I move to the register and pay fifteen dollars on the six-dollar tab for the inconvenience of hoggingthe space for so long without getting anything more expensive.
“Have a good one, hon,” the waitress says, softer now.
“You, too.”
At the door, I adjust my hat, the brim shadowing my eyes, and brace myself for the shift from greasy warmth to the hot morning air outside.
The breeze off the water brings brine and the distant funk of low tide. I keep my head down, focusing on the splintered boardwalk as I put distance between myself and the diner.
I make it a block before I hear the scrape and stomp of three pairs of boots keeping pace a dozen steps behind. My spine stiffens, and I quicken my pace, eyes on my destination.
The morning sun crests the scaffolding on a dry-docked ferry, turning everything to bleached shadow and glare. I can feel the men’s eyes on my back, the fine hairs on my nape rising.
I grip the strap of my satchel tighter and slip my hand into my pocket to wrap around the whistle I bought in case I lose my way on the island where I’ll be spending most of my time. I shouldn’t have left my car at the docks and walked to the diner, but it was so close, and Pinecrest is so quaint, that I thought it would be safe.
“Hey,” one of the Alphas calls out, not quite a shout. “Big guy’s in a hurry.”
I ignore it and keep my eyes on the seawall ahead. Sometimes ignoring them works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
“Heard you order the whole grain,” another pipes up. “Is that why you’re so tall? Drink lots of milk growing up?”
More laughter, closer now.
Their boots scrape faster across the planks, and before I can cut left toward the parking lot, the short one slides in front of me.
He grins up at me with a mouth full of nicotine-stained teeth. “Got a light?”
“Don’t smoke.” I lengthen my stride, but he jogs to keep pace.
The larger one flanks my right. “You with the new resort? Lotta work going to out-of-towners.”
I pivot toward the parking lot, but the shorter Alpha cuts me off.
“What’s the rush? You shy?”
They crowd closer, and I resist the urge to cover my nose. The tang of last night’s cheap whiskey sweats out of their pores, but over it comes the abrasive stench of their pheromones.
The older one reaches out and knocks my hat off with a flick of his finger. It skitters across theplanks, landing in a puddle of harbor water with a gasoline-rainbow shimmer on the surface. “Almost mistook you for a Beta. But that hair in the sunlight?” His tongue skims his bottom lip. “Omega.”
My pulse spikes. Three to one. I could take one. Two if I go fast and dirty. Three’s a gamble. And I can’t show up on my first day with bloody knuckles and a split lip.
They fan out into a half-circle, cutting off the boardwalk.
“Gonna get down on your knees and pick that up?” The short guy gestures at the hat.
Pulse pounding, I shake my head. No way am I lowering myself to the ground to give them an advantage. If I swing my bag, I could drive them back and run. They might let me go, but more likely, they’d chase. That’s part of the fun for guys like these.
They take one look at an Omega bigger than average, and some instinct in them demands they force me down, just to remind themselves they’re the dominant ones.
The biggest guy moves close enough for the stubble on his throat to catch the light. “Didn’t know Omegas came in linebacker sizes.”
He breathes through his nose, nostrilsflaring, trying to catch my scent, but he’ll find nothing. Blockers work, at least until they sweat off.
My hand tightens on my satchel strap, my options dwindling.
The whine of a diesel engine cuts through the call of seagulls, and I turn in time to spot a battered but well-kept truck rumble to a stop by the curb. The engine dies, and the door flies open hard enough to bounce off the hinges.
A woman hops out, taller than me, which doesn’t happen often, with hair like cut steel and a hard scowl on what would otherwise be a pretty face.