Perfect Omega Chapter 6.1 - Hurdles Aren’t Meant to Be Jumped Over, But Pushed Aside

I felt lips brush against my shoulder in my sleep. Nick’s hand, which had been resting on my waist, lifted, replaced by the gentle tucking of a soft blanket. The faint scent of his shower gel drifted by and then disappeared. Click. Owen opened his eyes at the sound of the door closing.

At first, it felt strange having someone next to me, and I only slept lightly. In Owen’s world, even married couples didn’t share a bed. The couples he knew were busy people with packed schedules.

They woke and slept at different times, so even if they lived in the same house, just having separate rooms was considered a commonality for many couples. In most cases, they didn’t even live in the same city. Even minimal contact needed to maintain their bond had to be scheduled in advance.

As far as Owen could remember, his parents often lived separately, between Rose Mansion and their house in New Jersey. It didn’t feel like they had a bad relationship. It was just the way things were.

Cautiously, Owen brought this up, wondering if Nick was putting up with discomfort due to not knowing this custom. Nick replied that he was already aware.

“If you’re thinking about quality of sleep, it’s not a bad idea.”

Concerned that Nick might find staying on the third-floor guest room unpleasant, Owen had even planned to redecorate a large, empty bedroom on the second floor.

“For my quality of sleep, falling asleep with you is much better, but I guess it wasn’t the same for you. I didn’t think it through. Living habits die hard, I suppose.”

It was a topic Owen had initiated, but Nick’s ready acceptance made him feel strangely hurt. He wasn’t even sure if it was hurt he was feeling. Before he could dwell on it, Nick made another suggestion.

“But Owen, once we start sleeping separately, we’ll never have the chance to fall asleep and wake up together again. As we get older, we’ll only get more particular about our routines. So, how about we test it out a little longer before we decide? I genuinely want to be with you.”

He couldn’t flatly refuse such a heartfelt request. Especially when Nick had even given a deadline of a month. How could he say he couldn’t endure a month of discomfort? Owen nodded.

Naturally, he didn’t get used to it overnight.

Unable to sleep, Owen blinked, looking at Nick lying next to him.

Nick, despite being considerate, remained stubbornly in bed beside him. Owen thought he might offer to move to the third floor, suggesting he get a good night’s rest, but Nick didn’t budge for a single day.

In the end, Nick tamed him. He wasn’t sure how, but “tamed” was the right word.

From the very night of their conversation, Nick started holding him close as he slept. Understanding the meaning of an arm wrapped around him, Owen rested his head on it. To make matters worse, Nick wrapped his other arm around him too. Just as Owen resigned himself to a sleepless night, he found himself completely trapped in Nick’s embrace.

As expected, Nick seemed to fall asleep quickly. And unexpectedly, so did Owen.

He suspected it was pheromones.

It wasn’t that Nick was actively releasing his scent. Yet, when Owen was held by him, he could feel Nick’s pheromones.

It wasn’t a smell, but a sensation that enveloped his entire body. As he drifted into a deep sleep, he felt a warmth spreading through him, especially in his stomach. Thinking he was imagining things, he rubbed his belly, and Nick’s hand instinctively followed, resting atop his.

Now that he thought about it, his stomach did feel a bit heavy….

Owen sat up in bed and swung his legs to the floor. He unbuttoned his pajamas.

Pausing mid-change into his workout clothes, he glanced at the mirror. He could almost see the lingering remnants of last night. It felt as if the heat from their peak arousal was still trapped deep within him, refusing to dissipate.

Since living with Nick, the frequency of their sex had dramatically increased. He felt like they’d had more sex in the past few months than in the past few years.

Nick was making him aware of his omega nature in new ways. While the suppressants seemed to be working, there was still a slight unease and discomfort, but mostly, it was pleasant.

That was probably why he’d been feeling a constant, low-level arousal recently.

Owen tied his training shoes and rotated his ankles. He strode up the stairs to the fifth-floor gym in a single bound. Opening the window, he breathed in the cool air, letting it fill his lungs and awaken his sleeping muscles. He stretched his inner thighs and slowly arched his back.

If this were before, he would have been terrified. But now, at least he understood why his body felt this way and how to calm it down, so there was no fear. Moreover, Nick had been asking to smell his pheromones much less lately. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. Even Owen’s own pheromones were only subtly released.

Surprisingly, they were enjoying very satisfying sex without the aid of pheromones.

The morning sun glinted off the windows of the distant skyscrapers. The morning brought with it a natural surge of hope.

Perhaps, like this, they could slowly seep into each other. Perhaps, like a miracle, they could slowly bond without risking the dangers of pheromone floods.

Such things were unheard of, but both he and Nick were a bit strange, so maybe…

Owen finished his warm-up and stepped onto the treadmill.

❊

“Did you find out?”

The phone rang at the perfect time.

He’d given John specific times when he could call, and this was one of them – the thirty minutes or so it took him to go to and from the boulangerie.

Exchanging a glance with the familiar employee, Nick received the bag containing croissants.

—The client is incredibly cautious.

The computer retrieved from the contractor’s house was delivered to John by Cooper.

—Of the three computers you sent, only one was used to contact the client. I think there’s a high probability this computer was provided by the client.

“Why?”

That was extremely unusual.

—This isn’t a computer, it’s just a communication device. With these specs, you can’t even watch a movie, let alone play a game. You’d think they’d at least do some browsing, but there’s no basic browser. The program used to contact the client is practically all there is. The rest is just a massive firewall, anti-hacking tools, and above all, a very thick layer of tracking prevention systems. Whoever this is, they’re a complete psychopath. Their own firewall would be enough, why bother controlling the other side’s computer too?

“So, you couldn’t crack it?”

The reason he’d sent them to John was to decipher the encrypted messages.

— I cracked it. Boss, you have to appreciate my hard work.

John’s voice was laced with exhaustion, suggesting he wasn’t just being dramatic.

— Fortunately, the contractor in Philadelphia didn’t seem to know much about computers. Either he didn’t want to upset the rich client, or he just didn’t do anything. He didn’t seem to try to investigate anything and just used it for communication as instructed. Luckily, it was relatively clean for an old computer. Let’s see… The chat history on this thing is extensive. Boss, you’re going to have to send me some eye drops. I’ve read years of these boring conversations.

Nick had assumed the delay meant the encryption was difficult, but it turned out to be the sheer volume of the history. Having a long-term designated contractor was good news. It would narrow the search considerably.

—It’s good news, in a way. You know that so-called ‘new religious group’ that’s been picketing and sending threatening letters? Turns out, aside from a few initial one-man protests, it’s all their doing. These guys did a lot of trivial stuff, I don’t even know if they’re contractors or errand boys. I wonder why they’d put in so much persistent, long-term effort for something like this. It feels personal at this point. Any ideas, Boss?

Nick stopped at a traffic light.

“Tell me what you found out first.”

—You told me to look into the helicopter crash. I found the mechanic.

“And?”

—He’s dead.

Not surprising.

“When?”

— I have a feeling you already know, but right after the accident. A simple traffic accident, hit-and-run.

“Destruction of evidence.”

— Right. It looks like an attempt to destroy evidence. So, feeling energized, I dug deeper. I wanted to see if they really eliminated all the evidence or not.

The countdown for the light change appeared. Nick tapped his thigh, counting along.

— Following the money trail should lead somewhere, right? Our young mechanic, oblivious to the timeless truth that sudden fortune brings misfortune,

Whether he was tapping his thigh out of anticipation for the light change or from anxiety, the tempo had increased.

— …unaware of his impending doom, deposited the money, presumably from the client, right into his bank account.

“A direct bank transfer?”

If so, the client’s name would be readily available.

— No, it wasn’t that easy. He used cryptocurrency. Luckily, he didn’t use OTC and went through an exchange. This is where our mysterious client’s inexperience shows.

OTC transactions, where cryptocurrency is exchanged directly through messengers, are virtually untraceable. However, exchanging through an exchange reveals the final destination address. If they wanted complete secrecy, they should have used OTC. They made the mistake of overestimating the anonymity of cryptocurrency.

— Of course, if he had used a proxy to cash out, it would have been a perfect cover-up, but our mechanic didn’t seem to know that trick. He just exchanged it directly and put it in his wallet.

“The sender’s side, is it untraceable?”

The person who ordered all these hits was what he needed to find out.

— Unfortunately, the client used a purchasing agent. I was momentarily frustrated there. But then, suddenly, the heavens helped me. Or rather, had helped me.

Nick wished John wouldn’t be so dramatic, but there was no use arguing with his enthusiasm. Focusing on the call, Nick stepped aside. He walked at a noticeably slower pace.

— Fourteen years ago, remember that huge scandal that made the front page of the Wall Street Journal?

Nick wasn’t interested in investments. He had enough money, so he didn’t see the need to increase it. In short, he wasn’t particularly interested in Wall Street affairs. As if knowing Nick’s answer, John continued.

— There was a bank run at the fourth largest cryptocurrency exchange at the time. An employee, upset about losing his job and bonus, and being treated like a scammer just because he worked there, released three months’ worth of transaction records from the server.

“…!!”

He remembered that. That incident fourteen years ago was a major event that led to additional consumer protection laws.

The reason it was called a scandal was because of the released transaction records. Some used anonymous IDs, but others used their real names.

And those who used their real names were mostly older people, and unfortunately, there were some recognizable names. Of course, those involved claimed it wasn’t them, just someone with the same name.

The list quickly disappeared from the “surface web” accessible to ordinary people after the scandal broke. However, the dark web was a market beneath the surface. Once information was online, it never truly disappeared.

“Don’t mess with me, John. You’re not saying the original sender’s name was in those last three months of transactions, are you?”

— I never mess around… Yes. It was. Of course, the name wasn’t just there. Let me explain how I found it. Hold on.

He saw the man holding the bag of bread frown in the reflection of the shop window, but unfortunately, John couldn’t see it.

— First, the transaction records came out, right? I could match the date, time, and amount the mechanic received the cryptocurrency, but that’s the trap. As you know, that’s the smokescreen money launderers use to fool the authorities. They use hundreds of accounts simultaneously to make it impossible to track. If it happened to overlap with when money launderers were ‘washing’ money, it would be over. Even the authorities can’t catch that.

….

— But, as luck would have it, the launderers weren’t working that day. As you guessed, I tracked down the matching transaction record. Our mysterious murderer used an ID, but tracking IDs is a piece of cake.

Many exchanges didn’t require real names for account creation, so he hadn’t expected a real name to appear. Nick waited for John’s next revelation without replying.

— There are two types of ID users. Those who create disposable IDs for one-time use. The other type reuses similar IDs. Our client turned out to be the latter.

It was more difficult to be the former. Those operating in the underbelly of the internet often used disposable IDs, but those accustomed to the surface web were more likely to reuse similar ones.

— They must have been surprised because they never used that ID again, but the previous records remain. They were even quite active with that ID for a while. Proud Alphas, you know them, right?

Proud Alphas. Known as an alpha community, they were practically a modern-day KKK, full of discriminators. Obsessed with alpha supremacy, they formed groups and engaged in acts bordering on terrorism. Those they discriminated against included alphas weaker than themselves. They twisted the concept of survival of the fittest to their convenience.

“So, someone who was active in an alpha supremacist community fourteen years ago. That’s vague. It’s hard to pinpoint their age.”

Proud Alphas mostly operated online but had recently begun appearing offline. There had been police investigations into suspected criminal conspiracies, and the age range of participants, from teenagers to those in their sixties, was surprising.

Besides, there was no guarantee that an alpha supremacist was actually an alpha.

Sarah’s animosity was sufficient, but she didn’t seem to fit the profile. Then, Victor…?

“Was there any trace of that ID being used anywhere else besides Proud Alphas?”

— Yes. I was just about to tell you. The owner of the ID is Locke W. Rose.

“…!”

— Totally shocking, right? How dare that kid, and why! Why would he order a hit on Chairman Rose and his wife?

“…How old was Locke back then?”

— Locke was… eighteen at the time. Young enough to be careless and leave traces of himself online, and to top it off, use that ID for a transaction. You’re not thinking, ‘Boss, he was too young, it couldn’t be him,’ are you?

That wasn’t it. He’d seen cases of younger individuals committing serious crimes.

But the motive was unclear. Victor would be more likely.

— Well, it could be Victor. Or a family crime syndicate.

“Why would they do it that way?”

— Huh?

“The method of attack at the heliport bothers me. Why acid pheromones?”

Something so difficult to obtain.

— I know, right? If killing was the objective, they could have used a gun, or like with Chairman Noel, disguised it as an accident. Did they think using the same method twice would be suspicious? Why?

“…!”

Nick stopped walking.

“What if it was easy to obtain?”

— What?

“Acid pheromones. Easy to obtain. Like if they were a distributor or knew the manufacturing process… John, didn’t Locke set up a lab?”

— Yes. Hey… Don’t tell me you’re suggesting Locke is the acid pheromone manufacturer.

“Let’s put the ‘why’ aside for a moment and just consider the possibility.”

— It’s… possible.

“It is.”

— But why?

“I said put the why aside. John, why do you think Locke set up his lab in such a remote location?”

— I don’t know. Don’t scientists like to be alone?

John answered without hesitation. Nick sighed briefly.

“Synthetic drugs are made with chemicals, and processing chemicals releases toxic gases.”

— I know that.

“Locke is a highly educated researcher. And drug manufacturing doesn’t require incredibly complex chemical formulas. What a drug manufacturer needs is adequate resources and a location safe from neighbors and police surveillance.”

— Whoa!

“He could order and stockpile suspicious chemicals without raising suspicion because it’s a research lab.”

— That’s right! No neighbors to report suspicious smells. And the drug squad wouldn’t raid a private island. Wow, so that place might not be a lab, but a manufacturing facility! A drug manufacturing facility?!

John finally caught on and started piecing together Nick’s theory.

“The narcotics officers said the recipe for acid pheromones hasn’t spread yet. That means someone has a monopoly on the recipe. That island is perfect.”

— Wow… If this theory is correct, that cousin is completely insane. Shouldn’t we do something quickly?

“Not yet. It’s just speculation. We lack evidence.”

— If we raid the place, we’ll find everything there.

“I need a legitimate reason to raid private property with heavy weaponry that will hold up in court if they find me not guilty. I’m not wasting my hard-earned money on lawsuits and settlements.”

— Ugh… boring talk… like what, for example?

“Testimony that the place is a drug manufacturing facility would be one example.”

Rose Mansion came into view. Nick quickened his pace.

“John, find the middleman.”

— Middleman? What middleman?

“If Locke is the manufacturer, he needs a distributor.”

That market operated on introductions. Even street dealers didn’t do business with strangers. This was a new drug no one had heard of. And the supplier was a rich kid in nice clothes. It was unlikely Locke would attempt direct contact, and even if he did, it would likely fail. He’d need someone familiar with the market.

— Hmm. Right. Unless he’s just sitting in a chatroom on the dark web all day making individual deals, someone must be selling it for him.

“Acid pheromones aren’t widely distributed. At most, one or two distributors are spreading it. If we catch a middleman, we’ll get a list of suppliers.”

— …You make it sound so easy. Boss, do you know how many drug brokers there are in this country? Just because I can find data and crack codes doesn’t mean it’s a snap. This is back-breaking labor. We have evidence that Locke owns the ID. Can’t we just raid the island and ask him?

Nick clicked his tongue at John’s whining.

“Who said anything about drawing a national map? Focus on the areas with the highest concentration of acid pheromones. The narcotics officers said it’s being distributed in specific areas.”

— So you’re saying find the middlemen who control the distribution network in those areas? That’s doable.

“If you understand, get to work. Let’s see if we can find a connection.”

— And if we find a connection? Then what?

“Then we pay them a visit.”

He arrived at Rose Mansion just as he finished speaking. Nick ended the call and reached for the doorknob.

❊

“Are you trying to run away somewhere?”

Owen’s fingers, breaking off a piece of croissant, paused. He hadn’t noticed Nick standing at the gym entrance until he stepped off the treadmill. He’d been so quiet, Owen hadn’t realized he was there, or for how long. Embarrassed, Owen laughed, but Nick’s eyes held concern.

“No. In case of emergency, all I can do is run, so I have to be good at it, right?”

Owen tried to sound cheerful, but Nick’s gaze only deepened.

“Have you had to run away a lot?”

Oh. He’d completely forgotten their first meeting. Owen stopped tearing the bread and set it down. He felt the need to explain.

“The heliport incident was a rare occurrence. Actually…”

Owen paused, retracing his memories to be accurate.

“I think it was the first time something like that has happened. Usually, they just stand there with pickets.”

Nick rested his chin on his hand, quietly studying Owen’s face. Owen was searching for words to elaborate, wondering if his explanation was insufficient, when Nick spoke.

“Owen, do you understand that even just standing with pickets can be something someone pays for in a capitalist society?”

“…If that’s the case, I’m almost relieved.”

Nick raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Wouldn’t it be better to have a small number of people who dislike me than a large number?”

“It’s not about disliking you, it’s a difference in beliefs. And it might not even be about that in the first place.”

“Nick, what are you trying to say?”

“What if there’s someone behind those protesters?”

“Who? Oh, are you talking about the board? Nick, you heard that rumor too? I’ve considered that possibility.”

“Really?”

Nick straightened up, surprised, and leaned back slightly.

“The timing and pattern were a bit strange. They suddenly increased and became aggressive. I know these things. I’ve seen picket protests since I was a child.”

Owen tried to lighten the mood, but Nick seemed unusually serious this morning.

“Have you considered that it might be Victor, not the board?”

“…!”

Owen paused, coffee cup halfway to his lips. Nick’s expression was serious.

“No. While there might be personal feelings between Uncle Victor and me, no. I think you misunderstood after seeing Aunt Sarah that day, Nick. My uncle is different. He actually supports me at the company.”

Nick looked unconvinced.

“To be precise, he supports my grandmother’s vision.”

“What do you mean?”

“The current direction of Rose Bio-Pharmaceuticals is the one my grandmother initially set. Uncle Victor is a Rose, too. And he loved my grandmother. The current board is going in the exact opposite direction. They seem to want the world to be overflowing with sick people. I’ve never been close enough to Uncle Victor to know his personal beliefs. And I don’t think I’ll ever have that opportunity. But no, he wouldn’t betray my grandmother.”

“So the board supports you?”

Nick still looked skeptical. This time, he raised one eyebrow as he asked.

“Um… no. That’s not it. You know how it is. But he would never try to ruin the company because of personal feelings. If he thought I was doing something wrong, he would have quietly pushed me out by persuading my aunts and the other major shareholders. He may not have affection for me, but he definitely has affection for the Rose name. He wouldn’t choose such a public way to humiliate me. Though, Uncle Victor has never tried to stop those who oppose me on the board. That’s what I think.”

This was one of the reasons Owen hadn’t fired Victor and remained patient.

“…Strange and complicated, but I think I understand what kind of person he is. So, it’s not him?”

“No.”

Nick now looked deep in thought. He sat back, leaning against the chair. He didn’t touch the fruit or the bread he’d brought, just tapped his fingernails on his coffee cup.

“Nick, am I giving you something complicated to worry about? I was just… exercising. I’m not running to prepare for anything.”

“Do you ever not want to exercise?”

“Yes, but everyone feels that way sometimes.”

“…Right.”

Nodding, Nick leaned forward again.

Owen resumed tearing the croissant. The aroma of the freshly baked pastry made his mouth water. Perhaps because of that, he tore it a bit too roughly. Unconcerned, he generously slathered the softened butter onto the croissant. He took a bite, the fresh butter melting in his mouth, enhancing the flavor of the bread.

“Do you know?”

Nick’s eyes were now smiling.

“That you close your eyes when you take the first bite?”

Huh…?

Owen stopped chewing, trying to recall if he did that.

He couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been aware of it, and before Nick, he’d never had breakfast with anyone. He’d attended breakfast meetings, but he never focused on the taste of the food at those.

“Did I…? I didn’t know.”

Nick wouldn’t make it up, so it must be true. Thinking he’d learned something new about himself, Owen resumed chewing. The savory and subtly sweet flavors filled his mouth.

“You do. When you open your eyes, your eyelashes look like the petals of a young rose. They flutter open so delicately. You probably didn’t realize that when you swallow the first bite, you open your mouth wide enough to make a little ‘ahh’ sound.”

“….”

“And then, annoyingly, you close your mouth right away. You press your lips together and chew, chew, chew, as if daring me to imagine where your tongue is moving, where it’s touching inside your mouth. Just when I can’t stand it anymore and feel like jumping up with excitement, you stop chewing. You wash down the last morsel with a sip of coffee. Cruelly. You lower those fluttering eyelids, as if teasing me, and pretend not to see me. You haven’t provoked me, and I have to pretend I’m not aroused, so what choice do I have? I have to endure it until nightfall.”

“….”

“I completely forget the torture I endured just yesterday morning, and when morning comes, I run to the boulangerie again. Just to watch you take that first bite. I bet you didn’t know that either.”

“….”

He couldn’t chew anymore. He couldn’t even swallow, so Owen just kept his mouth closed.

What he’d just heard didn’t sound like eating at all. It sounded more like…

“To be so aroused by a piece of croissant and a sliver of butter. I vow every time that I’ll never let you have breakfast with anyone else. Swallow, Owen.”

Telling him to swallow, Nick placed his thumb on Owen’s lips. The thumb remained there as Owen chewed the remaining bits, still too large to swallow. He wasn’t sure if he was sucking on buttered bread or Nick’s finger.

Before Nick said anything, it had just been a table where he savored good food.

Oh… no. Not now.

Nick’s actions had ignited a fire within him. Feeling the heat rising in his lower body, Owen quickly searched for a change of topic. He pulled his hand away from his plate.

“It’s funny, the more effective Rose Pharmaceuticals’ suppressants become, the more frequent the attacks get.”

“That’s… unfortunate. But people will change their minds eventually. The moment will come when they realize you’re right and stop attacking you.”

Nick’s tone lacked the fervor of a preacher but held an even stronger conviction.

Owen doubted the fanatics would change their minds so easily, but as if sensing his hesitation, Nick took a piece of bread from his own plate and began meticulously buttering it.

“I’ve learned some self-defense martial arts, but I don’t think there’s a better defense than running fast.”

Owen kept talking to avoid Nick noticing his empty mouth.

“Is that so?”

However, unlike usual, Nick seemed to be ignoring Owen’s words. He carefully tore and buttered a piece, but it wasn’t for himself. Nick’s fingers approached Owen’s lips.

“…!”

Even though Owen kept his lips closed, Nick didn’t urge him. He simply rubbed his finger against Owen’s closed lips.

Unable to resist any longer, Owen opened his mouth. The offered bread, along with Nick’s fingertip, entered his mouth. The finger lingered so long that Owen worried he might accidentally bite it.

“Do you know?”

Now, whenever Nick started a sentence like that, Owen felt apprehensive. With his feelings clearly displayed on his face, Owen chewed as stiffly as possible.

“That you’re a very sensual person? You’re an aesthete, Owen. Just watching you savor the harmony of ingredients and heat with your eyes closed tells me that.”

Nick’s thumb caressed Owen’s lips again. This time, he didn’t press, but gently traced the shape of Owen’s lips. When he spoke again, his voice was laced with a sigh.

“Soon, the day will come when I’ll release my omega suppressed within you. Then, you’ll devour me like you savor that buttered croissant. You’ll bite down and consume every part of me. I truly… anticipate that moment.”

This time, even though the remaining piece was large, Owen swallowed it whole.

Nick stood up and leaned over the table. His teasing finger was replaced by hot lips. As Owen opened his mouth, a hot, fleshy tongue invaded, exploring recklessly. The movement was so ravenous and greedy that Owen had to keep swallowing to prevent drool from escaping.

“Ha… ha…”

“I keep wondering…”

Nick’s breath was ragged.

“…no matter how I try to eat it the same way you do, I can’t figure out how you make that expression, how you find that flavor.”

His thumb began to rub Owen’s lips again.

“The taste must change when it enters your mouth, Owen. I can tell just by tasting the traces left behind. It’s delicious.”

Nick leaned in again, his tongue resuming its exploration. Owen felt his lower body dampen.

“Do you know, Owen?”

Owen slowly shook his head. He was afraid of what Nick would say next.

“I know of a liquid more flavorful than French butter. I’ve imagined dipping bread in it. After you leave for work, while I’m clearing the table. I imagine it all by myself.”

“….”

Owen couldn’t move a muscle. Surely, Nick wasn’t aware of Owen’s growing arousal.

“That liquid is so moist, it would soak even bread that’s been sitting out for two days, hard and stale. It would release an endless stream of delicious flavors, enough to satisfy any hunger forever. If I could just dip into it now, I wouldn’t have to bother interrupting your breakfast, and I could…”

Owen abruptly stood up.

He didn’t need to hear anymore, didn’t need to confirm what it meant. He practically ran to the second floor and locked the door, as if to prevent Nick from following.

His hands trembled as he searched for a change of pants.

Surely, Nick hadn’t been serious.

His body, further aroused by those words, wouldn’t calm down on its own. The heavy feeling in his lower abdomen was intensifying. This wouldn’t be resolved until nightfall, after he’d taken Nick inside him.

❊

Ha… Why had he awakened to sexual desire now, a decade later than most people?

He’d never considered himself a sensual person. Fear of losing control of his pheromones had always made him rely on suppressants during sex.

Had he ever been so wet that he’d needed to change his clothes? The meager amount of lubrication he produced had disgusted his previous alpha partners.

‘Why don’t you just become an alpha? If that’s all you’re going to produce!’

‘You don’t even have a scent, are you sure you’re an omega?’

His former fiancé wasn’t the only one who found him cold and unappealing. After a few encounters, his alpha partners would leave, abandoning him before his own arousal had subsided.

No one had ever clung to his neck, begging for another whiff of his scent. Only Nick had praised the scent hidden beneath his skin, showing him his heated arousal.

While Owen logically knew a living person couldn’t be cold, he’d started to lose confidence. It was Nick who reassured him, telling him how hot he was. Only Nick had persistently tried to knot him, driven by his arousal, even with just a small release of Owen’s pheromones.

Oh… again.

Feeling the heat that hadn’t subsided for half a day, Owen placed a hand on his stomach. Fortunately, it wasn’t noticeable to others. The suppressants were still working.

Except when it came to Nick.

He didn’t understand why he reacted this way only to Nick’s pheromones.

“Mr. Rose, I’ll take you to the company then.”

After double-checking the destination on the schedule, Ted raised the partition separating the front and back seats. Once they were shielded from view, Owen closed the tablet he’d been pretending to read. He hadn’t absorbed anything anyway.

He needed to get a grip. At this rate, he might really embarrass himself soon.

Sighing softly, he looked out the window.

New York was always bustling with tourists. Street-side cafes were overflowing with tourists and locals enjoying the beautiful day. He saw quite a few people pushing strollers. It was a scene he usually glanced over, but today, it caught his attention.

This was also because of Nick. Because of his talk about having four children.

He wondered what that number was based on, but he couldn’t ask yet.

While they could marry without being bonded, pregnancy was a different matter. To conceive, he’d have to stop taking suppressants, and he wasn’t confident he could fully control his pheromones without them.

Bringing up a desire that couldn’t be fulfilled would only lead to frustration. This was another thing Owen had been doing lately. His mood swung between happiness and melancholy, hope and despair.

“…!”

Owen’s gaze fixed on something outside the window.

The car stopped at a traffic light. A short man was smiling as he handed a child to someone who looked remarkably like Nick. He needed a closer look to be sure. The child, held aloft, obscured the man’s face. But the clothes he was wearing…

Owen’s finger hovered over the window button. Just as he was about to lower the window, the car started moving again. Owen’s head turned, following the movement.

“….”

It was Nick. He was holding the child and smiling brightly, a carefree expression Owen rarely saw. Nick’s smiles were varied, but this unguarded expression… he didn’t think he’d seen it before.

[Nick Stockton]

He’d saved the contact with both first and last name, as was his habit, but the name on the screen felt unfamiliar. Too impersonal. Anyone would think it was the name of a stranger, not a lover.

As if he’d been pushing Nick away, Owen stared at the name on the screen for a long moment.

It took him a while to register the vibration in his palm as an incoming call. Owen answered just before it disconnected.

“Nick.”

—Sorry, is it a bad time to call?

Owen was the one who’d answered late, but Nick apologized for the interruption.

“No, it’s okay. What’s up?”

Despite saying it was okay, his voice was stiff. An automated message would have sounded warmer.

His free hand went to his forehead, smoothing out a forming frown.

—I didn’t want to leave a message. I thought it was better to talk directly.

“It’s really okay, Nick. I can talk.”

—Unfortunately, I can’t. Something came up at work, I have to go back.

“But you just got back.”

—There’s been a development with that very issue.

Nick had just returned from a business trip. Of course, as Nick said, there could be overlooked details in a matter he’d thought was concluded, or new issues branching off from the previous one. It was understandable.

But the man he’d just seen strolling down the street with a child…?

—Owen? Are you there?

“Yes, I’m listening.”

—Sorry. This won’t happen again.

“…Okay.”

He should have said he believed him, but the words wouldn’t come.

“When are you leaving? I’ll come home early today.”

—No, I’ll be gone by the time you get home. That’s why I called. I’ll be back in three days.

Three days. It wasn’t that long. He could think of it as an extension of the original business trip.

“Be careful.”

There was a brief silence before the call ended. He pictured Nick’s smiling face.

Nick was a working man. He had his own company. Owen shouldn’t be so fussy.

He tapped his fingers against his forehead, trying to calm his overactive imagination.

❊

“Tell them we’re just here to talk! We’re not from the DEA!!”

“No use!! They just started spraying with machine guns! We gotta catch them first before we can talk. They can’t hear us over the gunfire anyway!”

The noise forced both the questioner and the responder to shout. Cooper, not content with yelling, punctuated his words syllable by syllable, a habit from his field days.

“Don’t they have a speaker?!”

“…Do they think we’re cops?”

Cooper finally stopped shouting at the newcomer’s question. His incredulous remark was muttered under his breath.

“He’s ex-JSOC, not current. Does he think he’s still in the military? This is a private company. What kind of mercenary announces themselves while raiding a place? Do they think someone will open the door and welcome us in? Never heard of such a thing.”

Cooper grumbled between bursts of return fire.

His face was covered in camouflage paint. He’d opted for the paint instead of a mask, complaining of the heat. With his mouth closed, only the whites of his eyes were visible, but when he spoke, his bright red gums and white teeth flashed.

—Focus, Cooper.

Simon, scanning the surroundings through his scope, reprimanded Cooper.

—Second floor. Third window from the left. Movement detected.

The reconnaissance operative paired with Simon, the sniper, spoke through the earpiece.

Bang—!

—Confirmed.

The shot’s report followed the confirmation, but the gunfire momentarily ceased after that final shot. At least the barrage of machine gun fire had stopped. They’d been firing relentlessly, so they might be out of ammunition or need to regroup.

The building entrance was only 50 meters away. It looked like a simple run across an open field, but that was the trap. Such areas were usually kept clear for snipers or were minefields.

Cheap PMCs would send in rookies as a test in such situations. But SS & Co. employees, even rookies, were expensive. Nick signaled to hold position and moved forward, low to the ground. He sensed two points of danger.

“Simon.”

—Searching.

“One on the left corner, one straight ahead.”

—…

They were hidden. Invisible even to Nick. They wouldn’t reveal themselves until he moved. Squatting here and waiting would only give them more time. They could circle around and attack from the rear.

“Moving in.”

Nick started walking the moment he made the decision.

Bang—!

A gunshot answered him. Simon had detected something.

Rat-a-tat-tat—!

He couldn’t get a clear shot at the one hiding ahead, but he had a general idea of their position. Firing towards the window would at least prevent them from sniping. If they tried to move between the broken panes, he’d see them.

—Got him. Front clear.

The rest of the team quickly followed.

Bang—! Another gunshot.

—Second floor clear.

Just before entering the building, Nick saw a body fall past the window.

It was dark inside, all the lights off. An abandoned building with no power. A square, two-story structure built long ago, devoid of any architectural flair.

Several doors lined the narrow hallway. Some were open, but most were closed, blocking out even the daylight.

“Night vision.”

He instructed the team to use their night vision goggles, while his own remained fixed to his helmet.

“Left.”

“Confirmed.”

“Right. I see someone down.”

“…No pulse. Confirmed.”

He heard the team moving back and forth, opening and checking each door.

Click, clack, roll—

The sound of a small, heavy object rolling reached Nick’s ears, louder than the voices of his team. He immediately stopped and signaled to hold position.

A whooshing sound, followed by thick, dark smoke, billowed towards them.

“Smoke grenade!”

A nearby voice shouted. He felt the tension from the team behind him, uncertain of what might emerge from the dense cloud. A smoke grenade ahead, and nervous rookies behind.

Some advanced smoke grenades obscured vision even with IR, thermal, or other optical equipment. This was one of them.

“Drug dealers have deep pockets.”

“Military-grade weaponry… considering you can’t buy this stuff with just money, damn good connections.”

“Everyone, quiet.”

At Nick’s command, even the creaking of doors ceased. The enemy couldn’t see them either, so they were likely anticipating their movements. Nick silently moved forward a few steps, raised his weapon, and lightly placed his finger on the trigger.

He fired without hesitation once he sensed the enemy’s position. A faint grunt was the only sound. The surroundings remained shrouded in black smoke.

“What was that?”

A disoriented rookie spoke, unsure if the sound had come from their side or the enemy’s, lost in the obscuring fog. But since Nick had ordered silence, no one replied.

“Wait.”

Hearing the shuffling of someone getting up, Nick ordered them to wait again and took another step. He pressed himself against the corner wall, subtly adjusting his aim. Two more gunshots and groans followed before he lowered his weapon.

“Clear. Move on.”

The team, who had been holding their breath, rose.

“I ask this every time, but how do you see them, Boss?”

Hugh, trailing at the back, caught up with Nick.

“Even with night vision, I couldn’t see through that. Do you have a different camera than us?”

Hugh craned his neck, pretending to examine Nick’s equipment, though they both knew they were using the same model.

“You’re just slow.”

“Tch!”

The moment a voice reported reaching the second floor, more gunfire erupted.

“Here!”

Someone called out, having found a group.

“We need to question the ones upstairs, so don’t kill them all.”

Nick gave the order over the open comms, quickening his pace as the gunfire continued.

The room they entered was bright, filled with windows. The paint, probably yellow once, was peeling. Several worn sofas and chairs were scattered around, along with a large desk in the corner. Thick cables snaked out from under the desk.

“Boss.”

Hugh, examining the electronic equipment on the desk, called Nick over.

The tangled cables connected to video equipment. Some of the monitors were dark, likely damaged in the shootout, but the rest were intact.

There were rooms with makeshift beds and another with rudimentary manufacturing equipment, suggesting this place doubled as a production facility. That made sense, considering the remote location.

The building interiors displayed on the screens were unremarkable, except for one.

In a room that appeared to have no windows, a young man and woman sat on the floor. Their attire and posture suggested they were hostages rather than part of the group.

Nick scanned the footage and walked around the desk.

Five drug dealers were kneeling on the floor, all betas. Two black duffel bags sat open in front of them, each more than half-filled with cash.

Nick jerked his head over his shoulder. One of the team members stepped forward, carrying a square, palm-sized can from the manufacturing room. He opened the red lid and slowly poured the contents over the cash in the duffel bag on the left. The narrow spout prevented spillage, directing the liquid onto the bills.

“Wh… what are you doing?!”

“We told you we weren’t here to arrest you, so why waste your energy? Do you know how much ammo you made us use?”

It was the defenders who’d been spraying and praying. Nick’s team had taken cover and fired targeted shots, minimizing their ammunition expenditure.

“I… I didn’t know! I really thought you were here to arrest us. Sorry! Sorry! I’ll compensate you!”

The man kept glancing between the duffel bag and Nick’s hand, nervously rambling, even though he probably didn’t believe they would actually light the money on fire.

“Do you think I came all the way here to collect protection money from street dealers?”

Nick wasn’t angry. His tone was calm, but the kneeling man seemed to take it as anger, repeating his apologies.

“Just answer my questions. Then this money will be safe.”

Though he looked confused, the man nodded.

“Acid pheromones, you’re the distributor, right?”

“….”

He’d known the man wouldn’t answer immediately. He didn’t understand why they stalled when they were going to answer anyway, but Nick had no patience for it.

He extended a hand behind him and received a lit cigarette. Looking directly at the man, Nick dropped the cigarette into the bag. The bills, doused in accelerant, ignited instantly.

“N… No!!! No!!!”

The man scrambled to his knees, as if to put out the fire with his bare hands. But before he could get close, the butt of a rifle slammed into his head, knocking him back down.

“Yes! Yes! We receive and deliver! I answered, so put it out now!”

The man continued to answer even as he lay sprawled on the floor.

There was no reason to save the money, but burning it indoors wasn’t ideal.

Nick stepped back and nodded. A ragged blanket was thrown over the burning duffel bag, followed by several more layers.

While the fire died down from lack of oxygen, two team members picked up the bag, carried it to the window, and tossed it through the broken pane. Burned ashes fluttered outside for a while.

“Hesitate again, and you know what happens, right?”

The man, helped to his feet by his companions, vigorously nodded before Nick finished his sentence.

“Who delivers it?”

“Tumbler.”

“Tumbler?”

“That’s his nickname, I don’t know his real name. We don’t… we don’t ask those things. It’s true. It’s all face-to-face, so as long as the person doesn’t change, there’s no problem.”

“How did you meet?”

“He contacted us first. Said he had amazing stuff, the best in the country, no, the best in the world. He gave us a sample, and it was truly amazing.”

The man answered immediately and readily, as if willing to divulge everything he knew.

“Describe him.”

“He’s tall. Not as tall as… as you, but still tall… well-built. White, blond hair. Always carried a gun, looked comfortable with it.”

Familiar with firearms.

“One of us?”

“I’m not sure. He wasn’t a user. His skin, his teeth… everything was clean.”

That didn’t sound like Locke. He hadn’t expected it to be, but still.

Someone familiar with weapons but not a user might be someone from the industry.

“But he isn’t the manufacturer either.”

“How do you know?”

Nick knew, but how did this man know?

“He told us himself. Said even if we tortured him for the recipe, he wouldn’t know it.”

He understood. He’d appeared with a profitable new drug, so he’d preemptively protected himself from being killed for the recipe. He’d have to offer some truth for it to be believable.

Clever, but disloyal.

Birds of a feather.

“And?”

“That’s it. Really! We just receive and sell. It’s better for us if he keeps the recipe secret, so we didn’t ask any more questions.”

“Give me the safe combination.”

Nick had seen the safes when he’d gone behind the desk. There were two. One was empty and open, the other closed. They must have transferred the cash when the situation turned sour. He could guess what was in the other one.

“…I’ll… I’ll go and…”

“Just tell me.”

This time, it was Hugh, waiting behind the desk, who prompted the distributor.

The threat of setting the remaining cash on fire seemed to work, as the man, albeit in a small voice, gave the combination.

They heard the heavy safe door turning.

“Two ledgers and the product. Enough to… fill half that bag.”

Hugh, standing by the safe, described the contents. Half a duffel bag… depending on the type of drug, that was a considerable amount of money.

“Leave the drugs, just bring the ledgers.”

Hugh retrieved the ledgers and stepped back.

Criminals were strangely meticulous about certain things, like record-keeping. Both ledgers were in the same format, written in the same handwriting.

“You wrote this?”

Nick asked, and the man nodded.

The ledger contained dates, weights, and four-digit numbers, likely the last four digits of phone numbers. Three or four numbers appeared repeatedly. Nick closed the ledger and opened the other one. The format was the same, but the recorded weights were significantly smaller. This was likely the ledger for the acid pheromones. And at the end, only one number was recorded.

“The contact.”

The man, who had been so forthcoming, hesitated when asked for the full number. However, when Nick nudged the remaining duffel bag with his foot, the man quickly pulled a small phone from his back pocket.

It was an old, battered phone with no lock screen. As usual with these types, there wasn’t a single name saved in the contacts.

Not that Nick had expected any. He went through the call log. The four-digit numbers matched the ends of the phone numbers. The numbers from the ledger appeared repeatedly in the call log. And among them, with significantly fewer entries, was the contact for the acid pheromone supplier.

After confirming the full number, Nick closed the phone and handed it to Hugh. John could find something useful if he looked into it.

“What’s this O—1 entry?”

The two ledgers were identical in format except for one thing. The ledger presumed to be for transactions with Locke had markings the other one didn’t.

The letter O and a number appeared sporadically. The number was mostly 1, occasionally 2.

“Omega.”

Nick’s eyebrow rose at the unexpected word in a drug ledger.

“Explain.”

“Just as I said. Sometimes, an omega comes with the drugs. They tell us to ‘take care of it,’ so… we take care of it.”

“Who?”

“They’re not going to tell us that.”

The man scoffed, as if asking how could he even ask such a question.

“What do you mean by ‘take care of it’?”

“Literally… take care of it.”

His voice trailed off again, implying something more than just using them for labor.

“I saw people locked up on the screen, are those them?”

The man nodded.

“What, are you involved in organ trafficking or something?”

Cooper, who had been listening quietly, spoke up.

“We make enough money without doing that kind of thing. The client who gave us the exclusive contract asks us to dispose of the ‘waste,’ so what are we supposed to do, refuse? Tell them to take it back themselves?”

“Waste?”

Another voice chimed in from the back.

“…At first, we were happy to have free labor. But whatever they did to them, they’re all messed up.”

“….”

He didn’t need to hear more to understand what ‘disposed of’ meant. They’d use those capable of working and sell those who weren’t.

“Where is that?”

“The basement.”

“Where’s the entrance?”

“Outside. Go out and turn right, you’ll see it.”

“Tie these guys up.”

He’d heard all he needed from this man. Nick turned to leave.

“Hey! You said you weren’t from the DEA?!”

“I’m not.”

“Look, tell me what you want. You said you came to talk! I’ll give you a commission! That… that stuff belongs to the cartel. You won’t be safe if you take it! Just deliver it, and…”

The man, desperately trying to negotiate, looked bewildered as Nick and his team walked out, not even touching the safe containing the drugs.

“John, I’ll send you the ledgers and some phones, look into them. And connect me to someone named Josh at the DEA.”

—Josh… is that the guy who gave you his card at the heliport raid?

“Yes.”

—Okay. Give me a sec~. But why the DEA? Are you handing these guys over?

“We can’t just leave them here. Hugh, check the basement. Provide first aid if necessary. The rest of you, outside.”

Nick raised his voice towards Hugh, who was standing further away. Hugh nodded and left with another team member.

He glanced back; the room was clear. The safe was open, and white, mineral-like chunks, seemingly unfinished, were stacked in bags. The bound man was still staring at Nick with a bewildered expression.

—Boss, I’ve connected you with the officer.

At John’s timely words, Nick turned and walked out.

—Mr. Stockton, you seem very busy. That’s an unusual way to make a call.

The detective sounded slightly sarcastic, referring to the fact that Nick hadn’t called directly but through John.

“I’m on-site. So, getting straight to the point, I have a tip for you.”

—A tip?

“While working on a case, I stumbled upon a cartel manufacturing facility. Within your jurisdiction.”

—Within my jurisdiction?

The sarcasm vanished instantly. He must have been in his office, as Nick heard the squeak of an old chair being pushed back.

“I haven’t weighed it myself, but it seems to be a significant amount.”

—Where is it?!

His voice became urgent at the mention of finished product, not just a manufacturing facility. He could practically see the commendations and press coverage flashing before his eyes.

“I’ll send you the address.”

—…Why are you telling me this?

Despite his urgency, caution finally kicked in. Josh’s voice became wary.

“It’s not free.”

—Ah. Right. Well, alright. We’re not unreasonable.

Josh, understanding immediately, relaxed his tone slightly.