Stealing His Alpha Heart: A M/M Omegaverse MPreg Read online

  Stealing His Alpha Heart

  A MM Omegaverse MPREG

  Bella Mannaro

  Copyright © 2020 by Bella Mannaro

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Also by Bella Mannaro

  Chapter 1

  Chad

  Another late notice came in the mail, and I added it to the pile with the others. Money didn't appear by magic, and I owed my roommate money for covering my rent. The final paycheck from Fortress Security, didn't even cover my part of the rent, but Aaron took most of it. In the best job markets, landing a decent paying job took weeks. Every prospective job with financial potential received an application. The one job I never expected an interview with, called back with an offer. With my bank account hovering above zero, I couldn't refuse.

  "Yes, thank you, Robert. I will see you tomorrow at 10 am for orientation. Thank you. I appreciate it, and I can't wait to start." Sincerity oozed with syrupy sweetness as I spoke, accenting my gratitude. I meant it too, at least on the surface. A position as an in-home nanny ranked far down on my list of ideal jobs. However, Robert's offer satisfied my needs, allowed me to pay my bills, repay Aaron, and restart my savings. If I'm honest about my job prospect until his offer, I must confess I considered turning a trick or two for whoever would buy. Luck sided with me for once in my twisted little life, and I didn't go down the Gay for Pay path.

  Robert smiled too much and dressed as if he fell out of an LL Bean catalog, but otherwise, he'd had ‘good boss’ potential. My head buzzed with questions about payday. I silenced those greedy voices as he spoke. The Happy at Home Nanny Service ran 24 hours a day, though most of the staff worked regular business hours. Unlike some on their team, nothing hindered my schedule. So, I offered to work longer hours, nights, weekends, overnights, and provide coverage for any other nanny who might be sick or need a day off. My shift potential thrilled Robert.

  "Not everyone has the flexibility you do." He gave me a Cheshire grin, "You're in a unique position to make a lot of extra cash. This economy is tighter than the business page admits. We're a trusted, insured, in-home service with the goal to ensure appropriately matched nannies for our clients. Being available doesn’t guarantee overtime preference, however. All available staff rotate overtime when it arises."

  Damn, I wanted it all.

  "Wherever I'm needed." I blurted.

  "Perfect. Your resume listed history with infants, and I have a client with a three-month-old at home and a demanding business waiting for his return. The nanny we initially considered is still caring for another family, which is why I'm sending you. Are you familiar with the Alta Cresta neighborhood?"

  I swallowed the nervous saliva pooling in the back of my throat. The area and the people who lived there didn't fill the 'average' mold. A deep sigh struggled to get out of my chest, though I denied its escape. Would I, and my electric blue hair, fit in such a conservative, upper-income area? "Yes, I am."

  "Good. Here's a copy of the client's address and the hours he'll need you." Robert handed over a profile with the man's first name, his address, and the baby's name.

  "Not a problem. I'll be there first thing on Monday morning."

  Chapter 2

  Chad

  A bowl of store-brand Cheerios awaited me after a quick shower. As I washed my electric blue hair, I noticed a similar shade of blue on the corner of the tub. Puzzled, I pulled down the showerhead and hit the edge with hot water. What appeared to be blue dye didn't run into the drain. Was electric blue mildew possible? Yuck.

  Looking at my watch, I realized time danced away, taunting me as it pirouetted out of my reach. I dressed in haste as my stomach grumbled its demand for the cereal. The TV news aired a story about a local restaurant owner being suspected of staging a robbery in his own home, while I slurped Cheery Oats at a coffee table littered with past due bills.

  Soon.

  The money is coming. I could hold on a little while longer. After being fired from Fortress Security within the first month, I had little defense against Aaron's berating.

  Fortress Security was the first job I earned more in a week than any previous job paid me in three. However, on day 22, I fucked up. Something as stupid as not notifying a supervisor of an alarm got me fired.

  In my defense, it was the first call I took by myself. For the first three weeks I ‘shadowed’ another dispatcher who walked me through the steps and instructed me on call procedures. On day 22, my schedule placed me in my own desk, answering calls and responding to alarms. There should have been a trainer next to me, but she called in sick. While the supervisor scrambled to find a replacement dispatcher, the call came in.

  A burglar alarm sounded at a house on the east side of town. I followed the procedures and called the house. There wasn’t an answer. I tried the owner’s cell but still no answer. Then I remembered my trainer talking about a glitch in some older systems causing alarms to go off and creating a huge issue with the repair crews. This house had one of those models.

  In the end, I waited too long, even though I logged everything. The supervisor found out the following day and called me in her office. The one rule I broke, on my first solo day without the benefit of a senior dispatcher to lean on, was a ‘Zero Tolerance’ rule. Someone could have been hurt or worse and I agreed, even though it was just the model glitching out.

  Since then, Aaron paid all the housing expenses. I hated having a 'tab' or being 'on the cuff' as he often said. Money, or rather my lack of it, allowed his control over my life. He even questioned my food choices with the last pennies to my name.

  Landing the job at the Happy at Home nanny service a few weeks later would bring in more money than the security job. For some odd reason, Aaron bemoaned a roommate who worked as a babysitter for 40 hours a week. Perhaps, Aaron liked the idea of telling his friends his roomie worked in the security industry. Maybe it sounded better than 'manny.' Honestly, I didn't care what I did for work, I needed a salary. Debts don't pay themselves.

  A new job waited for me in less than an hour, and a shiver of excitement radiated through me. Fear of totally fucking up also gnawed on my gut, because my assignment on the trendy, expensive side of town, placed me in the home of the agency’s most prestigious client.

  No pressure.

  The cereal milk soured inside my stomach.

  Previous experience as a manny should have calmed my nerves. Rather, I wondered why I worked for such sucky pay and benefits. With nanny services, something as fickle as a bad first impression could get you fired.

  College. I should have stayed in college. Why didn't college work out? Right, I remember now. After mom died, my stepfather stopped paying for my tu
ition and off-campus apartment.

  By the end of my third semester, I fought for a roof over my head. Mornings sitting in a lecture hall or evenings rapping away on a keyboard to finish a term paper mattered less than making rent. A few scrapes with homelessness turned money into my only motivator. I didn’t register for the fourth semester.

  If you asked 19-year-old me if I would still have a roommate and struggle with keeping food in my belly at 26, I would have laughed. Then again, 19-year-old me had a mom, and a trust fund from my dad to pay for school. I dream of being 19 again.

  Snapping out of my self-pity daydream, I checked my face one last time before fishing my car keys out of the little bowl on the entry table. I stepped out of my apartment and stepped into my new job on the other side of town. After typical traffic hassles, I rooted through my pockets and unfolded the paper Robert gave me with my assignment details. Along with all the other information, the paper possessed the most crucial bit of info, the gate code to Alta Cresta Estates. Memories filled my eyes as the black iron gate emblazoned with curly script spelling "Alta Cresta" rolled back, granting me entrance.

  Before my parents divorced, my home sat behind similar gates a few neighborhoods away. Not long after my seventh birthday, however, mom walked out on dad and I went with her. A seven-year-old receives no real explanation for why his happy home suddenly dissolves. Later, my mother hinted at his infidelity because the break-up hurt my mother more than she admitted.

  When the smoke from the cannon-fire cleared, nothing remained. My father's attorneys ensured mom received very little, and the funds for my schooling were funneled into a trust. The lawyer’s move practically guaranteed mom would remarry quickly and a new husband stopped alimony payments.

  When my mother died, the money vanished completely. My father wouldn't fund another cent of my life, and since we hadn't spoken since he no-showed on my thirteenth birthday, I didn’t call to ask why. My father cut me off and cut himself out of my life.

  I shook the memories of those old wounds out of my head as the Alta Cresta gates retreated for my mint green Aspire. I wondered if the address I drove toward contained a broken and damaged family, as mine did.

  Rows of neatly trimmed hedges created a natural courtyard for the house. The new house wore a vintage coat befitting the cover of a home and garden magazine. Deep brass chimes sounded the doorbell. Unlike the typical buzzing electric tones of most doorbells, these bells sounded real. I checked my reflection in the side window, just in case my appearance changed between getting into the car and getting out. I tucked a stray blue hair over my ear.

  "Good Morning, I'm Chad from Happy at Home." I announced when the door opened.

  No smile came from the man sporting an Under-Armor tracksuit and brand-new running shoes. The outfit meant he wasn’t racing to punch a time clock.

  "Come in."

  The man surrendered no visual cues to help me discern his mood, or if he had one at all. "Are you Mr. Tryffan? I'm Chad." I said my name again. I held out my hand as the door closed behind my back.

  "Yes, I am, and you said your name already. Pleased to meet you, Chad. Did you find the house easily? Sometimes people take the wrong turn because they mistakenly consider the gate’s service road as the first right."

  "No, no trouble. I grew up in a neighborhood like this, and the layout is similar." I pulled in my lips and withdrew my hand when Mr. Tryffan didn't accept the gesture.

  Awkward. Potential Germophobe?

  "Glad to meet you. I'm eager to start."

  Nolan noted the time on the grandfather clock in the entry and smiled, "Are you? Wonderful. Let me show you around."

  When he looked at the grandfather clock again, I dug into my pocket for my cellphone. The ancient thing was ten minutes faster than the time on my phone.

  Glass cases with diffused lighting lined the hallway and displayed curiosities of all interests. In one cabinet, a gold-trimmed teacup with a chipped rim and broken handle basked in warm incandescent light next to a dented brass whistle. A strange lump of tarnished metal sat on the shelf beneath. Another case highlighted several old books; the leather bindings feathered and flaked with dryness. More cases held other objects, but Nolan Tryffan turned the corner before I identified any of the objects.

  "You're wondering about the curio cases, and you're right, such things will not survive with a child in the house."

  Tryffan's flat reaction kept me wondering about the impression I created. With the rent due soon, I couldn't risk pissing off this guy on the first day, though the chilling crawl up my spine suggested I accomplished this already.

  "The collection is interesting but, I'm more interested in your son and what I can do to send you off to work with less stress." Less stress? Shut up, you sound like you’re offering him blow job before he leaves.

  "The nursery is right this way. I've drafted an outline of Julian's basic schedule and your duties during the shift. Like today, I'll need you here promptly at 7 am every day. The kitchen is available for your lunch. Most days, you'll be finished by 4 pm, but some days I will need you longer. Did the agency mention time changes?" He spoke too fast.

  Without seeing the baby yet, I listened to a rapid lecture about his hours and my punctuality. The hall clock lied about me being late, and Nolan believed the lie. At least food is free.

  "Not a problem, Mr. Tryffan. The contract with Happy at Home includes overtime and night shifts to ensure you're covered."

  For the first time since opening his front door, Nolan's face softened to a smile. "Let's see how you do with your actual boss," Nolan's smile widened as he led me to the nursery.

  A toothless smile gave way to a tiny giggle when Julian's bright eyes met mine, surprising his father with an immediate attachment to his new caretaker.

  "And now, with your tour of the house and where everything is kept, do you have any questions for me?" His eyes glinted, and his tone peaked, but he gave neither a positive nor a negative response.

  "Leave the rest to me, sir."

  Somehow, I survived the day.

  Traffic on the drive home didn't faze me; nothing could. Like my gas tank, I ran on empty the whole way home. In my room, I flopped face-first on my lumpy old mattress, unbothered by the pile of dirty laundry. Sure, my dirty socks stunk, but not like breast milk puke or dirty diaper. My eyes closed, and my breathing deepened.

  "So! How did the first day go, Champ?" Aaron slapped the back of my calf and sat on the laundry free side of my bed.

  Shocked back into consciousness, I yelled, "Fucker! I was almost asleep. What do you want?"

  "Tell me about this new job." Aaron sucked as a roommate. He was often rude and secretive yet demanded my openness.

  The light in my room stung my eyes when I opened them. I must have been asleep longer than I thought. "Tiring, but good so far. Payroll loaded me in their system before the deadline, so I'll receive a paycheck on Friday. The client wants me to work some nights and weekends, which is overtime pay. The kid is still an infant, so my day is mostly feeding and changing." Contentment, with a decent paying job, carried my words.

  "Hmm, sounds as if you like the job. Where's it at? Is it a long commute? I can't imagine the little 'turtle' of yours handling a long commute every day." Aaron sucked the air right out of my sails. Though, I couldn't argue with his assessment of my car, a 25-year-old piece of crap that I bought at a repo auction.

  "A house in Alta Cresta."

  "Ah, 'Upper Crusty.'" Aaron referred to the area’s nickname.

  Unintentionally, I never told him about my upbringing in a similar neighborhood. I never considered my parent's affluence pertinent since it was their money wasn’t mine.

  "What about the mom? I mean, you're the nanny, so mom can return to work?"

  "No, there is no 'mom'; he's an Omega."

  "Ugh, one of those," Aaron grunted with disgust.

  "Omegas might be rare, but they're common enough."

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I guess I don't
notice them because I assume, they're the 'dads' and not the 'moms'. So, he's got a pussy in his ass and makes babies, what else did you learn about the guy?"

  "Don't be so insensitive." I scowled, I never heard of an Omega described in such a crass way before. "Not much else; he's a businessman. He teleworks and travels to his office or meetings occasionally."

  "Does the gig at least pay well?"

  Aaron's body rocked my bed. I looked over to see he created a ball from several socks, tossing it in the air and catching it. He’s playing catch with my dirty socks, I thought to myself with a snicker.

  "Was his house all automatic, with talking hockey pucks? Did the butler answer the door? Did he buzz you in at the gate? Was there a guard checking your ID?"

  His resentment for anyone better off than him teemed just below his surface. Hearing his reaction to Alta Cresta residents, I kept my upbringing a secret. "Yeah, sure, Jeeves answered the door and the private cops patrol on Segways. Dude, we're talking Alta Cresta, not Beverly Hills. And since neither of us has the spare cash to buy a talking hockey puck, do me a favor and flip the light switch when you leave, OK? I have to be back at work by 7 am."

  Several weeks passed and I relaxed with the job and my money situation, but Aaron suddenly acted anxious and demanded to be repaid immediately.

  "I need my money." He snapped one night after he had a few beers.

  "Soon, I promise; I'm only paid every two weeks, and I need money to keep my car running and insured. Don't worry about my part of the rent, though. I told the landlady I'd pay her directly, so only pay your portion of the rent this month, alright?"