Roman: The Boundarylands Omegaverse: M/F Alpha Omega Romance Read online

  Junior's eyes widened. "There's no way he could hear—"

  "Never mind that, the only thing that matters is keeping the customer happy," Ed interrupted.

  The pup started sweating like a crooked politician caught between his wife and his mistress. But he recovered himself quickly. "I—uh—I think what you heard was just the space that they leave in the top of the tanks for…safety."

  Roman glared at him in disbelief. "You want me to believe that oil companies send out tanks of gasoline half-empty for safety reasons?"

  "Uh….yes." Junior stood his ground, jutting out his chin.

  "No." Ed stepped in front of his kid, trying a new tactic. "What Holden means is that the tank is not half empty."

  Roman was incredulous that the man still thought he could talk himself out of this fix. In Roman's view, there were two kinds of lies: lies of omission—which were still shit, but sometimes understandable—and flat-out deception.

  A few seconds ago, Ed might have been able to make a case that was he was merely doing the former, that he'd simply forgotten to mention that the tank was not full. Roman wouldn't have believed him, of course—but he might have gone a little easier on him.

  But what Ed Whitfield had just done was unequivocally the latter.

  A cold rage stole over Roman, taking his anger from a boil to a lethal frost, turning any mercy left in him to ice. Locking his gaze with Ed, he raised his balled fist and brought it down like a hammer three times against the thick metal wall of the tanker.

  He got three hollow echoes for his trouble, exposing the futility of keeping up the pretense.

  The color faded from the elder beta's face, but still, his reptilian smile didn't completely disappear, only quavered before stretching even wider. The effect was grotesque. Holden's gaze whipped between his father and Roman.

  "Obviously, what Holden meant was that it's half full," Ed said with a brittle chuckle.

  Roman's nostrils flared. The forest surrounding them was suddenly deathly quiet, even the breeze disappearing from the air.

  He'd had enough.

  This time when he brought his fist down on the side of the tank, he left a fist-sized crater behind.

  To his credit, the elder Whitfield barely startled, glaring defiantly at Roman. But the pup had reached the limit of his courage. His chin quavered, and he seemed to be considering bolting, but there was nowhere to go that Roman couldn't get to him in no time flat. A tear leaked down his cheek, and he angrily pushed it away before giving up and sobbing like a child.

  "We're s-sorry," he snuffled.

  "Holden," his father snapped. "Shut your mouth."

  "You thought you could roll onto my land," Roman growled, his rage beyond taming at this point, "lie to me, steal from me, and get away with it?"

  Whitfield shook his head adamantly like he still had an argument to make. Roman figured he must have been trying to convince himself because he sure as hell wasn't about to convince anyone else.

  "It's not like we were really stealing," the younger Whitfield blubbered. "We did bring you some gas. We could—"

  "Holden," his father warned again.

  Roman was done with this fucked-up family dynamic. He angrily shoved Ed out of the way, causing him to land on his ass with his toothpick legs in the air. Roman stepped over them to get to the beta's son. He had no patience for sniveling cowards, but at least this waste of flesh had let some of the truth pass his lips.

  "Some gas?" Roman repeated. "How much?"

  The beta looked down at the ground as if the answers were written on his shoes. "A little under two thousand gallons."

  It took a moment for that figure to register, as it was less than half of what Roman was owed. The boldness—not to mention the asininity—of what these betas had done was almost beyond belief.

  But that was nothing next to the reaction building inside Roman. He was like dry tinder catching fire. They'd come to take his money without delivering what they promised.

  To take what was his.

  An alpha could no sooner let that stand than he could breathe underwater.

  A roar of frustration broke from Roman's throat. It echoed through the trees and off the face of the far-off mountainside.

  But it wasn't enough. It wasn't justice—not yet.

  "It was all we could find." The younger beta was still pleading through his tears.

  Roman had known he was taking a risk with the Whitfields. He knew they were crooked, that they'd skimmed off the top for years. He was willing to bet even the shoes on their feet were stolen. The only reason that the bastards were still alive was that they never dared to cheat an alpha the way they cheated their fellow betas.

  Not until now, at least.

  The bastards had plenty of connections. There was simply no reason for them to have shown up with a half-empty tanker today. Roman knew that if they'd wanted to bring him the full shipment, they could have...and made a tidy sum to boot.

  Instead, greed had gotten the better of them. Against all sense, they'd decided that doubling their profit was worth the risk.

  "It wasn't 'all you could find,'" Roman growled. "It was what you were willing to pay for. But that doesn't change the fact that the deal was for five thousand. This isn't even half that."

  The pup held up his hands defensively as Roman moved toward him.

  "Tell you what, we'll only take a quarter of the payment then. That's—that's less than the open market," the pathetic beta tried. "No one else would give you that deal. You have to agree, it's more than fair."

  "Fair?" The word tasted bitter in Roman's mouth. "You're a thief and liar, and you think you can come on to my land and tell me what's fair? We had a deal. You broke it. Now you're going to pay."

  Roman gave in to the powerful urge to curl his fingers into fists, his body instantly drawn into the rush of rage-fueled adrenaline. His arm moved smoothly back in preparation to strike, and in his mind, he could already see the pup laid out broken and bleeding.

  But Holden saw the blow coming and tried to flee, only to trip over his own feet and land hard on his side. He started frantically kicking at the ground and clawing at the earth in his desperation to get away.

  "Wait!" A new voice spoke clearly from the front of the truck—this one softer, feminine. Roman pivoted toward the unexpected sound, leaving the kid scrabbling in the dirt.

  A woman stood by the open door of the truck, her arms outstretched as if imploring him to listen and also to keep his distance from her at the same time.

  Shit.

  Roman had forgotten all about the honeysuckle scent he'd detected earlier in the sleeper cab. Now that floral scent was overwhelmed with the sharp scent of fear—and an inexplicable note of disgust.

  He assessed her as thoroughly as he could through the fog of his rage, taking note of the auburn corkscrew curls springing around her face, her full lips and smooth tanned skin devoid of a trace of makeup, her eyes the shade of sea glass. She was wearing a simple dress in an old-fashioned floral print that hung loosely on her slender, angular body. She wore a filigreed silver locket around her neck. Under his scrutiny, she shifted nervously on long legs.

  Roman let his gaze travel down to her shapely ankles and feet that were clad, for some reason, in pink high-top tennis shoes. He didn't want to notice that she was as beautiful to look at as her scent was alluring, but it was impossible not to.

  His anger took a turn to accommodate this new development. The Whitfields were even more reckless than he'd thought for dragging an innocent like her to a place like this.

  "You don't want to do this," she told him in a quivering voice that was far more hopeful than confident.

  "Yes, I do," Roman growled. He turned his attention back to Holden Whitfield, who had curled up into the fetal position, crying quietly. He meant to give the pup a beating he'd never forget, one that would prevent him from following his father into a life of grift and crime.

  Instead, he slowly lowered his arm, already regre
tting his weakness. Because only a weak-ass alpha would be swayed by a pretty beta.

  "Phoebe, get back in the damn truck, girl," the elder Whitfield shouted.

  Phoebe, Roman thought, turning the name over in his mind, thinking that it suited her—both old-fashioned and pretty. Then he shook his head, disgusted with himself. For all he knew, she was one of them, a cheat and a thief.

  "Yeah, Phoebe," he spat. "If you've got any sense, you'll do what he says."

  She didn't look at Ed, locking her gaze steadily with Roman's.

  "Think about it," she continued, a slight tremor in her voice betraying her fear. "What will you get if you kill my brother? Or my father?"

  So she was a Whitfield, too. Pity—though at least she'd escaped a resemblance to her male relatives, with their short necks and weak chins. "For one thing, I'll get the gas."

  "You already have that," Phoebe pointed out. "But if you kill them, you won't get the rest of what they promised you. And since most people don't do business with my dad and brother unless they're out of options, I'm guessing you don't have anyone else to make a deal with."

  Roman raised an eyebrow. He'd underestimated the girl, who was clearly the brains of the family. Hell, if she took over the deal-making, they could probably improve their fortunes, even if they went legit.

  But what were the odds of that? Bad blood got passed from generation to generation. Like father, like daughter, she was probably every bit as crooked as the rest of them.

  Although…how much of Ed's blood could possibly run in her veins, given how little she resembled him? For that matter, who was to say that Ed was even really her father?

  "You must think I'm an idiot if you believe I'll let them go and trust them to return with the rest of the fuel," he said in a hard voice.

  "You don't have to trust them," the girl said, her voice shaking even more. "I'll stay here while they're gone. As…collateral."

  Roman blinked. She was offering herself up as a hostage? To save these two worthless sacks of shit? It made no sense.

  He tested the air again, sniffing for any sign of deception or cunning…but there was nothing. The girl was offering an honest trade.

  One her family did not agree with.

  "No way in hell," the elder Whitfield said, dusting off his dirty jeans as he rose from the ground. Remarkably, he didn't seem to be injured. "I'm your father, Phoebe, so it's only right that I stay while Holden goes and gets the rest of the shipment."

  "No, Dad," the kid said, rubbing the snot and tears from his face and leaving it streaked with dirt. "I won't let you or Phoebe take the punishment. I'll stay."

  "I'm not asking," Phoebe said. Her voice wasn't sharp. Just certain. "Neither one of you would survive five minutes on this land as a hostage."

  She was right. The Whitfield men were too dishonest not to rile his anger at some point. Roman narrowed his eyes as he studied the girl closely, trying to understand why someone as smart and brave was so loyal to these lowlifes. Family or not, she was clearly worth a hundred other Whitfields combined.

  And Ed and his son obviously knew it, considering the way they were pleading with her to reconsider. Hell, this girl Phoebe might be the only thing they actually cared about. Which made her the perfect hostage.

  "Agreed," he gritted out. "The girl will be my prisoner until you return with every damn drop of my gas."

  "No way," Holden said instantly, for the first time showing a little backbone.

  "You can't take Phoebe," her father pleaded. "Not my girl!"

  "She's helpless," Holden said. "She'll be scared to death."

  Roman glanced over at the girl. Her chin was raised, and her eyes burned with the determination of someone facing down a firing squad for a lost cause to which they'd devoted their entire life. She might be terrified, but she was hardly helpless.

  "Then you'd better hurry," Roman said.

  "Hurry?" Ed cried. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get your hands on five thousand gallons of gas?"

  "The deal's changed," Roman said. "I want ten thousand gallons now, not five."

  "Ten?" Holden squawked. "We're all out of cash. How the hell are we gonna get that?"

  "Don't know," Roman snarled, "and I don't care. All I do know is that you better not try to fuck with me a second time…for Phoebe's sake."

  Chapter Three

  Phoebe twisted her hands over the handle of her suitcase—the one she'd packed in a rush last night at her father's insistence—as she watched the truck's cab slowly roll back down the dirt drive that had brought them here. It looked almost comical without a load attached, like a cockroach that had been cut in half.

  But there was nothing comical about her situation. God, what had she gotten herself into? She kept her back straight and watched the running lights grow smaller and fainter before finally being swallowed by the dense cover of trees and disappearing completely.

  She couldn't stand here all day—she knew that. Eventually, she would have to turn around…but she didn't want to.

  Even now, Phoebe could feel the monstrous alpha watching her, his gaze burning into her back, but she didn't have the strength to face him just yet. She needed a few more seconds to collect herself and adjust to the reality of this new situation, so she kept her gaze focused straight ahead, not even sure what direction she was facing.

  The forest here wasn't too different from the one that surrounded her small border town, but it might as well have been on another planet. The trees were a little denser, a little taller, maybe even a little darker…though Phoebe was willing to admit that may have been her imagination.

  After all, being alone in the woods had always played tricks with her mind. And Phoebe had never felt as isolated as she did at this moment—all alone with a violent alpha.

  She was stuck here until, by some miracle, Holden and her dad figured out a way to bring the alpha his gas.

  There was no pretending there was any escape. Phoebe knew just how deep into the Boundarylands they'd driven to get to this alpha's land. Hundreds of miles of brutal, unforgiving wilderness surrounded her on all sides. Even if she somehow managed to make it off his property, she'd still be faced with days of rough travel alone in dense woods that were home to even more alphas.

  Phoebe had heard enough stories from her family and other beta traders to know that this section of the Boundarylands, right smack dab in the middle, was different from the closer-knit communities clustered near the northern and southern borders.

  These midlands were more remote, less densely unsettled. The alphas were few and far between, and with no central community hub like the bars the uplanders and lowlanders seemed to love, these alphas tended to be even more insular than most.

  But that didn't mean that they were any easier to avoid.

  Phoebe knew the land around her was crisscrossed with boundary lines that were invisible to betas like her. One false step could mark her for a swift and merciless death.

  There was no way around it—Phoebe was trapped until her dad and brother returned to pay her ransom…unless something horrible happened to her before then. Which seemed increasingly likely with every passing second.

  Don't give up, a small voice said inside her head—a voice so familiar and dear to Phoebe that it brought tears to her eyes.

  How many times had her mother said those very same words to her? It didn't matter if Phoebe was struggling to learn her multiplication tables or studying for her associate degree, her mother had never stopped believing in her. Even when her death was only days away, she'd squeezed Phoebe's hand with surprising strength and told her she must never give up.

  Phoebe wiped her eyes, took a breath, and finally turned back around. She wasn't surprised to find the alpha still standing motionless a few yards away, watching her with those intense dark eyes. She tried to remember his name, but her father and brother had only referred to him as 'boss' or 'that brainless alpha'.

  She wasn't about to call him either of those.


  Before today, Phoebe had never seen an alpha in the flesh. Like almost every other beta, she'd seen pictures and videos and heard plenty of stories. But none of that prepared her for the massive creature before her. He was everything she imagined…and so much more.

  Alphas were the most powerful humans on the planet, but the muscles bulging along his arms and shoulders under the fabric of his shirt didn't even look real. They were so perfectly formed. His massive chest narrowed to a waist without an ounce of fat on it. His face was all chiseled angles and planes, as aggressively masculine as it was beautiful.

  His coloring was unremarkable save for his eyes, which were a shade of blue as dark as the depths of the ocean. His chestnut-brown hair was shorn close on the sides, but the rest grew longer, falling almost to his eyes, and as Phoebe watched, he absently pushed it out of the way.

  But the thing that she was least prepared for was the depth of intelligence in his gaze. Maybe it was all that muscle, but she'd always expected alphas to be less sharp than their beta brethren.

  But not this alpha.

  Phoebe felt like she could see every cunning thought spinning in his head. And strangely, that only increased his attractiveness.

  Whoa.

  Where the hell did that come from?

  Sure, she'd always been a sucker for well-sculpted arms and chests, but not on an alpha, for God's sake. Especially not one who she'd just had to dissuade from pummeling her family to death.

  Still, she couldn't pretend that she was unmoved by the sight of all that manliness…but she could push that feeling down.

  So, that's just what Phoebe did. She just kept on pushing and shoving until she could barely feel that spark of heat warming her blood.

  Instead, she focused on the brilliant spark in his eyes. It was eerily familiar…and thankfully, for a reason that had nothing to do with repressed sexuality.

  Holden and her dad were simple men, focused on instant solutions to uncomplicated needs, but Phoebe's mother had been different. Some of Phoebe's earliest memories were of her mother reading to her or talking about the news as she cooked dinner. Not surprisingly, no one else in the family was particularly interested in those conversations.