Victuals & Vehemence - Septiplier

Chapter Twenty Four

Jack leaves the saloon after his drink, leaving a coin for the bartender and walking out with his head high. He looks around thoughtfully, raising a brow when he sees Mark sitting on the deck with several other alphas. Jack turns without even a smile and walks down the steps. He feels a flicker of amusement from their connection.

They are still strangers, even if they are mates. Mark is a famous doctor. Jack is a famous private investigator. Neither knows much of the other beyond that. However, Jack has never met someone he can't read. Mark is impossible for him to read. Yes, the alpha smiles, and growls, and holds a strong scent. The issue is that Jack knows it's a facade for something else. Jack scowls as a window glares in his eyes, reflecting the sun. Jack reflects Mark. The omega knows that. They both hold up a meticulously crafted mask. Jack doesn't know what's the mask and what's real after wearing masks for so long. Mark seems merged in a similar well.

Jack walks to the saloon closer to the posse's hotel. He steps in and looks around, walking over. As usual, eyes follow him before he yanks a chair from an empty table, turns it, and plops down at his posse's table. None of them bother to look up from their card game.

"Didn't expect to see you for a couple more days," Robin comments, a knowing tone to his voice. Jack scowls and pulls out a cigar, lighting it, and smoking. Fuck Mark and his health concerns.

"He got what he wanted," the omega replies, leaning his head back and blowing out a cloud of smoke. He lets out a soft sigh and relaxes as the nicotine drips into his system, percolating his body. Felix glances up and looks over the plethora of bite marks on Jack's neck.

"Your bandanna?" he inquires. Jack shrugs and lifts his head just enough to side-eye the alpha.

"He can't cover his neck either," the omega says, smirking enough for his small fangs to glint in the lantern lighting. The table chuckles with amusement.

"Is his neck purple too?" PJ inquires, laying down a card and drawing another. Jack thinks about it.

"No, but I almost slit his throat, so he's got that. Then there are several bites. Not as many as he gave me. Frankly, I'm more civilized than you brutish alphas who want to bite anything and everything," Jack hums, taking a drag of cigar. He turns and taps the ash into a small ashtray when a strong, tan hand grabs his wrist. Jack stares at the hand for a long moment before trailing up the muscular arm to the broad chest and neck, the chiseled chin, to dark, glinting eyes.

The table falls silent.

"Yes?" Jack asks as if he is oblivious. Mark's face is devoid of anything, but his eyes flash. Whether amusement or anger, the omega can't tell.

"We talked about this," the alpha says, voice an avalanche of stone over rock.

"Oh? Showing our necks, yes, we did. I quite like the style on you, looks good," Jack hums, smirking up at Mark. The alpha lets a low growl roll in his chest as he looks down at his mate.

"No. You know how I feel about cigars," Mark says, cutting to the chase. Jack raises a brow, eyes staring deep into those dark, dangerous, glinting voids. Usually, they dance around topics. This is a first.

"Yes. I wanted one, though."

"They're bad for you."

"Mm, I don't care. You're bad for me. I still have you," Jack replies, jerking his hand from Mark's grasp and taking a drag of the cigar. The growl rises in volume, and the saloon slowly quiets.

"Stop smoking the cigar," Mark orders. Jack closes his eyes and leans his head back, baring his neck, but he blows out the smoke into Mark's face, already lifting the cigar again. The growl turns to a snarl, and a hand grabs his wrist again. This time, it hurts.

"Let go," Jack snaps.

"You're with child, cut back on the vices," Mark snarls. Jack stills, feeling his gut clench. His pupils dilate, and his breath stops as his eyes open. The omega slowly stands, staring into Mark's eyes. Oh, goddess, he wants to bow his head and avert his gaze, but he fights his instincts. The omega yanks his arm from the alpha's grasp, replacing it with a gentle hand pressed palm to palm with Mark's.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs lovingly, thumb caressing the back of Mark's hand as he lifts the other and presses the butt of the cigar to Mark's neck by one of the bites Jack left. The sizzle of flesh accompanies the smoke as the cigar suffocates and dies out. The omega stands on the tips of his toes as the alpha snarls but stands still.

"Do this in public again, and you'll get worse than this," Jack hisses in Mark's ear before shoving the alpha back, turning, and storming out. His blue eyes flare with a bright fire, even as the cigar's last smoke disperses in the air. Jack tosses the cigar into the barrel outside and marches down the steps, coat flaring behind him. He goes back to Mark's home and takes off his long jacket and hat, rolling up his shirt sleeves and going outside. Jack takes the logs on the front porch and an ax, beginning to chop. Each one lands, haphazard with running thoughts. Each one lands, deep-seated emotions beneath it.

Jack needs to control it. Control it before some alpha can control him. Shattered mirrors and public reprimands will not push him past the edge. Jack will remain in control. Sweat beads and drips down his forehead, dropping from the tip of his forehead and soaking his shirt through. He keeps working. Each chop becomes clinical, practiced. Each chop uses the exact amount of force necessary. As he turns to grab another log, Jack notices his mate leaning against the fence, watching him. Jack stops, laying down the ax, and grabbing the towel he brought out, wiping off his hands as he walks towards the fence.

"You were rude today," Mark says.

"No. I punished accordingly, for someone else's rude actions toward me," Jack answers calmly, tossing the towel over his shoulder and crossing his arms.

"Your health and our child's is of the utmost importance. It needed to be addressed immediately."

"I told you where the wall has been set. Pull me aside and talk to me. The only man who publicly orders me about is Felix. You try that shit again, and I will keep my promise," Jack replies, voice cold and distant.

"What will you do?" Mark asks with a curiosity that crinkles the corners of his eyes slightly, but his face remains mostly unreadable.

"I don't pre-meditate these things. They are explosions of emotions that light the body and channel the force to pain like a bullet down a gun barrel."

"You load the bullets. You pour in the powder. You keep the safety off. Could be manslaughter,"

"We both know I kill on purpose. Righteously. Necessarily."

"Punishment for rudeness," Mark comments. Jack tenses and keeps his eyes on the woodpile.