Omega Wanted: Bad Boy Mpreg Romance

by Stephan James

  At ten to nine, throngs of employees that worked on his floor came pouring out of the elevators. Richard tried to ignore the sounds of their shoes on the floor, their laughter, their shuffling of papers. Unable to rid himself of the pounding in his head, he stormed out of his office, heading for the conference room.

  May as well wait in there, wait for this whole shitstorm to begin, Richard thought. Sooner it starts, the sooner it’ll end.

  Keeping his head down, he passed the reception desk and hoped no one was going to bother him. As he walked, a familiar scent fluttered through the office and found its way to his nose. The smell of fur, sweat, and the unmistakable hint of shifter. It stopped him in his tracks. What was a shifter doing in the office, on his floor no less? A deep frown carved between his brows as his eyes searched through the office, looking for a new face.

  Everyone there looked familiar. He walked away from the reception desk, toward the desks standing in rows of four, and sniffed the air deeply. Following his nose, he weaved in and out of the desks as he followed the trail the shifter had left behind. A few glances came his way, no doubt his employees wondering what he was doing, but Richard didn’t care. He was too preoccupied trying to find the shifter.

  How long had it been since a shifter just appeared in his life, instead of him having to tirelessly search for one? What was he going to do when he found the shifter? Say: hello, I know what you are. He thought it complete madness that he was even following the scent. That thought stayed with him until the scent got stronger. Smelling the blood, the beating heart, the unmistakable musk of fur. It was close. With eyes scanning every face in front of him, darting left and right and left again, he desperately tried to find the shifter.

  The scent led him to the last row of desks. Three belonged to men and one was empty. When he realized this, his heart skipped a beat. A male shifter. Sniffing the air around the first man as he passed, Richard could cross that employee of his mental list. Human, no mistaking that scent. The next man smelled faintly of shifter but it wasn’t strong enough, he’d been near the shifter and that was all.

  Richard approached the last man there. He was a foot shorter than Richard, wearing a crisp blue suit. Richard watched helplessly, unable to control his limbs, as his hand extended out and tapped the man on the shoulder. The man turned on his heels, strands of hair falling over his ocean-blue eyes. Something tugged at Richard’s insides, telling him he knew the man in front of him, but he couldn’t place him.

  “Oh, Richard,” The young man said as his face drained of all color. “I mean, sir. Hello, sir.”

  Richard sniffed the air, checking, it was this man and no other.

  “Who are you?” He asked.

  An incredulous look shot across the man’s face. He spoke in a hushed voice: “You still don’t remember me?”

  “Am I meant to know who you are?”

  As soon as Richard asked the question, images flashed in his mind’s eye. Memories flowed through him as if a dam had been holding them back. The board of directors were long forgotten as flashbacks of the night before took over. The taste of the man’s sweat-soaked flesh, his own hands brushing over it, feeling his muscles bulging… Richard felt light-headed, all of the blood drained out of his body, as the man’s name swam inside his mind, swirling and tumbling around with the memories. His whole mind felt as though it was filtering down a drain.

  “My name’s—”

  Richard finished the sentence: “—Gareth.”

  It was the first time Gareth had been inside Richard’s office. As he stood, waiting for him to start speaking, he stole glances at the room. The walls were panelled in varnished wood; the floor was carpeted with soft cotton the color of blood; his desk was ominous, darkly varnished and ornately carved. Richard motioned for him to take a seat in the chair in front of the desk. Gareth did as he was told.

  Richard’s face had only gotten paler and a light sheen of sweat was on his forehead, slowly growing and dripping down onto his eyebrows. Eventually, Richard collapsed into his chair behind the desk and covered his face with his hands, groaning as if he was in physical pain.

  “Why were you in the bar?” He asked through his hands.

  “Honestly?” Gareth asked. When Richard nodded, he continued: “I don’t know. I was walking home from meeting my friends and I just decided to go in. I can’t explain it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were a shifter?”

  “What?” Gareth asked. “Is that what that bar is? A shifter bar?”

  Gareth felt his eyes widen as everything sank into place. He covered his mouth with his hands, wondering how he could have been so stupid not to realize. The bar had been empty and looked as though they hadn’t had a large crowd of customers in ten years. With the shifter population increasingly scared to simply step outside, it made sense for Richard to be in there instead of at some fancy restaurant: he was trying to find another of his kind.

  “That means…” Gareth stared at Richard. “You’re a shifter?”

  “You’re not?” Richard asked.

  Gareth shook his head. That wasn’t the news Richard wanted to hear, Gareth could see. He was trying to keep calm but his fists were clenched and his neck was turning red. Richard stood from the desk abruptly, hitting his thigh against the edge without noticing, and began to pace around his office. He let out a long, steady breath before rubbing his eyes.

  “I went over to you because I smelled a shifter,” Richard said, trying to keep his voice low and calm, failing miserably. “If you’re not a shifter that means you’re growing a shifter inside you.”

  “I’m pregnant?” Gareth held his breath as he spoke, which caused his voice to sound like a mouse squeak. “That’s not possible.”

  “Are you saying I’m a liar?” Richard raised his voice to a shout.

  Gareth cringed away from the noise. Sudden silence followed, and when he looked over his shoulder, he could see everyone on the floor staring through the glass wall of Richard’s office. Gareth turned back to his boss with an apologetic look. He felt like a child again, cowering away from authority. Only this time he’d slept with the authority.

  “I can’t believe this,” Richard said with a shaking voice. “You’re a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen. Why didn’t you tell me you worked here? I would never have allowed last night to happen if I knew.”

  “Exactly.” Gareth bit his lip too late; the words had already left his lips. Immediately he looked down to his lap and felt himself blush.

  “What do you mean by ‘exactly’?”

  Gareth shielded his eyes with his right hand as he spoke: “I’ve had a huge crush on you since I started here. When I saw you next to me at the bar, drunk out of your mind, I couldn’t believe my luck. It was a chance to get to know you, possibly seduce you.” Gareth risked a glance through his fingers and regretted it—Richard’s face was as hard and worn as stone. “But then I realized how drunk you were and I didn’t want to take advantage. I stayed to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit and when you woke up you were a completely different person.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Richard said through gritted teeth.

  “When could I tell you?” Gareth asked. “I wanted you so bad. If I told you while you were drunk you would have never considered it, and then when you had sobered up it all happened so fast. I was going to tell you, when I asked for a minute, do you remember? I was going to tell you right then, but then we would have never made love!”

  Richard ground his teeth. “Since you’re carrying my child I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt… for now.” Richard moved to the door and held it open for Gareth. “I have a meeting with the board of directors soon. Get out.”

  Gareth positioned himself in front of Richard, close enough so he could whisper, “Can we talk later? I don’t want to leave it like this.”

  Gareth heard Richard’s teeth grinding together before he answered in a whisper: “The bar. Eight O’c
lock.”

  Gareth nodded and walked through the open door. Every inch of his body told him to look over his shoulder, get one last look of Richard, but he controlled himself and walked back to his desk with his head down.

  The rest of the day passed him painfully slow. While he walked home, all he could think of was Richard’s rage. So oblivious to the world around him, too obsessed with the last twenty-four hours of his life, he only noticed something was wrong when he was standing right outside his front door. Approaching with tentative steps, he saw that the door wasn’t properly closed. Someone had forced it open, breaking off the lock and handle, and then had tried to make it look like it was closed.

  A pit opened up in his stomach. Someone had broken into his apartment. With a shaking hand outstretched, he tapped the wooden door with his fingertips and listened as the hinge creaked. Light poured out into the hallway, shining onto the peeling wallpaper and pitted wood floors. Carefully, with slow and quiet steps, he edged to the door frame and attempted to peek around it.

  A dark, round object came at his face. Pain exploded between his eyes. Everything was covered in a black blanket, snuffing out all light. He heard a loud thud and tried to turn his head or open his eyes. It was a few moments later that he felt the impact jar through his bones. It was his body that had fallen to the floor.

  Scuffling footsteps were all around him, men grunting and groaning as they lifted him by the limbs and carried him away. As hard as he tried, Gareth couldn’t open his eyes. He could feel his heart in his chest, and his breath hitching in his lungs, but when he tried to struggle against the hands around his wrists and ankles nothing happened. Hot tears streamed out the corners of his eyes, dripping on his cheek before falling away.

  The men managed to carry him down the stairs. Gareth heard them cursing him and felt them jabbing him with their shoes. They dropped him onto the pavement, cold and hard against his skin. Someone lifted his feet, gripping his ankles tight, and dragged him across the sidewalk. The rumble of a car approached him slowly, and then he was lifted and shoved inside. The car door slammed shut behind him, trapping him. His only friend was the low rumble of the idle engine.

  What felt like a lifetime later, two or three car doors opened and closed. A hand ripped something away from his head and his world had light again. The light showed him the seats of the car around him and just outside was the sidewalk and his apartment building.

  A hefty man sat in the driver’s seat, his hand twisting the keys in the ignition, and another man sat in the passenger seat, fiddling with the heater. Glancing to his right, Gareth saw a slim man sitting beside him with his head down, buckling himself in.

  “Why did you take me?” Gareth asked the man sitting next to him.

  The man looked up, his blue eyes searching Gareth’s face, before looking to the front of the car. The hefty man in the driver’s seat shook his head, and the blue-eyed man turned his head to face out the window, ignoring Gareth’s question.

  “Where are you taking me?” He asked, staring at the man in the driver’s seat with the tendons in his neck straining as he raised his voice to a shout.

  Richard was sitting at the bar when eight O’clock came. After apologizing to the bartender and settling his bill for the night before, he had ordered a glass of water and waited as patiently as he could. With his legs jittering underneath him, his eyes stayed focused on the clock above the bar. The minutes passed like hours. Every time the door opened, Richard’s head swung around to see if it was Gareth.

  Why did he ask me to come here? Richard thought. He obviously wanted to talk about something. Why stand me up? It’s not like I won’t see him again, we work in the same office.

  The bartender wiped down the counter with a rag, glancing at Richard. “You want anything stronger?”

  “Not tonight,” Richard said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

  After nodding, the bartender started to walk away, flinging the rag onto his shoulder.

  “Wait,” Richard said, waiting until the bartender returned to continue.

  “Changed your mind?”

  “No. Have you seen a guy in here, about a foot shorter than me? Brown hair, blue eyes.”

  “Sorry, can’t say that I have.”

  “Thanks anyway,” Richard said.

  He watched the bartender walk away again as he tapped the glass with his nails, wondering how long he should wait. Half an hour more? Two hours? Ten? Unless Gareth was running late, there was no reason for him not to show up. He had asked to meet; he was the one that wanted to do this. All Richard wanted to do was go home and sleep. The meeting with the board of directors had gone better than he’d expected, but all his worrying and over thinking had left him feeling exhausted.

  Instead of berating him for hours and calling for him to resign, the men on the board had basically shrugged and asked, “What can you do?” Richard felt stupid for thinking his job was in jeopardy and had no idea how his imagination had run away with him so easily.

  Every time he thought about Gareth more worry crept into his every atom, pushing and shoving its way inside until there was nothing else. He’d gotten to the bar a half hour early, and assumed Gareth would have gotten there early, too. Now he’d been waiting forty-five minutes and there was still no sign of him. The fact that Gareth was carrying his fetus just made him fret all the more.

  When the clock hit nine, Richard pulled out his phone to call Gareth, and then stopped. He hadn’t thought to take Gareth’s number, he’d been too busy worrying about the meeting. Richard put his phone on the bar, unable to rip his eyes away from the black screen. Was there a way to find Gareth’s number through the company?

  Richard picked up his phone again and tried glancing through his emails. Surely he’d been forwarded a contract when Gareth had joined the company. Without knowing when he was employed, it was likely to be a needle in a haystack situation. Still, he used the search bar in his inbox and looked through the new contracts. He browsed through the first few pages, his eyes blurring as a score of names scrolled on by.

  A name starting with G flashed across his screen. He scrolled back up to the email and saw the name in the subject: Reid, Gareth. The subject line was dated three months ago. Richard didn’t know if that was the time he started, or even if Reid was his surname, and guilt began to gnaw at his insides.

  All of the people that worked on his floor either were employed by him directly, or were employed by others in the C-suite. Richard had no idea who any of them were. The only name he could think of was his own assistant, Stacy, and that was only because he talked to her every day.

  Was he that bad at his job that he didn’t know the names of the people working for him? He put his phone on the bar as he ran his hands through his hair. He wondered if he should even open the email and find out Gareth’s information. He held his finger over the screen, hovering there as he decided. Was it too much of an invasion of privacy?

  Richard pressed his finger to the email and it opened. Inside was a photocopy of Gareth’s application. His job history, his hobbies, and his cover letter. Scrolling farther down, Richard looked for his personal information. He glossed over Gareth’s bank information, knowing that was a step too far even for him, and found his address. No cell number was listed, only his home number.

  After copying the number on his phone’s clipboard, he called the number and waited for it to connect. It rang once, and then there was nothing but silence for what felt like a lifetime. Then it rang again, and again, and again. Not wanting to leave a message and seem like a stalker, Richard hung up the phone and chewed on the flesh on the inside of his mouth.

  He might be on his way here right now, Richard thought. I’ll wait until nine-forty, another half hour, then I’ll go to his house. His address was listed, wasn’t it? Richard grabbed his phone and checked. Apartment 15, 79 Poppy Avenue. Richard stared at the address and a nagging feeling tugged at his insides, grabbing hold of his intestines and tying them into knots. Have I b
een on that road before? Richard thought. I don’t think so.

  The feeling grew stronger as he waited, moving up to his stomach and making it bubble and pop, before winding up to his diaphragm and making it catch every time he took a breath. By nine-thirty Richard had had enough of waiting. After leaving a fifty dollar bill on the counter, he picked up his cell and left. Finding directions was simple thanks to modern technology, and following them was even simpler.

  Walking with hurried steps, he found himself outside building 79 in ten minutes. Hot clouds of breath puffed out in front of his face, steaming up into his face and heating his skin. He stood, staring at the building, until he saw movement inside. An elevator was at the end of the hall, and someone was standing next to it, talking on their phone. The elevator doors closed behind the person and Richard swore he could hear the metallic clang of the doors banging together.

  Are they coming or going? It looks like they are, Richard thought. Please, if there is a God, let them be leaving. The person didn’t seem to be moving anywhere, now fiddling with the messenger bag slung over their shoulder. Cursing under his breath was the only thing Richard could do. That and wait. However, he’d had enough waiting.

  The person turned and faced the door, taking long strides towards it. Richard shut his eyes and exhaled slowly, silently thanking the person for leaving. It was an elderly man, with greying hair and a hunched back.

  Could I be any luckier? Richard thought.

  Just as the man reached the door, Richard began jogging and shouted: “Hold the door!”

  Smiling, the man complied and kept hold of it as Richard crossed into the threshold of the building.

  “Thank you,” Richard said as he passed the old man. “Have a nice night.”

  Apartment 15 was on the fifth floor, at the very end of the hallway. Richard could see light spilling out of the open door and his heart sank deeper into his chest with every step he took. The door handle and lock were both gone, and the door had been pushed open. Richard pushed it open with his fingers and cringed as the hinge cried out.