Playing You (Omega's Luck #3) - Claire Cullen Page 0,1

His sleeve pulled up to reveal a blue band. Huh.

Brendan gave the omega a closer look. Clean-shaven, neatly dressed, hair trimmed and styled. He gave him points for managing all that despite the obvious deficiencies of his living conditions. The band was worn by those living in the nearby omega hostel. Those places, no matter how hard people tried, were always risky. Constantly underfunded and overcrowded, with high levels of drug and alcohol use. New omegas, especially those who weren’t streetwise, were prey to alphas looking for vulnerable ones they could exploit. This omega appeared clean-cut and maybe a little naive. At a guess, he hadn’t been out on the streets long. Brendan wouldn’t like to see what would happen to him a few months down the line. Maybe he’d be one of the lucky ones who made it out. Or maybe he’d be just another statistic.

They took the elevator to the fourth floor, the omega’s foot tapping nervously on the ground as they made their slow way up.

“Think you’ll get the part?” he asked, hoping for the omega’s sake that he was wrong about the auditions being done.

“I doubt it. I can’t even get hired to wait tables.”

Brendan winced at the resignation in the omega’s voice. The elevator doors opened, sparing him the need to reply, but it was clear seconds later that his assertion had been right. The floor was empty; the only evidence of the theater’s brief incursion was some tape still stuck on the wall.

“You were right. They must have found what they were looking for.”

The omega’s voice was heavy with dejection as he stepped back into the elevator, his head down. Brendan followed, giving him as much space as possible in the cramped interior. A single tear dripped down the omega’s face and fell to the floor. Damn it.

The other man sniffled and scrubbed at his cheeks, turning his head away. Brendan got a good look at the band on the omega’s wrist—enough to see it was scuffed around the edges. He’d been at the hostel a while, then. Long enough to be desperate for a way out.

“You got some family to go home to?” If he’d come here chasing an acting dream, maybe it was time to let it go.

“No, no family,” the omega said woodenly. The lack of emotion in his voice made it clear this had been a question asked and answered many times. Either he didn’t have a family, or he was better off without them, even if it left him in a shithole like that hostel.

A terrible idea occurred to Brendan, but once he’d had it, he couldn’t seem to shake it. The elevator arrived on the first floor, and just as the doors opened, he spoke.

“Can you type?”

“Huh?” That got the omega’s attention alright. The young man turned to him, self-consciously swiping his fingers across his cheeks to hide the telltale signs of tears.

“Do you have a resume?” Yep, he really was going with it.

“Um, yeah.”

The omega dug a hand into his bag and pulled out an envelope, handing it over. Brendan drew out the folded resume, opening it to see a short but neatly typed recitation of the highlights of this omega’s life. Riley Summers. Twenty years old. Raised by the state. It didn’t say that, not obviously, but Brendan knew the telltale giveaways to look for. To most people, the frequent school changes might have suggested truancy or bad behavior. But to him these were more reminiscent of being shunted around the foster care system. Especially those last four years in the one place—that screamed group home.

“Diploma in secretarial studies. So you can type, then?”

The omega, Riley, shifted from foot to foot as he watched him. “Um, yeah. I mean, yes, sir.”

Brendan raised an eyebrow at that.

“We can forgo the titles. My name’s Brendan. Brendan Fairchild.” He passed the resume back to Riley with one hand and held out the other.

“Riley Summers,” the omega said, taking his hand in a tentative grip. Brendan gave it a firm shake and let go, reaching for his ID and PI license.

“I’m a private investigator. I work out of the third floor. And I’m in need of an assistant. Been interviewing all morning without any luck. Think you might be interested?”

It was an awful idea. Maybe the worst idea he’d ever had, and yet he plowed forward anyway.

“Um… I don’t know if I’m qualified,” Riley admitted, shrugging shyly.

“Judging by that resume, you’re more qualified than anyone I’ve seen so far today.