CARTER BENNETT

 

His panicked voice burst through the phone and wrapped around my neck like a noose. Whatever man did that to him—whoever made him cry and wheeze and beg—will curse his omega father’s name for giving birth to him if we ever cross paths.

I sent the car to fetch him, I would’ve gone myself if it wasn’t for all of the drinks I had at the bar when I was cooking up ways to ask him to… well, to have my child. He invited me to come stay with him, but his voice told me that he needed to get out of his apartment for the night.

The way he spoke to me in the alley, I thought I’d never hear from him again. Well, not until his shift started on Monday: Bennetts don’t give up that easily. I fixed up the spare bedroom for him in case he’s tired, and I cleaned my own room in case he’s not.

The sound of the key in the door dragged me from the bedroom. I rushed towards the door, and his arms were around my neck before I could say a word. Harry, my driver, nodded his head to tell me that nobody was lurking outside of his apartment when he arrived.

Harry placed Milo’s stuff—I say stuff, it was just a rose-and-tulip covered tote bag—just inside the door and closed it behind him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said through sniffles, “I didn’t know who to call.”

“You did the right thing,” I said as I pulled him in close.

I rested my chin on his head. He gripped my t-shirt tight and used my chest as a pillow. He didn’t say much on the phone. Just sniffles and tears and whimpers. The only words I caught were him and he and how.

“Milo, I know you’re upset, but I need you to tell me what happened so that I can fix this for you.”

He tightened his grip; I did the same.

“Was it that guy from the bar?” I asked.

He didn’t reply.

We stood there like that for a moment, and I forgot about Bennett International and my father and birthrights. He needed me, and I wanted to be needed.

The crying stopped as he pulled his head from my shirt. His lip curled again when he noticed the wet patch that he’d left behind.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, “I know it must be expensive.”

It was. Who cares. Milo needed me.

“Nah, it’s just something I sleep in.”

A half-truth to calm his nerves.

“Milo, I know this isn't easy, but I need you to tell me what happened. Was it the guy from the bar?”

“No,” he replied.

I raise an eyebrow. Something else must’ve happened.

“It’s Danny. My ex-boyfriend. He’s found me.”

He sauntered towards his bag with slumped shoulders. He reached into the bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. Milo clutched the paper to his chest as he looked at me with those large sea-green eyes. I could get lost in those eyes.

“Did you mean what you said?”

I nodded my head. I meant it when I said it and my desire’s only growing stronger.

“And you can protect me, even if I can’t give you a child?”

“Milo, what do you need protection from?” I asked, “and I told you already, there’s no need for adoption because miracles happen.”

He handed me the paper. A woman—I think it’s a woman, it could be a man with long hair. The swelling and the bandages cover his or her face, and his or her features are almost lost—lying in a hospital bed. Cuts and bruises and marks and a large gash on the right cheek. I look up to find Milo rubbing his finger along a scar on his face.

My hands tremble so hard and fast that the paper almost tears. It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. It’s him, beaten beyond recognition. His swollen cheeks forcing his sea-green eyes shut. His perfect skin scared and bruised.

I didn’t notice the scar in the dark bar or maybe I did and thought nothing of it. It’s the length of a quarter but thin and hard to see until highlighted.

“Milo, you need to tell me where to find this guy. This Danny.”

My voice is cold and emotionless, but the rage in my gut feels like it’s about to explode. Milo doesn’t need shouting or screaming right now. He needs calm. He needs me.

“I don’t find him. He finds me. He always finds me.”

“I have friends. I know people that can find him. We can get justice for…”

“Justice?” he mutters “He’s not on the run or hiding or anything like that. He’s never seen the inside of a cell and he never will.”

He’ll see the inside of a self-dug grave if I ever get my hands on him.

I wrapped my arm around him and guided him towards the sofa. He plopped down and curled his legs to his chest.

“He was a needy guy. Like, needy-needy. It’s cute when you’re a Freshman and starting a new life, but it gets a little old when you’re a Senior. He was always there. Always. If I took more than a couple of minutes in the bathroom, he’d text. Five minutes and he’d call. And when I finally finished he’d be standing by the door.”

I nodded my head and bit my bottom lip. I knew guys like that in college. I have no time for them. Half of them are self-loathing ticking time bombs just waiting to unleash their misplaced anger.

“It was all too much,” he continued, “I had work and finals and fucking life. I’d get two or three hours a day to relax, and I’d spend it arguing with him. I broke up with him and…”

“And he did this?” I said as I looked at the piece of paper. He’d scribbled ‘ICU’ on the top in red ink and dotted the I with a heart. Inside were the initials DJ and MW.

“That’s the thing. Danny had an alibi. All of his friends, all of those boys that were so sweet when we were together, said that he was playing beer pong at the fraternity all night.”

The thought of asking him if there was any truth to that didn’t even cross my mind. I’ve dealt with weak men before, and only weak men do what that monster did to him.

“I almost believed it myself until…”

“Until what, Milo?”

“He came to see me every day. Brought me candy and pictures and get well cards from the guys at school. When I was finally able to speak, he asked me if we could get back together. I said no and…”

I cupped his face in my hand and dragged his head towards my shoulder. My body trembled with anger, but I was able to quell the rage enough to stop him from worrying.

“Milo, you need to tell me everything you know about this guy.”

He nodded his head against my shoulder.

“I was going to call my dad. He always knows what to say when I’m upset.”

“He sounds like a good man, I’d like to meet him some time.”

“How about when he walks me down the aisle?”

He lifted his head from my shoulder and looked into my eyes. The crying had stopped, but the whites of his eyes were still glossy from the tears. He climbed onto my lap, straddled my body and stared.

I gripped his hips as he grinded his ass against my hardening cock.

“Isn't that what you want?” he asked, “Isn’t that what you need? A husband? I can’t give you a son, but you said your father doesn’t have much time, maybe if he saw you were making positive change…”

I nodded my head softly as I gripped his butt. I pulled his cheeks apart as the heat from his crotch warmed my lap. A loose curl fell over his face, but neither of us moved.

His nose hasn’t caught my scent but I’ve caught his and my lust only grows. His monstrous ex took much but he didn’t take his omega gift. I am certain of that. Like I said, miracles do happen. 

Sitting up, I hooked my arms around the back of his knees and stood up with him pressed against my chest. He smiled as that bastard slipped from his mind. I dropped him down onto the couch.

A knot tied in my stomach and I needed to sit. Resting on the edge of the nearby coffee table, I reached for a sheet of paper and a pen.

“You’ve had a long night. Fuck, you’ve had a long few years by the sound of things. I want you. Bad. But I’m not going to take advantage of you…”

“You’re not taking advantage of me…” he replied.

I take the pen and place it in his hand.

“Milo, I need you to listen to me. I’ve been wealthy since the day I was born, and I’ve always gotten—or taken—whatever I want whenever I want. You’re the first thing in my life worth waiting for. I need you to take this pen, and I want you to write down everything you know about this Danny character.”

“We haven’t spoken in so long…”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m willing to bet that this guy isn't as smart as he likes to think. Guys like him never are. Write down where he lived in Barkside and anything else you know about him.”

He sat up on the couch and leaned forward. The disappointment was obvious from his body language.

“And then?” he asked as he peeled his eyes from the floor.

I took his hand and helped him to his feet. Worried that his filthy feet would dirty the carpet, he lifted himself up to his toes. I pushed him softly with a finger and smiled as his heels hit the brand-new Persian rug.

“Take a shower and try to relax.”

“And then?” he asked.

His eyes are full of want.

“You’ve had a good day and a bad day. Half good and half bad. Wash the bad off and, when your body is clean, and your mind is fresh, you can decide how you want the night to end.”

“I already know what I want.” he replied.

“And, if you still feel that way when you get out of the shower, my room is at the end of the hall.”

He smiled as he reached for the paper and started to write. I took the note that Danny slipped under his door and made my way towards my office.

I picked up my phone and dialed.

“Alexander, I’m going to need a favor.”

…

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been a busy night. Look, I’ll owe you one. Yeah, another one.”

…

“I’ll call you when I’ve got more details.”