HYDP C12

Chapter 12

“Spiking a drink because he can’t stand not getting attention? Around here, a sleeping pill is worse than cocaine, got it?”

The man who spoke let a lewd gaze slide over to him. Then, seeing his exposed toes, he smacked his lips. By the look of him, the guy was an Alpha. But a recessive one—about as useful as a seedless watermelon.

“Last time I told that punk to give me a suck, he did. Good mouth on him.”

“But he’s defective….”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Recessive.”

With that, he immediately understood why San-tt had been on his case. Why had he assumed dominant? If anything, Beta would have made more sense—stick “recessive” on it and some would say it’s worse than having no designation at all.

A middle-aged man, smoking, spat and toed the floor. “Enough. Let’s get back to the game.”

At that, they resumed the halted play.

Then he saw Mr. Kim of Cheongsam Super in the far corner, neck veins bulging as he fought with others. He’d slipped off to gamble with the pawned watch money then too; seeing him back again today, he thought, some people are nothing if not consistent.

Even losing fingers hadn’t stopped the gambling, it seemed.

Just then, the table where Mr. Kim sat flipped with a crash. Mr. Kim and a vagrant from the next neighborhood tangled, fists raised.

He watched the brawl for a while. At the same time, a cigarette was pressed into his hand. He glanced over. Choi Seong-gyu, the house manager, smiled at him.

“You’re here?”

“Yes.”

“So. You get through the heat cycle okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good… Then next time, let me in too. Not like I’m the only one who wants a taste… but you know, right? I really love you.”

“Got it.”

Lighting his cigarette, Seong-gyu exhaled toward the ceiling. The smoke-hazed ceiling grew even murkier. He snapped the cigarette in two and let it fall to the floor.

“You quit? Since when.”

“It’s been a bit. Doesn’t suit my mouth anymore.”

“Kinda got off on you with a cig in your lips… That’s a shame.”

Miming how he used to smoke, he made him snort-laugh. In that instant, someone grabbed his ass hard.

There were more hands on him than usual today; the fatigue was setting in.

“Hey, Yeon Sanhong. Heard you got kids?”

He knew the man who slung an arm over his shoulder. The swaggering walk and slick, empty tone broadcast a cheap life.

This neighborhood hid trash, and he always spotted the worst of them at a glance. The man’s arm slipped from his shoulder. In the space he made, the man who stepped up dropped him into a pool of fatigue.

A thug, the head of “Hotel Ranbada,” and a sitting city councilman: Seo Kang-jo. The hotel he built was a hotbed of prostitution and a haven for those eager to sell themselves.

He always probed him through underlings, and today was no different.

He tried to trap him in the frame of “a pitiful Omega with nowhere to go who had kids too young.” No overt force yet. But laying hands on him, sitting him on his knee, or grabbing his chest like now came to him as naturally as breathing.

“Kids, my ass. No.”

“My secretary was just fishing. Got spooked?”

The neat three-piece and slicked pomade spoke to a neat-freak. But what good was that with filthy hands? He, too, had a touch of misophobia—couldn’t stand seeing dirty things.

Seo talked mildly but always ended foul, like now.

“Hmmm… the smell….”

He pressed his nose into his nape and sniffed at length, then sighed in admiration. Yet he always looked like something was missing.

“For a dominant, your pheromones are really faint. If you didn’t tell me, I wouldn’t know you had any. Is that just your build, or do you bottle it well?”

“Both.”

He had no interest in telling stories about his body; he cut it short. But what came next forced him to reassess the man’s humanity.

“Hey, with a face like yours and milked tits, you’d be a cash machine. That’s why I asked.”

“……”

“Just in this room, there are a shit-ton of mutts who’d leap to suck your tits first chance they get.”

“Is that so.”

“‘Is that so,’ my ass… I’m going to be the first one to suck them. I’m barely holding back from grabbing your chest and jerking off right now.”

“Ah.”

“So when I asked you to show me your wet underwear during your heat, you ignored me again… I was seriously offended.”

He set a hand on his shoulder and tickled his chin. The heavy cologne numbed his nose; the sting at the tip made him scrunch his face. It wasn’t pheromones—it was an alien scent that didn’t suit him. That made it feel even harsher.

If someone as scent-dull as him noticed this much, it was the worst of situations.

“Honestly, I’d like it if you’d had a baby. Why? Because Omegas who’ve given birth always have swollen mammary ducts.”

“……”

“They don’t even realize it, day to day. But knead them a little like this, and the clogged milk ducts pop open.”

Grabbing both his shirt and chest at once, Seo launched into metaphors. His stomach turned by degrees.

His pretended expertise was nauseating. Like someone who’d studied nothing but how to take down an Omega and fuel his own lust—a creep, and disturbingly precise. He kept his face smooth and revealed nothing.

“The thing about milk ducts is, they’re complicated. The half-educated can’t open them right. An Omega’s body looks simple, but inside it branches a ton.”

He let the words wash over him like they weren’t worth answering.

“But once you open them properly one time, they revert easily. Hm? You’re not scared now, are you?”

“No.”

“Ha… I want to stuff myself inside you right now. Then throw you into a pack of males and watch what happens… if you’ve had that experience.”

“Sadly, no.”

A lie. He smiled instead—cool, provocative. Seo always played at refinement, but the vulgarity seeping from every sentence gave him away. And he didn’t realize he was handling him like property. Maybe treating people like this was routine for him, but he wasn’t a thing.

Seo was a dominant Alpha.

Despite his age, his physique was superior, clean muscle lines clear under the suit. Drop the gaze below the waist and the outline of his genitals bulged over his left thigh—jarringly visible.

He pulled him into a back-hug, thick arms around his waist. Pressing his lower half along the cleft of his ass, he rubbed side to side slowly. A lifted groan brushed his ear.

Even through clothes, the sensation was plain.

He picked up the tequila glass Seo handed him. Seo toyed with his hand and spoke.

“I’ve wondered… what did you used to do to have so many scars on your hands? Calluses, nicks. Doesn’t match your face.”

“Just lived hard.”

“Who doesn’t. But you’re especially rough.”

To him, Seo looked like a man who couldn’t control his temper. Someone who hadn’t yet met a force stronger than himself and therefore didn’t grasp what lay above. A coward—weak to the strong, twice as cruel to the weak.

Even now, not getting the answer he wanted, a flicker of irritation crossed his face. But soon he cooed, “Lucky you’re pretty,” and stroked his cheek.

A madman.

“Your body’s full of scars too?”

“Yes.”

Right on the mark. It was the question every partner asked.

“Did you have some big accident? Why so many scars?”

He always blamed a car accident. Not entirely untrue, so he never corrected it.

“Don’t you really want to have my baby?”

“……”

When he was feeling good, Seo called himself “uncle.” He licked between his thumb and index finger, then sprinkled salt there. Half-exasperated, he watched.

“Lick.”

At the order, he lowered his head and licked the back of his hand. The salt melted on his tongue. He knocked back the tequila.

“Here, lemon.”

“……”

Like he’d been trained, he bowed his head and raised it toward Seo’s lips. His soft hair brushed the man’s mouth, stoking his desire higher.