The MC President Alpha King Stole His Enemy's Omega

Rosa's POV

The bitter tonic burns the back of my throat, thick and sour as I swallow every drop under Garrett's watchful eyes.

"Drink it all, Rosa," Garrett says, his voice flat and calm as he sets the empty glass back on the wooden tray. "Your nerves are delicate. You should be grateful we keep you stocked with medicine when an unwanted Omega like you would starve anywhere else."

I nod, keeping my chin tucked toward my chest, pressing my thumbnail hard into the meat of my left palm until the pain anchors me to the floor.

Garrett Reyes... my caretaker.

That is Garrett’s favorite trick. He does not lock me in a basement... he makes himself my caretaker instead.

He wraps his control in a fake, quiet mercy, treating every scrap of food I eat and every breath I draw as a personal favor I can never repay. He trains me to believe I am useless without him, and I am too dazed and frightened to see that his kindness is just another form of poison.

The dark liquid settles heavy in my stomach, spreading a dull numbness through my limbs that dims the edges of the room. A pressure spikes behind my eyes, sharp and hot, bringing the daily headache that makes my ears ring with faint, overlapping whispers.

She looks strange today.

Why hasn't she been punished yet?

Reyes should have broken her months ago.

I press the heel of my hand against my forehead, trying to rub away the strange thoughts that haunt my headaches. They feel so real, like voices spoken right beside my ear, but I know it is just my weak mind imagining nonsense because my wolf was born too quiet to survive in a real pack.

"Clean up the kitchen and pack the serving crates," Garrett orders, adjusting the leather cuffs at his wrists. "You and Dani are coming to the roadhouse in Valen Ridge tonight. Iron Phantom MC called a sit-down, and I want our table served without incident. Keep your head down, keep your mouth shut, and keep your scent locked away."

"Yes, Garrett," I whisper, my voice barely carrying across the damp kitchen of the Steel Venom clubhouse.

Dani steps up beside me as soon as Garrett walks out, wiping down the prep counter with a rag. "Are you alright?" she asks under her breath, her dark eyes darting toward the doorway. "That tonic always makes you look like a ghost."

"I am fine," I tell her, swallowing the lingering bitterness on my tongue. "It just makes my head throb. Let us load the van before someone checks on us."

We carry the heavy wooden crates out through the side entrance, loading coolers of meat and whiskey bottles into the back of the van while the mist settles over Valen Ridge. My legs feel heavy from the drug, my mind moving through syrup, but muscle memory carries me through the work.

Dani watches me with quiet concern, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder whenever I stumble, but neither of us dares to speak aloud about Garrett or the sit-down.

Forty minutes later, the heavy wooden doors of the Valen Ridge Roadhouse swing open against the cool night air.

Neutral ground smells like stale beer, old floorboards, and the tang of two rival motorcycle clubs occupying the same room. Steel Venom patched members line the left side of the hall, their leather cuts worn, their faces carrying the mean, hungry look of a pack that has been losing ground.

Dani and I move quietly behind the serving counter in the back corner, carrying heavy trays of roasted meat and silver pitchers, taking care not to bump into anyone.

My head continues to throb, the whispered thoughts buzzing louder in my skull as more men fill the room.

Look at the way Reyes watches the door.

If Iron Phantom tries anything tonight, we cut their throats in the alley.

The kitchen girl smells weak.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my thumbnail into my palm until I feel the skin break beneath the nail. I tell myself to ignore the strange voices, to focus on the weight of the silver pitcher in my hands, and to stay invisible until the meeting ends.

Then the heavy front doors open again, and the entire roadhouse goes dead silent.

The change in air pressure is instantaneous, suffocating, thick with an Alpha dominance so absolute that even the Steel Venom wolves stiffen in their seats.

A dozen men in expensive and original leather cuts walk through the entrance, their heavy boots striking the floorboards in rhythm, but my eyes bypass all of them and lock onto the man leading the line.

Everyone in Valen Ridge knows him by two names...

Ryder Kane.

To the Blood Reapers Pack, he is their Alpha King. To the Iron Phantom MC, he is their President. To his enemies, he is the last man they want coming for them.

To me, he is the stranger who has just looked into my eyes and gone completely still.

He stops mid-stride in the center of the room, his massive shoulders broad enough to block out the light from the front windows. He wears a heavy leather vest over a dark shirt, his dark hair damp from mist, his jaw carved from cold granite.

For two seconds, the entire room vanishes around us as his dark eyes lock onto mine across the crowded floor.

His nostrils flare sharply, taking in a deep breath of the air blowing from the back hallway.

I watch the dark brown of his irises dissolve into a brilliant, predatory gold, glowing like hot coals in the dim tavern light. His chest heaves, his hands curling into massive fists at his sides, and a low rumble vibrates from his throat so deep that the glasses on my tray begin to hum.

And at the exact same moment, something shatters inside my chest.

The four-year daze wrapping my mind snaps like a dry twig. A violent wave of heat explodes from the base of my spine, burning through the dull numbness of the tonic, flooding my veins with liquid fire that makes my knees buckle.

My inner wolf, silent and dormant since the day my father died, sits up in my soul and howls with a raw, terrifying fury that knocks the breath clean out of my lungs.

MATE.

Vesper, my sleeping wolf, speaks in her own voice in my head for the first time in my life, her voice roaring through the fog of my mind as she claws her way to the surface.

A sudden, slick moisture coats the inside of my thighs, hot and shameless, my body betraying four years of survival in a single heartbeat.

The fever spikes so fast my skin feels like it is melting against my clothes.

My delayed first heat, suppressed for four long years inside Steel Venom, breaks open like a cracked dam right in the middle of a room filled with forty armed wolves.

Ryder takes a step toward me, ignoring Garrett who has stood up from the main table with his hand resting near his sidearm. Ryder does not look at Garrett. He does not look at the guns drawn along the Steel Venom line.

His gold eyes stay glued to my face, his jaw working as his scent fills the room around me, heavy with pine, rain, and dark earth.

"What is that?" Ryder demands, his voice a low snarl that vibrates through the floorboards beneath my feet.

"What are you talking about, Kane?" Garrett asks, his calm voice tightening as he steps directly into Ryder's path. "Sit down so we can settle border logistics."

Ryder shoves Garrett aside with one arm, not even turning to face him, his eyes burning into mine as he takes another long breath of the room.

"Moonveil," Ryder whispers, the word carrying a cold, lethal terror that freezes the blood in my veins. "She is covered in Moonveil."