Page 109 of My Unhinged Alphas
“Act like you get to tell me what to do.”
The muscles in his jaw tighten. “I’m telling you because you don’t understand where you are.”
I give him a flat look. “I understand exactly where I am.”
“No,” he says. “You don’t.”
That pisses me off.
Before I can answer, a dark-haired girl comes up behind Havoc and slides a hand over his back, smiling like she’s already decided how the night ends. He turns, gives her that same beautiful, dangerous smile, and gently removes her hand. “Not tonight.”
She actually looks confused.
So do I.
Because Havoc never saysnot tonight. He says yes, or later, or come with me. He doesn’t wave off women when they’re practically in his lap.
The girl leaves. I glance at him again.
He catches it this time. “What?”
“You’re distracted.”
“Maybe I’m being respectful.”
I laugh once. “Since when?”
The Shepherd cuts in before Havoc can answer.
“What do you need?” His tone is flat. Done with the small talk. Done with us standing here at his bar like we’re customers instead of a problem.
Havoc shifts his weight, still loose, still smiling, but I can see the edge under it now. “Private.”
The Shepherd stares at him for a second, then looks at me. Not him. Me.
That annoys Havoc more than he lets on.
Finally, the Shepherd jerks his chin toward the service door at the end of the bar. “Two minutes.”
He says something to the other bartender, tosses down the towel, and leads us through the side door into a narrow back hallway that smells like bleach, old beer, and damp concrete. The music is still there, but muffled now, more vibration than sound. Storage shelves line one wall. Boxes of liquor. Paper towels. Cleaning supplies. A flickering fluorescent light makes everything look harsher than it already is.
The Shepherd turns to face us. “Well?”
Havoc doesn’t waste time. “There’s a girl mentioned in the Archive files—Lena. We need to find more info on her.”
His eyes move between us once. Measuring. Calculating. Then he says, “You should stay away from anyone on that file unless the Brotherhood is asking for them.” His voice is calm, but there’s something in it that makes the hairs on my arms rise.
I say, “But there’s a reason she’s there. The most reasonable explanation is that she was under our protection at one point.”
The Shepherd looks at me, and for a second I can’t tell if he’s impressed or irritated.
“She’s an orphan,” Havoc says.
“We want to know why the Brotherhood was interested in an orphan,” I say. “And why most of the page is redacted.”
The Shepherd gives me a look like I’ve asked why knives are sharp. “Top secret.”
Flat. Dismissive. Like we’re idiots.
