Secured by the Buyer (Taken by His Alpha #3)

Chapter 1

1

W hen one steals from work, it must be done with well-timed sleight of hand.

The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a harsh glow on the rows of snacks and cheap goods. With the end of my shift at this damn convenience store nearing, exhaustion sinks deep into my bones, and my hand shakes.

Mr. Jacobs has been a hawk today, which means no breakfast or lunch, and if I don’t find an opportunity, no dinner, either.

The clock on the wall mocks me, ticking away the seconds.

From the corner of my eye, I check the manager’s office, where he fixates on the security cameras.

My co-worker, Kayla, whispered to me earlier that last month’s numbers were down, and it instilled a fresh fire for capitalism. He’ll run out of steam by next week, but until then, I have to be careful.

The bell at the door splits the air with a harsh ding-dong, and I turn toward it while shoving my restocking cart into the rack in front of me. Snacks topple free, and I kneel, using the cart and my body to hide as I gather up the mess, slipping a package of trail mix into my pocket through some sleight of hand.

It’s not the granola I wanted, and I can’t risk a protein bar, which would be more filling, but it’s enough to stave off hunger for a few hours.

“Excuse me?” a customer says, making me jump. “Where are the diapers?”

“Third aisle, top shelf.” I straighten and dump the rest of the fallen snacks onto my cart. “Would you like me to walk you over?”

“No, thanks.” With a toddler in hand, he heads off in search of his items.

I turn back to restock the shelves, but a woman approaches, her arms full of magazines. “Do you have any pregnancy tests?”

I stop from checking her stomach and pretend not to see her blush. “Right past the condoms on aisle two. I can take you to them. ”

“Oh, no! That’s not…” she trails off in a mumble as she wanders away, focused on her impending fate.

When she passes, I spot a fresh Mark on the back of her neck. It stands out as a bright red ring, so it can only be a couple of hours old.

A pang of sympathy shoots through me. Poor girl.

“And that’s what happens when you don’t double up on protections,” a voice whispers behind me.

I stiffen before plastering a smirk onto my face and turning to my co-worker. “Kill me if I’m ever caught out in the open during my Heat.”

“Right?” Kayla nods in commiseration, though I’m not sure where her confidence comes from as a Beta. “Did you read the slogan on those new energy drinks? They’re supposed to make you feel like an Alpha!”

“Wow,” I retort without missing a beat, “all the ego and none of the perks. Sign me up for a lifetime’s supply.”

“Must be nice for them, huh?” She checks the expiration dates on the discount shelf behind me and tosses a loaf onto her cart. “All they gotta do is sit back and wait for life to be handed to them.”

Drool floods my mouth as my attention fixes on the stale bread. “I’m clocking out. Want me to drop that in the dumpster for you? ”

Kayla’s nose wrinkles. “I still have to go through the whole section. I’ll throw it out all at once. Unless you want to hang around and help a girl out?”

She bats her lashes at me, but I shake my head, masking my disappointment. “No can do. Work those biceps, girl.”

“Haha.” She grabs the loaf in the middle, squishing the slices into a doughy lump, and pretends to pump iron. “Me so buff. Woof.”

“Hey, Milo!” Mr. Jacobs appears in the doorway to his office. “You’re off in five, right?”

More like two. “Yep. Just finishing up this restock before I leave.”

He steps farther out into the store. “I need you to stay an extra hour. Carl called in sick.”

Carl turned in his resignation yesterday, and no one except our boss expected him to complete his final two weeks. Not our fault he didn’t account for the inevitable gap.

I plaster on a fake smile and force myself to sound polite. “Sorry, I can’t. I’ve got my second job, remember?”

Displeasure curls his lip. “Didn’t you say your shift doesn’t start until seven?”

Not to him, I didn’t. Kayla stiffens, though, and I make a note of the betrayal .

“That’s right, but it’s across town, and I need to go home first to change. It takes an hour and a half.” I make a show of checking the clock. “In fact, I have to leave now if I’m going to catch the bus on time.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, “but if you want longer shifts, I can give them to you.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t.” No way in hell am I picking up whatever measly hours he offers when the pay won’t come close to covering what I make at the high-end casino as a maid.

It’s way out of my neighborhood, but if they ever offer me a full-time position, I’m out of here.

I throw the rest of the snacks from my cart onto the shelf, not bothering to face them or put the ones with a farther-out expiration dates at the back. Kayla can deal with the mess as an apology for discussing my schedule with our penny-pinching boss.

I punch out and grab my backpack from the employee’s room.

“I’m taking my break!” Kayla almost runs me over on her way through the door.

We shuffle-dance around each other, and a magazine falls from her hands.

I bend to pick it up. “What’s this?”

The front cover shows a candid shot of an attractive redheaded Alpha and a slender Omega with black hair walking down the steps of a courthouse. The headline reads Playboy Billionaire Exchanges Bachelorhood for a Wedding Ring.

Kayla snatches the gossip rag from me. “Don’t you know who the Rockfords are?”

“Sure, I do.” They own half the city, and their casino is the major competition for the one where I work. “But why are you wasting time reading when you’re obsessed with the latest merge game on your phone?”

She hugs it to her chest. “I’m mourning the loss of a sexy bachelor.”

I snort. “Like you ever had a chance.”

She tosses her blond hair. “Excuse me! I was Caleb Rockford’s type before he got tricked into marrying this guy.”

“Yeah? You and what fortune?” I laugh outright. “Billionaires aren’t trolling the slums for brides.”

“You mock me, but this is a rags-to-riches story.” She smacks me with the magazine. “Oliver Kent came from our neighborhood. They met when Caleb saved him from a mugger in true fairy-tale fashion, so never say never.”

“Keep dreaming.” No billionaire sex god is going to be sweeping either of us off our feet.

When I step outside, the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. I hate this time of year, when I arrive at work before sunrise and leave when it sets. Not that my fair, freckled skin enjoys the exposure, but I need vitamin D and can’t afford to buy it in pill form.

I walk far enough from the convenience store to be out of sight. Once out of view, I transfer the package of trail mix and the single broken stick of pepperoni to my backpack so the precious food doesn’t fall out of my pockets.

Then I shrug on the pack and tighten the straps. I buckle the bottom one across my narrow waist, so the bag doesn’t bounce as I start jogging.

My legs pump with practiced speed, my breath coming in short gasps as I navigate the familiar route, going the long way to avoid the blocks claimed by gangs. My heart races as fast as my feet, each step bringing me closer to the house that’s more of a prison.

Around the next corner, I arrive on my street. As the dilapidated structure comes into view, the sinking sensation in my stomach deepens.

Home sweet hell.

I slow as I approach the creaking steps. The broken board near the top hasn’t been fixed since…we ll, ever, and I hop over it, my movements muscle memory by now.

Shoulder against the swollen door, I shove it open and brace myself for the assault on my senses. The sourness of stale beer and spoiled food roll out, a stench I’ve never grown accustomed to. Before I step into the living room, I know what I’ll find.

Sure enough, my father lies on the floor, passed out amidst a sea of empty cans. His loud snores rattle the peeling wallpaper, so at least he’s alive.

The familiar sight brings a rush of relief. Thank goodness I won’t have to deal with him tonight. Much as I want to disappear into my room and forget about everything for a while, I don’t have time.

I tiptoe past his prone form, careful not to disturb his alcoholic slumber. It’s a dance I’ve perfected over the years, and I make it to the single bathroom without incident.

The door doesn’t quite latch when I shut it, and I set my backpack next to the sink. Stripping off my convenience store uniform, I step into the shower and let the hot water cascade over me.

It offers a brief respite, washing away the grime and easing the tension from my muscles brought on by the frustration with life. This is not where I’m supposed to be in my early twenties. I should leave this shit hole behind, but doing so means accepting that my father will end up on the street, or worse, dead.

It’s a messed up kind of desperation to stick around, clinging to the only family I have.

As I scrub my body, the toilet lid bangs open, shattering my solitude, followed by a loud groan and a long stream of piss.

Annoyed, I try to rinse off the soap, but I don’t make it before the flush, and the water raining down on me turns icy.

“Couldn’t you have waited five minutes?” I shout, trying to shield myself.

My father swipes at the moldy shower curtain. “Show some respect, you little shit!”

I shiver as I wait for the warm water to return.

“Where were ya earlier?” Alcohol thickens his voice and slurs his words.

Goose bumps rise on my wet skin. “Work, like always.”

The curtain rattles again, driving me against the wall to avoid the slimy plastic. “Better not be hidin’ anythin’ from me, boy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Anger and resentment bubble within me, but what can I do? I’m trapped here, tethered to this miserable existence by chains of obligation and circumstance.

Tense silence fills the bathroom for a long moment before the door bangs shut, and I sigh in relief.

So much for peace and quiet.

I hurry through the rest of my shower and dry off. With the threadbare towel wrapped around my waist, I grab my backpack and head into my cramped bedroom.

Only once the door locks behind me do I risk unzipping my bag and reaching inside.

My fingers grasp at empty air, and panic flares through me.

Where are they? I tip the bag upside down and shake, but no, I didn’t put the stolen snacks in the wrong pocket.

They’re gone.

My hands clench into fists. “Dammit!”

That was supposed to be my dinner after another exhausting day. And now, it’s vanished without a trace.

Heart pounding, I slam out of my bedroom and storm into the living room, where my dad sits on the couch, staring at the loud TV. “Where’s my food?”

“Your food? You mean our food,” he sneers, dumping the trail mix into his mouth, the empty sleeve from the pepperoni stick lying on the cushion beside him.

“It was in my bag.” My fists clench, nails digging into my palms. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Aw, poor baby.” Pieces of nuts spill from his lips. “If you weren’t such a useless Omega, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Rage vibrates through me, but retaliation only ever brings pain.

Instead, I take a deep breath, forcing calm. “I’m already working two jobs to keep us afloat. Just stop taking my food.”

“Watch your tone, boy.” He slams his half-empty bottle onto the coffee table and stands to loom over me, the stench of booze oozing from his pores. “You wanna fight?”

Frustrated, I bow my head and focus on the beer-can-littered floor. “No, sir.”

“Fucking weak-ass Omega. Not worth putting a roof over your head,” he sneers, swaying on his feet. “Always thought you’d end up with a decent Alpha, but you couldn’t even do me the decency of getting knocked up in high school. Pathetic.”

His words sting, the barbs digging deep into my already bruised soul. But I refuse to let him break me .

“Maybe if you spent less time drinking and more time being a father, things would be different,” I retort before I can rein myself back.

In a flash, he slaps me hard across the face, the sound loud enough to be heard over the blare of the television. “Don’t you talk back to me! You’re just like your mother.”

Pain radiates through my skull, and I cup my cheek.

“Now, get to work, you bitch!” Spittle lands on my hot face.

I retreat to my room and lock the door again, for all the good it will do me. The flimsy defense won’t keep him out if he wants in. I should have kept my mouth shut. His temper is always worse at night.

I press my back against the door and release a shaky breath, holding back the tears threatening to spill. I can’t afford to cry right now. Not when I need to change and leave for my second job.

The stinging pain on my cheek draws me over to the mirror hanging from my closet.

It reflects my lean body back at me, my pale skin covered in freckles from head to toe. A heart-shaped raspberry birthmark peeks from above the towel on my lower stomach, next to my left hip bone. My long red hair hangs over my shoulders to the middle of my back. It’s my one vanity, and a stubborn one.

I inch closer, avoiding the crystal-blue eyes inherited from my father to inspect my cheek. The clear outline of a handprint stands out, but I don’t think it will bruise.

My tongue prods my teeth, and relief fills me when none of them wiggle. I don’t have healthcare, let alone dental care.

With one last check in the mirror, I brush out my hair and braid it into a crown to keep it out of my face. Then I dress, pull on my coat, and grab my backpack, slinging it back over my shoulder.

When I pass through the living room, my dad sits on the couch once more, and I take the long way around to walk behind him.

“Didn’t I tell you to shave your head?” He fixates on the TV. “I can’t stand the fucking sight of you.”

With nothing to say, I don’t respond as I flee the house, my stomach growling with hunger. I refuse to give in to the tears that threaten to fall. Crying never changes anything.

Hard work is the only way I’ll escape from this prison.