WILLIAM
I’ve lost track of how many bottles Savannah’s put away.
Damn, that girl can hold her liquor, but no matter how tough she is, she’s still a little Omega... a very drunk one right now.
I whistle at her, kicked back on my couch and sipping my drink, while she tortures us from the tiny stage lit up with neon.
She’s singing like a dying magpie, but she’s having a blast, and at least one of us is genuinely happy.
Her friends are sprawled on one of the leather couches in this private lounge overlooking the motocross track.
The big Alpha girl shoots the other Omega a weird look and, judging by her scrunched-up face, I’m pretty sure she’s about to puke.
I ask Harper to take her to the bathroom in the hallway, and she does, because the last thing I want is puke all over the carpet.
