Chapter 248

“Get up.”

Startled by the voice that suddenly invaded his head, Siron’s eyes flew open. As his vision cleared, his drowsiness evaporated entirely.

Instinctively he searched for the owner of the voice that had woken him. Isaac sat on the edge of the bed, observing him—as if collecting every reaction—sharp and lucid.

For an instant, the face of the man twisted by desire, the one who had sprinted painfully toward pleasure, flashed hot before him like a stray spark. But the man in front of his eyes had already recovered the cool of everyday reason. Siron found himself wondering whether this rational man was really the same greedy one who had pinned him down last night.

“Did you sleep enough?”

“...I think so.”

Answering in a hoarse voice, Siron pushed himself up to sit, covered his flushed face, and looked around. He lay stark naked on a guest-room bed, not a thread on him. This wasn’t the place where he had had sex with the two men. He must have blacked out at some point and been washed clean, then laid on fresh bedding.

He checked the bedside clock on the nightstand. The clock, combined {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} with an electronic calendar, told him it was Saturday, 9 a.m. It felt as if the time from yesterday at noon to dawn today had been erased.

His last memory was sex in the bathroom.

After a light enema and a thorough wash, Siron had been seized by a sudden urge to have his rear licked and had presented his ass to Baekgyeong. Baekgyeong willingly took the writhing body drunk on a sensuality he’d never known, and with Isaac joining in, they’d tumbled into another filthy mess—until Siron finally, completely lost consciousness.

If a heat cycle was a brawl thrown in a midnight mudflat, then last night’s sex had been a commotion kicked up at high noon in the open along a boulevard. Unlike rut, when only instinct remained and they devoured each other, Siron was perfectly aware of what he was doing. He felt humiliated by the pleasure the violent penetration inflicted on his body, and yet he wanted it, endlessly.

To be a little more honest about the bottom of it, Siron liked that shame.

He lifted his head and stared blankly at Isaac. Isaac still looked down at him with those ice-blue eyes. Hesitating, Siron managed to whisper:

“When you become an omega... does your sex drive get a lot stronger?”

Interest glinted in Isaac’s gaze, as if he’d heard an intriguing question. He brought his face close to Siron’s, studying every angle of his abashed smile, and crooked his lips.

“Looking at you, it certainly seems that way.”

Siron was struck speechless.

“Are you worried because your sex drive is stronger?”

With a hint of irritation, Siron drew back to put distance between them.

“Well, yeah. And Dr. Yuri Berec... what about him?”

“Hm. If he left records that he experienced a heat cycle, then he had a sex drive too.”

Siron felt that Isaac didn’t welcome the question. It wasn’t enough of an answer, but he couldn’t press further. If someone asked him about a family member’s sex drive, he would keep his mouth shut too.

“A pointless question. Forget I asked.”

“Is a strong sex drive something to worry about?”

At Isaac’s indifferent reply, Siron let out a deep, deep sigh.

“It was... a threesome. Naturally I’m wondering if that was okay. I’d never even imagined doing something like that before.”

“If doing it with three made you uncomfortable, blame me. I’m the one who barged into you and Baekgyeong.”

Isaac continued without the slightest hesitation.

“But that dilemma won’t last. After the imprint, there won’t be any such cheeky scenario as the three of us having sex.”

Siron’s eyes snapped wide. As Isaac said, they had gathered for the imprint. Once he learned the method, Siron would choose the single alpha who would be his pair.

“Talking about sex the moment you wake up?”

A voice came from behind just then. Siron turned his head. Baekgyeong stood by the door, his face expressionless as a mask.

“When did I start going on about sex.”

Siron felt wronged, yet somehow couldn’t look at him and dropped his gaze. With a snort and a cutting sneer, Baekgyeong tossed a bundle of clothes onto the blanket covering Siron’s lower body.

“No time to fuck you more today. We’re on a tight schedule, so get dressed and come down.”

He hadn’t had the slightest appetite when he first got out of bed, yet sitting at the table, Siron devoured an entire pizza by himself. Not just that—on most days, even an hour or two of sex left him limp and nodding off like a sick hen all day, but today he was brimming with energy.

Watching him, Baekgyeong thought that even if an omega’s stamina couldn’t surpass an alpha’s, their recovery might be on par. An alpha’s murderous sex drive was more than an ordinary human could handle, but just as nature had created male and female, genetic engineering had produced a match to suit them.

Had Siron liked last night?

Baekgyeong couldn’t take his eyes off Siron as he boasted to Isaac about a Korean-style pizza topped with sweet potato mousse. Since last night, something tense and indescribable had hummed between Baekgyeong and Siron. Siron, on the other hand, seemed to have grown more at ease with Isaac. That mood only stood out more when Siron started doing Isaac’s makeup.

“Ah, I’m not supposed to laugh, but I can’t stop.”

Gluing on a nose prosthetic, Siron kept snickering. The piece he attached to Isaac’s face started at the bridge and wrapped fully around the alar lobes. With adhesive, he pressed the silicone to the skin so the impression of his face changed completely.

A face as strong and sharp as a warrior’s sculpture turned duller each time the silicone was layered on. If it were Siron, he’d be looking in the mirror every five seconds, unable to sit still. Yet Isaac left his face to a beginner like him and remained serenely calm.

“Can I draw a little dot on your nose?”

“Mm, that would stand out too much. It’d make you easy to—”

“Pff! I’m kidding!”

Siron had already finished the makeup. He’d thickened the bridge far beyond its original, and added pieces to make the forehead and lateral cheekbones protrude slightly, so that the slim face now looked overall broad and flat.

Isaac, his face turned coarse, couldn’t look away from Siron’s bright smile.

“Why? Does it look weird?”

Instead of answering, Isaac pressed lightly on the tip of Siron’s nose. Like touching an earlobe, the spot sank softly, then slowly returned to shape. Siron chuckled and turned his head to dodge the touch.

“Quite natural.”

“If I’d known I had this talent, I’d have looked into makeup instead of deliveries.”

Clicking his tongue with a bitter face, Siron spoke with a wistful look of regret.

“They even have a Best Makeup and Hairstyling award at the Oscars.”

“...It’s not that level of talent.”

“Ahaha—don’t make me laugh.”

Nothing Isaac said struck Baekgyeong as funny, yet Siron kept letting out little bursts of laughter. Feeling good, he tapped deftly at Isaac’s face at breath’s length, sealing the silicone down with careful touches.

Baekgyeong felt like an ex stuck traveling with a former lover and his new boyfriend, dragged along on a trip he never wanted.

Silently, he counted days in his head. Only five days remained until Gezar Bazelli’s execution. If the secret of the imprint came to light before then, only one person would remain at Siron’s side. Thinking of the Glock 17 in the drawer, Baekgyeong quietly drew his gaze away from Isaac’s profile.

The white jet boat carrying the three of them gradually lost speed. Isaac handled it skillfully, steering toward the pier. He brought the bow alongside and, quick as anything, pulled a rope and tied off to the T-shaped steel post on the dock.

They each grabbed their bags, climbed the ramp, and headed for the parking lot by the wharf. In the lot connected to the harbor, discarded fishing nets lay in mountainous piles, and sand, seaweed, and the desiccated remains of fish were scattered over the ground.

Among cars dulled by the harsh sea wind, one vehicle stood out as especially battered: a Chevrolet Tahoe SUV with temporary plates, patches of black paint flaked off and rusted through. It was the kind of full-size SUV favored by security, police, and public officials.

“Beat to shit. Does it even run?”

To Baekgyeong’s snide remark, Isaac answered offhand:

“The insides are fine.”

Isaac unlocked it and started loading luggage into the trunk. Holding down his temper as much as he could, Baekgyeong said,

“You took fifty grand to buy the car. This isn’t even worth ten, being generous. Don’t tell me you pocketed the money.”

Isaac glanced at him, bored, and slammed the trunk shut without a reply. It wasn’t the time to grab him and argue, so Baekgyeong swallowed his anger and got behind the wheel. There wasn’t even a navigation unit; he’d have to use a phone app for directions. Their destination was The Elm Hotel, in the Covenhill district at the southern end of Baggers City.

They merged onto the coastal road. The beach was barely a twenty-minute drive from the pier where they’d left the jet boat. Near the Gulf of Mexico, the seafront boasted the world’s largest maritime museum and aquarium, and on weekends it teemed with tourists from all over. In the traffic jam of happy families, their beat-up Tahoe crawled toward its destination.

“Quit jiggling your leg. You’ll shake your luck away.”

“Ah... that won’t do.”

Driving, Baekgyeong snapped at Siron, who sat in the middle of the back seat, jittering with nerves. Right now Siron was in a situation where he had to steal even the last scraps of luck from some ill-fated widower.

Siron was carefully studying the lower-floor plans of the hotel. It would soon be his stage, where he’d be playing the lead like a spy-movie hero. Peering at the blueprint, he suddenly stuck his face between the front seats.

“So all I have to do is pose as a waiter, serve champagne, and slip the note to the warden?”

In the passenger seat, Isaac inserted brown-tinted lenses and answered:

“Yes. As soon as you hand him the note, head straight down to the underground parking and link up with Baekgyeong.”

In their plan, Siron’s role was the simplest. In the middle of the charity event, he would enter the convention hall disguised as a waiter and, without drawing attention, pass a note to Malcolm Knox.

I’ll be waiting in Room OOO.

— From En Vaquero, Tessa Spencer’s husband.

Once Isaac was assigned a room, that text would be written on the note. If their prediction held—that Warden Malcolm and reporter Tessa Spencer were preparing Gezar Bazelli’s autobiography together—then the moment Malcolm read it, he would head straight to the room where the reporter’s husband was staying.

Isaac would arrive at that room first and wait for the warden. Facing him, Isaac would persuade him to open the gate that led to Gezar Bazelli.