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Summary
“The smell,” Ghost clarifies through clenched teeth. “It’s not the car. It’s me.”
Soap is silent. Ghost flicks a quick look his way. It’s mostly confusion on Soap’s face, though what looks like a smile threatens to crack through, like this could possibly be one of Ghost’s stupid jokes.
“But it smells like omega,” Soap says, “and you’re—”
“Not a fucking alpha, MacTavish,” Ghost spits.
Another look Soap’s way. His eyes are wide, mouth slack in surprise.
“Oh.”
Series
- Part 1 of Death of Peace of Mind