Lionel: Undercover Alphas, #3

By L.C. Davis

When a billionaire Alpha goes undercover to investigate a deadly string of accidents, one omega proves to be the ultimate distraction.

As the CEO of Roman Enterprises, it was only a matter of time before Lionel Roman got the chance to participate in the undercover initiative two of his sons before him had already taken part in. They'd all found omegas, too, something Lionel thinks won't happen again after losing his own mate so many years earlier. After all, Lionel is notably older than his sons and, like all mature Roman Alphas, set in his ways. 

Luis is a young up-and-coming artist who has reluctantly taken a job at a Roman Enterprises chemical plant to make ends meet so he doesn't need to turn to his unsupportive family for help. When he meets Lionel at work, it's love at first sight for both Alpha and omega, and Luis lets himself get swept up in the romance despite knowing his parents will be less than thrilled. 

When an explosive accident at work throws a wrench into everything and threatens to destabilize the strong relationship Luis and Lionel are building. Lionel is both physically and mentally scarred, and Luis finds himself struggling to be the pillar of support his Alpha needs. Will their fledgling relationship stand the test of time?

~Approximately 32,000 words. This May-December romance contains mature subject material and may have a rough road leading up to the inevitable happily-ever-after. Readers 18+ only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.C. Davis
• Release date: Dec 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393309086

Book preview

Chapter 1

Lionel

I mopped at my brow with an old rag that smelled like a wet dog and surveyed Bigby Inc’s factory floor, trying to take in anything out of the ordinary. A slipping belt, an inactive alarm, a puddle of grease on the floor -- anything that would result in an accident that would shut the factory down for good. There had been several accidents over the past few years, all due to negligence from the higher-ups in the factory’s admittedly fluid chain of command.

Roman Enterprises had taken measures to encourage better safety practices, and a few months had passed since we’d had a major accident. I had gone undercover to ensure that was the last one. It was a bad one, too. Four workers had been killed. Chemical plants weren’t the safest places to work to begin with, which was why I had volunteered instead of sending some young Alpha who had his whole life ahead of him, but it was obvious something needed to change.

So far, it seemed like our measures had worked. I hadn’t seen much beyond a few betas smoking where they weren’t supposed to, and I had been pleased to see their supervisors cracking down on them. The supervisors watched me like a hawk, actually. Normally I would’ve been irritated but I was glad they were taking it seriously. I could see them wandering the floor in little groups, observing everything and muttering into their hands-free devices, from where I stood next to a vat of bubbling God-knows-what that was labeled with a skull and crossbones like a cartoon prop.

The month I had been there had not flown by as my sons insisted it would. Maybe that was because I didn’t have dreamy-eyed omegas following me around like a lost puppy. Being an Alpha meant there was some interest, but I’d come to Bigby Inc as a grunt, the lowest level possible. I wanted to know if the supervisors would endanger me. Much to my relief, they had not.

I couldn’t wait to get back to my old life, though, which was a source of guilt for me. I had a relatively cushy life. I was going to expand vacation and sick hours for the employees of Bigby Inc, but I was limited in what I could do without pissing off investors. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do my best.

There was one thing I’d noticed that was going to require some extra attention, though. There were rumors—and they were likely just that, rumors—that some of the accidents were intentional attempts to get the plant shut down. I didn’t understand why that would be the case, but I was still going to get to the bottom of it, even if I was fairly certain the rumors only existed to give the employees something less mundane to think about. I certainly hadn’t seen anything that strange.

The lunch bell rang and the floor came alive. Workers popped up where I hadn’t seen them moments before and scattered like ants, laughing and pushing each other around like they were kids again. Some filed out to eat on the picnic tables. Others went to the lunchroom. Within minutes, the floor was empty except for a few lingering supervisors who would take their breaks at other times thanks to our safety initiative. The last accident had been a result of no one monitoring the floor.

It was raining, but I headed outside anyway with my lunchbag in hand to let mother nature wash away the grime that had accumulated on my clothes and skin from the past few hours in the building. Even if it wasn’t literal grime, other than smudges of oil here and there, it felt like the stale air of the factory was clinging to me. Outside, I could feel alive again. I felt guilty for looking forward to going back to my cushy life when most of the people I worked with were going to be at Bigby Inc for years to come. It paid well, at least.

I made my way to the picnic tables and took the one that wasn’t occupied. There were other workers I’d become friendly with, but I preferred to eat alone. It gave me a chance to go over work emails that were unrelated to my stint at Bigby Inc. And the texts from my sons, who were thrilled that their old man was doing the same thing they were and felt like I needed to see dozens of selfies of themselves and their kids to get me through the day. Well, to be fair, I did.

I barely noticed someone had sat across from me until a boot bumped my leg and I looked up in surprise. Our eyes locked instantly and all-too-familiar butterflies, or moths given my age, fluttered in my soul and brought on waves of nausea that were both chemical and stress-induced. I was overwhelmed with immediate, paralyzing adoration. The desire to claim, to protect, to worship.

The fresh-faced kid--because that’s what he was, a kid who was likely at Bigby Inc to put himself through college--blinked back at me with wide dark eyes that reflected my dumbfounded expression. He was my exact type, ridiculous imprinting hormones aside: warm tan skin, long black hair that he’d pulled into a messy bun to abide by dress code, a gentle demeanor and the aura of a soul thousands of years older than its vessel. And an omega. An omega with a scent like flowers on the wind.

I had imprinted once, a long time ago. It was rare for it to happen again, but the feelings that had overcome me could not be anything else. Memories of my mate smiling at me from her hospital bed as she slipped away flashed in my mind’s eye like pictures on a projection screen. I could hear her whispering to me as she had that morning. I want you to love again, Lionel.

My swimming gaze went to his name tag. Luis. A one-month celebratory pin in the shape of a red balloon stuck out from the corner. He didn’t have to wear it, either. So he was perfect and he was proud of his work.

Are you okay? Luis asked, and I realized I’d had my apple halfway to my mouth since he sat down.

Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, I’m sorry, I replied gruffly, sweeping back my hair out of sheer awkwardness before realizing I’d look too much like my Roman self if I didn’t keep it unkempt. I’d come to Bigby Inc to help, not ruin some kid’s life. Some kid who was probably younger than Jayce. God help me. No. I could fight it. Of course I could. I was Lionel Roman. If I could manifest an empire, I could drown the flood of hormones that was urging me to take Luis right there on the table in front of everyone.

Even if he did look like her.

You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

You look like someone, I managed to say without making eye contact again, pretending like my apple was the most interesting thing in the world. My hands were shaking. Christ.

Who? he asked, with what seemed to be real interest.

It’s not important.

He cleared his throat and glanced at my name tag. So, you’re Charles?

No, I’m -- yes. I’m Charles. Deep breaths. I’ve come dangerously close to blowing my cover several times already, but never that close. At Bigby Inc, I’m Charles St. Onge. Not Lionel. You’re Luis? Did I say that right?

Yes, you did, he said, smiling a little. It was more of a stiff, anxious smile than anything else, and opened his lunch bag. He pulled out a peanut butter sandwich and I instantly began analyzing if it was because he couldn’t afford anything else. I had money. I could pay him to leave Bigby Inc and transfer to another college in another country, far away from me and the misfiring hormones that had ruined every semblance of my dignity. I could even buy him a house. A nice house. A mansion.

What brings you to Bigby Inc? I asked, trying to sound casual.

Luis shrugged. I needed a job.

College job?

Nah. If I went, it’d be an art school and they cost an arm and a leg. Probably literally, if you went to one of the more cult-y ones.

You’re an artist?

Yeah. I paint. People, mostly. Wanna see? It’s nothing special though.

Sure.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up a picture taken from across an apartment that had seen better days. Several easels displayed magnificent portraits in stunning color -- not just realistic paintings like the kind people commissioned as Christmas greeting cards, but paintings that captured the soul of each subject. Other paintings featured landscapes that could’ve been photographs if they weren’t so mystical or beloved pets with wet eyes that seemed alive. His skill was undeniable.

Incredible. How long have you been painting?

Since I was little, he said with a slight blush I might not have noticed if I wasn’t already paying close attention to everything he did. You could come to my apartment and see them in person if you wanted. I’m free Saturday night.

I hesitated. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by declining, but I didn’t want to get closer to him, either. I was already close enough to screwing everything up.

Well, going to his apartment wasn’t that big of a deal. Saturday night? I echoed, hoping to delay while I thought.

"Yeah. You could bring your partner, too, if you have one. Or more. I don’t