Adrenaline Rush: M/M Mpreg Alpha Male Romance (Never Too Late Book 2)

by Aiden Bates

  Pete had covered his share of tragedies. He'd gone to New Orleans after Katrina. He'd covered no end of mass shootings. He'd been to Iraq, to Nice, to Kenya, to Pakistan. It never got easier. He could stay focused and composed when he was in the moment. He had a job to do, after all, and the only way to keep people outside that moment informed about what was happening was to bring them into the tragedy. His job was to make them feel.

  After the fact, though, he always fell apart. He fell apart after photographing mass graves, or earthquake victims. He'd caught no end of flak from his editors while on assignment in Flint for jumping in to distribute water, and more flak from his mother for hassling her about donating when he got home.

  There wasn't anything that anyone could do in this situation. The fire had killed all but a paltry few survivors, who would have scars on their bodies for the rest of their lives to match the ones on their minds. There was no way that the building had been up to code, no way that anyone should have been able to book the venue, no way that the band should have taken the stage.

  Someone would try to play the blame game. They'd sue the band, but the band was dead now. They'd sue the tour sponsors, who certainly didn't go to sites ahead of time. They'd sue the management company, they'd sue the record label, they'd sue the fire department for not putting out the fire fast enough. None of it would bring the victims back.

  Pete rubbed at his face. The victims had all been young. Did it hurt more, because the victims had been young? He'd met one parent, a single omega father, who'd lost his only child in the fire. The boy had snuck out of the house to go. He was holding out hope that the boy had somehow escaped, but Pete knew that hope was false. "He was so insistent. ‘The world is going to absolutely end if I don't go, Dad.’"

  Pete had held the man for a while, before an EMS worker came to lead him away to a more appropriate place. Was this the future awaiting him? He'd given the man a card and asked him to call. Most single omega parents didn't have much in the way of a support network; Pete figured that they needed to stick together.

  He felt the table shift across from him and pulled his hands away from his face. A man had slid into the booth and now sat across from him. He didn't look like a remarkable man. Narrow hazel eyes looked out from a pale, lined face under graying brown hair. Pete's guest was short, even sitting down, but otherwise there wasn't anything particularly distinguishing about him.

  "Can I help you?" Pete asked him. He hated the way his voice sounded right now.

  "You should be careful, Mr. Nolan. You're not just breathing for one anymore. Everything that you're breathing in, your baby breathes in. When you show up to a fire at an old chemical storage facility, it can't be good for your kid." The stranger gestured with stubby fingers in the general direction of Pete's abdomen.

  Pete pressed his lips together. Did this guy have any idea how many people gave him "helpful" advice about living for two? "It's not like I'm frolicking in it," he snapped. Then he paused. "Wait—how do you know that it used to be a chemical storage facility? City records say that it stored grain."

  His visitor tossed his head back and laughed. Pete had to admit that it was one of the more pleasant laughs he'd heard in his life. "Come on, Nolan. You've been doing your thing for a long time." He gestured at Pete's camera. "You're not really naive enough to think that city records tell the whole story, are you? No, there was a meth lab upstairs from that concert hall. A big one. That's why the fireball was so intense. I'm willing to bet that a lot of the kids would have gone home with some problems from the chemicals anyway. Nothing major, of course, unless they already had a problem. But you know." He shrugged. "These things happen."

  Pete's mouth went dry. His palms were cold and clammy, but he couldn't say anything. He couldn't let any of that show. "And you know this how?"

  "Oh. The city records have a different name in them, but I'm the actual owner. Joe Sierzant." Sierzant held out a hand.

  Pete was shaking the hand more as an automatic reaction than anything else. He knew that name. Anyone who covered any kind of local crime knew that name. He'd heard it from Ozzy's mouth a few times too. "Pleased to meet you. You apparently already know who I am."

  "I do." Sierzant grinned and sat back. "You've gotten a lot of attention for your pictures. And that's good. You should get a lot of attention for your pictures. You take good pictures. Went to school for it and everything."

  Pete's skin went cold. "I did. It's true. That was a long time ago, though. I'm afraid my college days are over."

  Sierzant laughed again and patted his middle. "None of us are getting any younger, that's for sure. I didn't so much come here to talk to you about getting older, though."

  Pete made himself grin and duck his head. He'd faced down warlords. He'd faced down armed white supremacists. He could handle one organized crime boss. "I don't suppose you came to talk to me about the meth lab and concert fire?" He kept his voice quiet, so that no one around them would be alerted to their conversation. He wasn't stupid enough to think that Sierzant had come in unarmed, or alone for that matter.

  "Not so much, although I'm sure your buddies at the fire department all appreciate knowing what to look for when I leave. Those kinds of operations leave a lot of nasty chemicals behind." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I'm not saying that I authorized it, of course, but they'll want to do the investigation and cleanup in bunny suits."

  "Thanks for the tip." Pete nodded. "If you don't mind my asking, why seek me out?"

  "Well, Nolan." Sierzant folded his hands together and leaned forward, forearms on the table. "It's like this. I like you well enough, and I think we'll probably get along together just fine. I'm sorry about the little incident in the bank, by the way. Balsalmo's young, he's a little unseasoned. He panicked and got sloppy. He didn't mean to scare you, and I can promise you that no one from my organization has ever been authorized to harm a pregnant person."

  Pete lifted his eyebrows. "Thanks. That's very reassuring." It wasn't reassuring. It was scary as hell. Pete wasn't about to say that to Sierzant, though. "I'm sure robbing a bank is a very stressful situation. It seems like it would be, especially for a young guy like him."

  "That's what I like about you, Nolan. You're reasonable. You can see both sides." Sierzant grinned over at Pete and shook a finger. "Here's the thing. You're seeing this guy."

  Icy fingers wrapped around Pete's heart. "Ozzy."

  "That's the guy. Ozzy Morris. Tall guy, war hero, likes all of those extreme sports. I think that he and I would probably like each other a lot if it weren't for the whole cop thing." Sierzant scratched his cheek and glanced away for a moment. "It's not that I've got a problem with cops, you know. I've got a lot of cops that I get along with pretty well. Some of them, though, they think it's a conflict of interest to be friends with a guy like me." He pressed his hands to his chest. "I don't have a problem with that. Not really. I could do a lot for them, but I respect that they've got to do things their way. As long as there's mutual respect, we're good."

  Pete tried not to be obvious about licking his lips. There was no way that Ozzy would respect a guy like Joe Sierzant. "Yeah, Ozzy tends to have a certain black and white worldview."

  "We're not all that different, really. I have that kind of worldview myself. I know what he's trying to do, what case he's working on."

  "He's working on a cold case." Pete shrugged.

  "The Harbaugh case. I knew who Tim Harbaugh was. That was twenty years ago. I wasn't the player I am today. I was just a pimp. Your boy, he's looking into some stuff that could be very uncomfortable for me now. He thinks that there were a bunch of cops back then who were working for me back in the day. What does a pimp need with a bunch of cops?" He spread his hands wide. "One or two, sure, but not this army that he thinks I had. And definitely no dead cops."

  "You think Ozzy's barking up the wrong tree." Pete bit the inside of his cheek.

  Sierzant tapped the side of his nose. "I know he is. It wasn't a dirty cop
what shot Harbaugh." He stood up. "I'd appreciate it if you could just pass that message along to your boy. I know he wouldn't appreciate a visit from me. Some cops—well, they're not going to take too kindly to a visit from a guy in my line of work."

  "No." Pete didn't have to fake his little huff of laughter. "I assume you want a couple of minutes to get out of here before I pass it along?"

  "I'd appreciate it, Nolan." Sierzant held out a hand and shook it again. Pete could see the gun stuck into his waistband as he reached over the table.

  Pete shook his hand and watched as his uninvited guest left the restaurant.

  Once Sierzant was out of sight, Pete let himself relax. He tried to keep himself from breathing too hard as his daughter stirred into semi-wakefulness inside of him. Which should he do first? His hands were shaking and his gorge rising; he wanted to call his lover and take shelter in the safety of his arms.

  The only person that Sierzant had threatened had been Pete himself, and even that had been only by implication. Sierzant had also given Pete information that could affect the health of every fire worker that showed up at the concert fire site. He picked up his phone and called his contact from Worcester Fire. "Frank? Hi. I just got a call from a CI. The site of the fire was also a meth lab." He closed his eyes against the obscenity from Frank. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'm going to tell the cops in about two minutes. You tell Worcester PD, I'll handle the staties. Just have your guys wear the bunny suits and you should be okay? I guess? I'm just a photographer, man. I don't know. Yeah, I'll call the ME's office too."

  Pete called his contact from the Medical Examiner's office and passed along what he knew. While he was at it, he asked about the single omega's son. They didn't have any news of him yet. That was good news, Ozzy guessed. He hadn't passed through autopsy, at least not in an identifiable form.

  Now Pete took a deep breath and called Ozzy. Ozzy would still be in bed, but he answered right away. "Pete?" he said, in a voice that was thick with sleep.

  "Hey, babe. I just had a close encounter with Joe Sierzant at the IHOP near the fire scene in Worcester. He, ah, he had a message for you." Pete rubbed his hand over his belly.

  Well, Ozzy didn't sound asleep anymore. "Don't let them clean anything," he ordered. His voice was little more than a growl. "Don't let them clean anything, and don't move from that spot. I'll be there as fast as I can, and so will a crime scene team. Did he hurt you? Did he touch you in any way?"

  "No, Ozzy." Pete couldn't help but smile, despite the fear and nerves warring in his system. "I'm fine. I just want to see you."

  "I'll be right there. I love you." Ozzy hung up the phone.

  Pete stared at his phone in shock. What was he supposed to do with that?

  ...

  Ozzy should have been arrested for the way he drove to that Worcester IHOP. If he didn't have a siren and a badge, he would have been. He pulled into the parking lot with the squeal of angry brakes, parked across four parking spaces, and didn't feel bad about any of it.

  He tore into the restaurant and found two crime scene techs hard at work on the table. One was dusting for prints, while Oliver looked for trace evidence on the seat and the ground. Customers and staff went about their business and tried not to stare, while a clearly exhausted Pete spoke on the phone. "Yes, Dr. Bellamy. I know I'm not a cop. Frank Wollstenholme told me to call you. Yes, that Frank. Because I'm the one who got the information."

  Ozzy held out his hand for the phone. Pete handed it over without a word.

  The Medical Examiner was in mid-rant. Ozzy wasn't entirely sure what he was ranting about, seeing as how he was coming in on the middle of it, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with civilians not knowing what the hell they were talking about. "Bellamy? This is Ozzy Morris, from SWAT and Cold Case. Whatever he told you, do it. I know what his source was. If he was warning you about something, it's for a good reason." He hung up the phone.

  He looked his omega over. Pete reeked. There was a chemical stink that lay over him like plastic wrap. Underneath, he had a pervasive smell of overcooked meat. It almost, but didn't quite, overwhelm his beautiful citrus scent. He looked profoundly exhausted. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine." Ozzy smiled up at him. "I mean, I'm shook up, don't get me wrong, but I'm fine. Not harmed in any way."

  Ozzy closed his eyes and put a hand on Pete's shoulder. "I'm still seeing red," he confessed. "I can't… I can't. That animal came here, he spoke to you, he menaced you—"

  Pete rubbed a grubby hand along his arm. "Hey. It's okay. If you want to get me home, maybe we can talk about it someplace a little less public?"

  Ozzy seethed, but then he looked into his omega's eyes. "Yeah," he said after a minute. "Let's do that. I'll have someone check your car out and drive it back to your place." He called in his request to some uniformed troopers while Pete gathered his things, and they headed back to Sudbury.

  Being in the car with Pete was torture. The stink from the fire was brutal. Ozzy cracked the windows. "Sorry," he said. "It's just—"

  "I get it." Pete closed his eyes. "Believe me, I get it. You know how they say you can't smell yourself? Well they lied. And pregnancy gives you a sharper sense of smell."

  "Ew." Ozzy shuddered. "I'm so sorry."

  "It could be worse. I didn’t know anyone in that hellhole." He shuddered. "It would have always gone up, I think. Sierzant told me there was a meth lab on the property. The chemicals made it go up the way it did, or maybe it was their chemicals mixed with something else on site. I don't know. I know darkroom chemicals, not meth labs."

  Ozzy opened his mouth to explain.

  Pete held his hand up. "And I like it that way, honey." He thumped his head back against the headrest. "I'm very content that my tax dollars go to pay professionals, who are good at that sort of thing, to understand the chemistry of the meth lab so that I really don't have to."

  Ozzy closed his mouth again. He chuckled and gripped the wheel a little tighter. The idea that Sierzant had come anywhere near Pete still had his blood boiling, but Pete's presence was starting to calm him down. "So. You've met Suspect Number One."

  Pete closed his eyes. "Well, according to Sierzant he shouldn't be your Suspect Number One. He was pretty forthcoming about the kind of guy he is, don't get me wrong. He just wanted me to let you know that while there were dirty cops back in the day, it wasn't dirty cops that were responsible for Harbaugh's death." He held up his hands. "I don't know why he expected you to believe him, I really don't."

  "Especially not when he busts in on my omega late at night in a damn IHOP. He must have followed you from the fire!" Ozzy almost broke the steering wheel. Pete's eyes flew open as the car swerved in the lane, and Ozzy knew that he had to get himself under control again. "Sorry. I'm going to need you to come into the station after you've had a chance to clean up a bit."

  Pete turned to look at him. "Seriously? I'm wiped. I was honestly going to curl up under the covers and try not to think about everything that I just saw."

  "I know." Ozzy put a hand on Pete's leg. "I wouldn't ask it if it weren't important." He left out the fact that he wasn't asking at all, but Pete apparently decided not to say anything either.

  They made it to Pete's house, which seemed secure at the moment. Pete staggered into the shower while Ozzy did a sweep of the perimeter. It felt strange to be doing such a sweep in the snow instead of the dust or the sand, but at the end of the day the job was pretty much the same. He found no signs of any unwanted visitors, which settled his mind immensely.

  He headed back in just in time to help Pete find some clean clothes to wear. They stowed his camera and then they headed back down to headquarters. Once there, Ozzy could relax. Pete was safe here in the Cold Case unit, with six alphas to protect him.

  The guys swarmed around him, eager to meet the omega who'd gotten Ozzy's head "all turned around." Pete seemed almost overwhelmed by them, and well of course he was. They were all strong alphas, and he was unclaimed even if he was pregn
ant and involved with one of them. The pressure of all of that unbridled testosterone alone would have been intense, but there was nothing that Ozzy could do about it.

  By the time Amos from Internal Affairs came in, Pete was all but in Ozzy's lap, and it wasn't in a fun or sexy way. When Kerr from Organized Crime showed up, Pete started to fold in on himself, and Ozzy wondered if he hadn't done a bad thing. Sure, Pete was protected here at the office, but if he melted down was he really safe?

  He saw Robles pick up his phone and send a quick text. Not five minutes later, Robles' pregnant omega came striding into Cold Case, with a face like a thundercloud and a spray bottle in hand. He sprayed all of the men looming in and crowding Pete in the face, even Ozzy, with cold water and slammed his hand on the table. "Did every single one of you get hit with a stick from the stupid tree? Can you not see that this poor guy needs his space?" He reached out a hand to Pete. "Look, guy. I've got an office. You'll be safe in there, and I'll only let one person at a time come in. Okay?"