. Then he’d found it growing bigger, as though Sinclair was responding to Dom looking at him.

  Stop thinking about that. He scrubbed his face, swallowing a mouthful of water from the faucet. You just need to get laid.

  But who was Sinclair to disrupt Dom’s routines?

  Yeah, actually. Bar nights had begun with Gareth and Dom, back when Gareth had dragged Dom out for a drink. They’d started inviting more of their team, and it had grown into a sort of tradition. Dom had been to almost every single one of those nights. And he wasn’t going to let someone like Sinclair put him off.

  Teeth gritted, Dom checked his appearance in the mirror, grabbed his coat, and set off for downtown.

  As he stepped out of the cab, and as he saw the familiar logo of his favorite bar, he thought he smelled a distinct cinnamon scent. Dom’s blood thrummed. No, I’m not fucking him tonight. Not ever.

  He straightened his coat and puffed up his chest, stepping into the bar. Because he was in charge.

  The team was in its usual spot in the back, where it was a little quieter. Dom headed over. They’d left an empty seat for him.

  It wasn’t until he was right next to the table, that he realized Gareth was smirking. Two alphas flanked the empty seat—Alec, and someone with broad shoulders and a scarred, shaved head. Dom’s cock jerked. Damn it.

  As he drew his chair back, Sinclair stiffened.

  “Nice of you to join us, Dom,” Gareth drawled. He was wearing a shit-eating grin. “You were so late, we saved a seat for you.”

  Chances were, ten to one, Gareth had put Sinclair right next to Dom’s seat. Dom brushed his hand through his hair, leaving his middle finger discreetly up.

  Gareth wasn’t even the slightest bit cowed. He sipped from his drink. “Stuck in traffic?”

  “Yeah,” Dom lied, taking a seat.

  “That’s not like you,” Alec piped up. “You’re always early.”

  Sinclair glanced toward Dom, his nostrils flaring, his chest rising and falling a little more deeply. Whether it was adrenaline or he was sniffing at Dom, Dom didn’t want to know.

  He could feel the heat pouring off Sinclair, though. Maybe he was sitting far too close to that man. So he pulled his chair away, turning to order his drink.

  His knee bumped into Sinclair’s thigh; the man tensed. Dom yanked his leg away, so there wasn’t a point of contact between them. It’s just a bump, he told himself. But Sinclair’s thigh had been solid, muscular. Taunting.

  “So, was it an accident that held you up?” Gareth asked.

  Dom bit his tongue. Gareth knew exactly how Dom felt about their new recruit. “Yeah.”

  “Something like a toothpaste accident?” Gareth’s smile sharpened.

  Damn that man. Like Dom needed a reminder of that day. Across the table, Gareth met Dom’s gaze, his expression knowing.

  Sinclair’s ears turned pink. The rest of his face, too. It shouldn’t look that good on him. It shouldn’t make Dom twice as aware of that cinnamon scent.

  “Fuck off,” Dom muttered. “You were talking about investments. Get back to it.”

  Gareth grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  As though he would give Dom any dignity, now that they were off-duty.

  The waiter stopped by the table with Dom’s usual—a whiskey sour, complete with a slice of lemon skewered around a maraschino cherry. Sinclair’s gaze locked onto it, following the dr
ink as Dom lifted it to his lips.

  Dom took a sip. The lemon tartness rushed over his tongue first, followed by whiskey and a faint sweetness. Then it all burned down his throat.

  Whiskey sours hadn’t always been Dom’s usual. They’d been Mal’s. Dom had begun drinking them after his death, just to trick himself into feeling as though Mal was still around. These days, the need had mellowed out into a habit.

  Sinclair was still staring when Dom set the glass down. “Problem?” Dom asked.

  The man narrowed his eyes. “Just seems like a drink an omega would order. That’s all.”

  Alec snorted. Nate smiled. Gareth raised an eyebrow—he was the only one who knew. Thankfully, he kept his mouth shut.

  “You mean the cherry?” Dom asked, casually picking the knotted bamboo skewer out of his drink. He wasn’t going to acknowledge the ache that question wrought in his chest. He wasn’t giving Sinclair that kind of power over him.

  Instead, he bit into the lemon slice, dragging it to the end of the skewer. There, he freed one side of the slice. Sinclair was watching him openly now. “Crushing cherries is a hobby of mine,” Dom said.

  And, still holding his stare, Dom bit the cherry off the skewer, rolling it deeper into his mouth. He ground it between his molars, until juice squirted onto his tongue, sweet and boozy.

  Sinclair’s jaw went slack. It took him a moment. Then he understood, his eyes flying up to meet Dom’s.

  Yeah, it gave Dom a kick to see the shock on his face. It was hardly professional. But whatever this thing was between them, it had stopped being professional since that very first day.

  Gareth snorted and began choking on his drink. Nate pounded on his back. “You okay?” Nate asked.

  Served Gareth right.

  “Wait, what?” Alec’s brow furrowed in confusion.

  Immediately after, Dom wanted to punch himself for pulling that crap. Whatever was between himself and Sinclair, it couldn’t bleed into the rest of the team. He wasn’t willing to take that risk.