Page 45 of My Unhinged Alphas
As if he could read my mind, he says, “We checked the CCTV footage at the warehouse. We saw them bring you in. And judging from your clothes.” He looks me up and down. “You were dressed to impress.”
For some reason, his words really piss me off.
“So?” he presses. “Why’d you go?”
“Why do you care?” I snap.
“Because I want to know what kind of girl you are.”
My breath stutters. “What does that even mean?”
He steps closer—not enough to touch me, but enough that I’m pressed back against the window before I realize I’ve moved.
“It means,” he says quietly, eyes dropping to my mouth, “I’m trying to figure out why someone like you ended up in a mess like this.”
“I didn’t choose it,” I whisper.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
His gaze lifts slowly, meeting mine with a heat that steals the air from my lungs. It’s not subtle. Not careful. Not even remotely professional.
And suddenly, I see it clearly: He’s attracted to me.
Not in a soft, sweet, oh-she’s-cute way. In a sharp, feral, this-is-danger-and-I-like-it way.
Panic flickers beneath my ribs, because if he wants something from me, that makes everything worse. “You’re staring,” I say, trying to deflect.
“I know,” he answers, unbothered.
“Why?”
“Because you’re pretty.”
I blink. Hard. That was… not subtle.
He shrugs, expression unapologetic. “Blunt is easier.”
“Easier for who?”
“Me.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Right. Because this situation is all about your comfort.”
“Not comfort,” he says. “Curiosity.”
I swallow. “About what?”
He just continues to come closer without answering.
“Stop,” I whisper.
He does—but only physically. His presence, his stare, his intent stays pressed against me like a second shadow. “You’re not in danger from us,” he says quietly. “But I’m going to figure you out, Lena Brooks. Every last piece.” His eyes drag over me slowly, deliberately. “Whether you want me to or not.”
A shiver runs down my spine. His words settle over me like smoke—thick, intoxicating, impossible to breathe around.
He’s too close. Too focused. Toointerested.
I should move. I should tell him to back off. I should remember that I’m supposed to be terrified of these men. But my body betrays me, pulse hammering under my skin, breath catching like he already has a hand around my throat even though he hasn’t touched me.
