Page 5 of Ruined Omega

The target.

Hines.

As she steps out of the restaurant, a white carry-out box in her small hands, time seems to stand still. The chaos of flashing lights and blaring traffic seems to roll back until it’s gone completely, and all that’s left is her and that red dress that hugs all of her perfect, feminine curves. My cock thickens and twitches inside my jeans.

Tonight, she looks…different. Her medium-length, nut-brown hair is worn up, exposing the delicious curve of her neck. I like that.

Far less appealing, however, is her makeup.

Makeup is one custom of the hive-dwellers that I truly cannot understand. Hiding all that natural female beauty beneath a layer of fake paint. I don’t want to look at the artificial cherry-red of her lipstick. I want to see the deep, natural crimson of the blood pumping through those plush lips of hers. And her eyes require no eyeliner or shadow to make them stand out. They are already perfect. Hazel trimmed with vibrant green at the edge.

The dress, however, is another matter.

The dress I do like, and I like it a great deal.

I like the way it leaves her soft, smooth shoulders exposed, just begging to be bitten. I like the way the top dives to the middle of her chest, revealing her deep, sensuous cleavage. I like the way the scarlet fabric clings to her flowing curves—her breasts, her waist, her wide hips. The lines beneath the fabric hint at the joining of her thighs. That vision sends a surge of blood into my cock.

The only thing I don’t like about the dress is that she’s wearing it in public.

An ember of jealousy ignites in my chest. I don’t want anybody else looking at Hines. I want that sexy little body all for myself. I want her locked away in some secret place where she’s always safe, and nobody can look at her except me.

Source, what’s the matter with me?

The woman isn’t my mate. Hell, she’s not even an omega. And more important, she’s my target. It’s my duty—my sworn duty—to watch over her, not to lust after her.

So I do my best to focus on my mission and ignore the dull, heavy ache in my deprived balls.

My attention turns to the man she’s with, but that just inflames my jealousy even more. What the hell is she doing with a turd like him? I could crush that little bastard’s bald head like it was a cantaloupe. When I notice him place his hand against the small of her back, I seriously want to do just that. I allow the vision of his head squishing red and pink in my fingers to play in my mind.

Heat rushes up the arteries of my neck. I’m on the verge of charging across the street and ripping that creep to shreds, but I hold back.

My mission is supposed to be secret.

I can’t reveal myself to the target.

The bald man gestures and issues a brusque command to a uniformed valet, who sets off down the sidewalk at a sprint, weaving in between the crowd of pedestrians. While they wait, the bald man talks to Hines, gesturing wildly. He’s ranting about something, not even letting Hines get a word in edge wise. She doesn’t seem to mind, however. She’s barely even listening. It’s obvious she has zero interest in this guy.

That fact soothes my jealousy, but only slightly.

What is she doing with him anyway?

Out of the crowd of people rushing by, I notice a scruffy looking form moving toward Hines. My muscles tense instinctually, and my heart-rate quickens. Is this the attacker I’m supposed to protect her from?

But it immediately becomes clear that the person means her no harm. It’s a homeless woman, dressed in layers of dirty clothing, a hood pulled over her head. The bald man gets irritated, tries to shoo the beggar away, but Hines gestures for him to be patient.

What is she doing?

She bends, talking to the homeless woman briefly. Then she hands her the white carry-out box. She’s giving the woman the leftovers of her meal.

The woman’s face brightens. She smiles and nods. I can’t hear her over the din of traffic, but I can read her lips, even from here.

“Thank you.”

A few seconds later, a different security drone hovers along their side of the street, driving the beggar off. The poor woman shuffles away, clutching the little carry-out box like it’s the most valuable treasure in the world.

The scene makes me sick and angry.

Back in the Zone there are no homeless. The Central Ruins Tribe is one big family, and we would never let one of our brethren fall into such poverty and despair.