The last thing Jackson Colt wanted to do was sit in a hot and steamy VIP section at a club.

No, he wanted to be back at home. Drinking and laying in the fetal position while his television played static in the background. No, he just wanted to be home in mourning with his brothers, with Mary-Beth.

Instead, for some unholy fucking reason, he was sitting in a club with Aaron, who was currently trying to coax him into drinking something other than bourbon on the rocks. Not that he was going to get anywhere with that considering Jackson just wanted to get fucking wasted. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to think ever again. He wanted to pretend the world didn't exist and he was just some kind of floating entity without purpose or thought.

It was better than facing the fact that his mother was dead.

Yeah, no, that was putting it lightly.

She'd been fucking murdered.

Fucking accident my ass, Jackson thought bitterly as he thumbed the rim of his glass. What had happened to his mother, what had been done to her, was not a fucking accident. It had been a goddamn slaughter and to think for one second the police were calling it an accident made his blood boil to unfathomable levels.

At five fifty-three in the evening, Aurora Colt had been found dead in a parking lot by the interstate. Her car had been dumped on its side, half of it smashed in by what was clearly a t-bone by a fucking semi-truck. According to the bullshit autopsy report, the crash had thrown Aurora's body across the parking lot, the asphalt basically peeling off her face, and half the skin off her body.

Except Jackson wasn't a fucking moron. Jesus Christ, he worked surgery for a living.

Those injuries didn't come from any accident.

But convincing the Sterling police otherwise had been impossible. A tragic accident, they insisted, one that he couldn't see clearly through the lens of grief.

Curling his lip, he tossed back another shot of bourbon and snapped his fingers for the omega bartender to rush in and give him more. She flashed him a shy, flirty smile, one that he ignored blatantly because A, he honestly preferred men, and B, his fucking mother had just died, so honestly, fuck fucking right now.

"Listen, man, drink all you want," Aaron said, "Just try and find something a little less... you know. Depressed."

"I am depressed."

"Okay, but you don't have to look it."

"Fuck off. It's only been four days," Jackson muttered. Aaron grimaced, then ruffled his blonde hair nervously at something that probably sounded a bit cold hearted. He sighed and dropped his hands to the bar.

"You're right. My bad," he said, then paused to glance over Jackson's shoulder, "Actually, listen, I can get us into the Black Room if you want." Jackson scowled at the beta, ignoring the omega who poured his drink.

"The what room?"

"It's this fancy VIP room. Apparently they sell some pretty good shit in here. I'm talking vintage wines, whiskeys. Hell, I've heard they even do some art sales."

"A black market auction. You want me. To go with you. To a black market auction," Jackson deadpanned, wondering when Aaron had hit his head hard enough to think a black market auction was a totally acceptable thing to attend. Not that he hadn't done some dealings online. If you called downloading sketchy shit that wasn't in theaters yet or experimental rut suppressants black market anyway. It was the lighter side of a very dark practice.

"It's not what you're thinking," Aaron assured quickly, sliding a fifty across the bar to get the omega's attention, "Trust me. It's set up to be totally... mostly legal." Jackson grimaced.

"Totally mostly. Sounds perfect. Not. I'm out," he muttered, getting up. Aaron cursed.

"No! Come on, man, it'll be good for you. Maybe you'll see something you like."

"I think I have enough Francisco Goya for now, but thanks."

"Please," Aaron pleaded, "Come on. If they start to sell sketchy shit, we can bounce. Seriously. Please? There's no way I can go in alone." Jackson rolled his eyes. He really didn't want to waste his time with this shit, and normally, he would've whacked Aaron's head on the bar and walked out, but a combination of exhaustion, booze, and general not giving a shit at the moment led him to gesture for Aaron to begin the process.

Aaron beamed as the omega came over to take his fifty.

"You won't regret it," he told Jackson, who made an expression of oh fucking really while Aaron turned to the omega, "Yeah, I'd like to order two Orange Russians." The omega arched a brow at him, then at Jackson, who frowned at her. She blushed a little and nodded, reaching under the table and grabbing a couple of orange drink napkins. Aaron took the napkins with a nod and handed one to Jackson as they made their way across the room to a pair of double doors that looked like a set of kitchen doors, only with tinted round windows and a couple of unfriendly looking alphas at the entrance.

Nobody said a word. As if the security guards took one look at the orange napkins and understood without being told. There was no rush to catch them, no cops hiding in the shadows to attack them, or even a confirmation of some sort.

Jackson and Aaron breezed through the double doors and walked down a dark hallway with only floor lights to lead the way into an average sized dark room. It was very dimly lit with only candles for lighting, save for a stage that took up one side of the room. Several cheap fold up chairs had been set out, each one having some kind of flyer with a number on it.

Jackson followed Aaron, wondering where the hell all the flashiness had gone. The club itself was a high-class sort of place with disco lights and lasers, top shelf booze, and even velvet seating. This place looked more like a cheap shotgun wedding in a trailer park.

Except a scantily clad omega arrived in the nick of time with a tray and a couple of flutes of champagne.

"My pleasure to serve you, my lords," the omega whispered softly, kneeling to pass them their drinks. Jackson stared at the omega, then at Aaron, who beamed and took the drinks, handing one over to Jackson, who frowned as he watched the omega walk away with hips swaying hard enough to put one of them out of a socket.

"This is amazing," Aaron whispered in a hushed voice as more people entered the room. Jackson glanced at his friend while he sipped the champagne, then glanced at the newcomers, only to notice that he could see them very well. Granted, it made sense with the dim lights, but Jackson had an itching sensation it was so identities couldn't be made out very well. It made him uncomfortable. He didn't like these people that hid in the shadows. He looked around as a couple more omegas dressed more like prostitutes than waiters came out and passed out drinks. They didn't look like they were being forced. In fact, a few of them daringly stroked the attendees with confidence before slinking off into the darkness.

Jackson raised an eyebrow and gave the champagne a sip, then paused and glanced up at the ceiling as strange slow techno music played. He glanced sideways at Aaron, who looked more like a kid in a candy shop as he looked around and bobbed his head to the music, completely out of time. Jackson shook his head at his friend, then frowned as the lights went out, save for the ones over the stage.

"Please take your seats," a disembodied voice whispered huskily over speakers hidden in the darkness, "The auction is about to begin. As a reminder to our guests, we ask that you keep your voices low to avoid frightening our rabbits. Should you wish to place an offer, please raise your napkin. We ask that all guests please turn off any electronic devices, such as cell phones and pagers. Please remain seated until the end of the auction. Thank you and have a wonderful evening." Jackson grimaced. It felt like the kind of announcements that were done on an overhead in a grocery store, not an auction greeting. Then again, perhaps they were afraid of recordings?

Rabbits? Jackson thought curiously, lowering his champagne. The "guests" around him all settled into their seats and Aaron gave him a smack on the leg to encourage some sense of excitement and Jackson just gave him a very fake yeah sure smile before looking up front, keeping his hand low over his pocket where his cell phone sat in silent mode.

"Our first item for sale is a fifteen-eighteen piece done by..." Jackson frowned, watching as a masked man came out from a black backdrop he hadn't even noticed. The painting was massive and had to be wheeled out on a cart. It was a brilliant piece of work, definitely Renaissance era. It looked like it was tempera on canvas, landscape style, with a sprawling female spread wide open in a field.

Jackson watched as napkins went up here and there, murmured offers given until the faceless voice gave confirmation in the darkness. He felt himself relax to a degree as the painting was wheeled out and another one brought in. It was mostly art pieces for the first hour.

If anything, it was... boring.

Aaron appeared to catch on quickly as well as he sank down into his seat, folding one leg over the other and going through champagne flutes faster than a drunkard. Jackson smirked at him.

"Not very exciting, is it?" He asked in a low whisper. Aaron grimaced.

"I thought we were gonna see something... cooler. Like tigers or something."

"Better luck next time," Jackson replied, resisting the urge to chuckle. Aaron sighed, but they remained quiet as the auction came to a close. The lights returned to the room, still dim, but bright enough for one to find their way around. Jackson rose to his feet with Aaron wobbling at his side, nibbling on horderves that had been brought out by the omegas. Jackson shook his head when an omega made an offer, not only from the tray he held, but with the bit on his lower lip and a coy smile.

"We hope you enjoyed the first half of our auction," the voice said suddenly voice the speakers, making Jackson frown and Aaron pull up short and almost ram into the back of him, "Please proceed to the stairs to your right to see our next pieces. A reminder to please remain quiet as the bidding takes place. Thank you and have a wonderful evening." Jackson and Aaron shared curious looks before they blended in with the crowd heading for the stairs. The staircase was narrow, not really rundown or anything, but certainly not what you would expect to be in a club. A couple of steps creaked under Jackson's weight as he came down to the final step and followed the crowd through a short hallway and into a large room.

The scent hit Jackson first and he cursed, reaching up to rub at his nose, but to no avail.

Omegas.

He smelled like he'd just walked into a flower shop. Everything smelled sweet and floral. There was a delicate scent to it. It made him dizzy for a moment, and he noticed the people around him also shifting a bit uncomfortably. Ties loosened, cuff links were undone and redone, napkins now doubled as hand fans. Even Aaron was grimacing at his side.

"Oops," he said at Jackson's murderous glare.

Fucking omegas.

He'd been right; the art was just for show. The real auction was going on down here. In the fucking basement of a club.

No, it wasn't even an auction.

It was omega trafficking.

Jackson feigned disinterest after turning away from Aaron, tucking his hand into his pocket to find his phone. He needed to find an excuse to depart. There were clear signs on the walls indicating cell phone use was not allowed. Not to mention, masked men stood throughout the room, watching everything intently through their black expressionless theater masks.

He forced himself to move with the crowd. Thick navy velvet curtains appeared to separate the omegas, who were sitting in chairs with their hands folded in their laps and heads raised to reveal black collars that indicated none of them were mated. Most of them looked drugged, sleepy and listless. None of them were making a move to run or go anywhere. It was almost like they were in trances.

Though, Jackson noted a few who weren't quite entirely subdued. A couple were crying silently, but didn't even seem to understand the source of their tears. A couple even had masked men behind the curtain with them, as if to watch them closely.

What the fuck, Jackson thought with inner fury, holy shit. Half of these omegas are basically children. Have they even gone through their heats yet? Where did they find so many unmated omegas? They were all incredibly beautiful, but fragile. They were all cleaned and washed, wearing absolutely nothing. Their nails were done, their hair was washed and slightly styled. They were like dolls all lined up on display.

It made Jackson's stomach tie into a thousand knots.

"Omegas are to be treasured," Jackson remembered his mother telling him once he'd gone through his first rut, "They should not to be treated like animals. Without them, our reproduction would be incredibly low. Without them, we alphas lose a part of ourselves. Think of alphas and omegas as two halves of a heart, Jackson. Without each other, they feel... empty."

His skin crawled in revulsion as they walked along with the crowd. A few of the "guests" were already placing their bids, using papers on stands by the curtains of the omega they desired. It was like signing up for a library card. It was done so casually, so calmly and quietly. It made Jackson's skin itch. He wanted to clock the nearest masked man and call the cops.

This wasn't just fucking illegal.

This was immoral. This was wrong. This was sick. This was--

Suddenly, a scent stood out from the others. Jackson wrinkled his nose immediately, completely blown away by the scent. While the scents around him were sweet and fragrant, this one was strong and somehow different. It smelled like... bergamot, jasmine, patchouli. It was raw and bold. It hit him like a frying pan across the face and actually made his head snap back.

His blood roared to life, flowing through his system hard and fast, his heart racing a hundred miles an hour. It felt as if his mind had shut down and instinct had taken over. He went from standing uncomfortably by Aaron at the back of the crowd to almost bulldozing people to find the source of that glorious scent.

He felt breathless, almost panicked. He needed to find that scent. He needed to find it and relieve it. He needed to bathe in it. He needed to bury himself in it and never get away.

Shit, for the first time since his mother's death, he felt fucking alive.

He managed to get through the thick of the crowd and came out at the other end of the large room, right in front of a set of black curtains. He went to yank them apart, but a masked man reached out and caught his arm in a grip that actually snapped him out of his mindless charge.

"Please do not touch the displays. Especially this one. This rabbit in particular is very skittish," he warned in a mechanical voice. He was using a voice changer, Jackson realized immediately. Yet, he couldn't ignore the smell that was still permeating the air.

"I want to purchase this... rabbit," Jackson said after a moment, caught off guard by his own words.

Well, shit.

So much for being immoral and wrong and disgusting, Jackson thought with a grimace. The masked man paused at that, then reached up to his ear and appeared to be mumbling into a headset. Jackson waited impatiently, clenching and unclenching his fists as he fought the urge to just shove the man back and rip open those curtains.

In the meantime, Aaron was hurriedly making his way to the front of the crowd, approaching Jackson on a stumble before he righted himself.

"What are you doing?" Aaron hissed.

"Don't you smell that?" Jackson demanded in a low voice as he turned to the beta, who frowned. He sniffed a little, then shook his head slowly.

"Just smells like... shit, just smells like omega. Why?" He asked. Jackson cursed and looked away without answering. He didn't trust himself to. He didn't like this feeling. He didn't like what this meant. The scent that stood out amongst the others. The scent that was made just for him, and him alone. He shuddered and reached up to rub at his nose, pinching his sinuses and wishing like hell he could just lose his sense of smell.

Fuck, that scent was enthralling. It was delicious. It was herbal and rich. It was driving him insane. He needed to be closer, needed to get to the source.

"You have permission to view the display before making your purchase," the masked man said after a moment, lowering his hand, "Please take a step back while we dim the lights." Jackson nodded, moving back beside Aaron, who looked around as the lights in the room were dimmed. A few other members of the crowd were coming over to investigate and Jackson resisted the urge to snarl at them to back the fuck up. He didn't care how much money he spent tonight; he was going to buy whatever was behind those curtains.