Page 4 of My Unhinged Alphas
I clear my throat. “Okay. Cool. Brand awareness. Love that for you. But if this is the part where I’m supposed to be terrified, you might want to introduce yourselves first. Feels rude otherwise.”
“Terrified is implied,” the amused one says.
“Names are unnecessary,” the controlled one adds.
“Unnecessary for you,” I say quickly. “For me, they’re kind of helpful. Hard to process impending doom without proper nouns.”
The blade flashes briefly in the amused one’s hand as he gestures toward the body on the floor. “You don’t need our names. You need to answer questions.”
“Great,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “Love questions. Big fan. Just—before we do that. Am I collateral damage here or part of the main event? Because that changes how cooperative I feel like being.”
A pause.
The controlled one shifts his weight. “You weren’t the target.”
Relief flickers through me, thin and fragile. “So this is what? Administrative error?” I press. “Wrong room? Wrong girl?”
The blond finally speaks. “You were taken by men who won’t be taking anyone again.” His voice is low. Not unkind. Just certain.
“That’s… concerningly vague,” I reply. “Taken why?”
Silence.
The amused one tilts his head. “You don’t know?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking,” I snap, then soften it with a shaky breath. “Look, I’m just a barista. I make coffee. I complain about student loans. That’s the extent of my criminal empire.”
The controlled one watches me closely. “You don’t have family?”
The question hits harder than it should.
“No,” I say. “Not that I’m aware of. Why?”
Another look passes between them. Subtle. Fast. But I see it.
Interesting.
“Don’t expect any ransom, no one’s coming to save me.” No one cares, but I don’t add that part. I can’t have them thinking no one would be looking for me if they decide to do something to me.
“Relax, you’re safe,” the blond one replies.
“So,” I continue quickly, “if I’m not the target, and you’re not the kidnappers, and you’ve already—” I glance at the body and swallow. “Handled that situation… then what happens to me?”
The amused one steps closer, crouching slightly. His mask hides everything but the curve of his mouth beneath it. “That depends,” he says lightly. “On whether you’re a problem.”
“Define problem,” I whisper.
“Someone who talks,” the controlled one says.
“I talk for tips,” I reply automatically. “Context matters.”
“You know most people would be screaming their lungs out by now,” he tells me.
I lift my chin. “Most people probably don’t want to die looking hysterical.”
Another beat of silence.
I sigh. “If there was even a sliver of possibility anybody could hear us, we wouldn’t be having this casual conversation.”
