Page 161 of My Unhinged Alphas
Havoc’s posture changes beside me. Not much. Enough.
I answer carefully. “He will.”
That’s not what she asked.
But it’s the only answer I’m giving right now.
The motel sign comes into view a few streets later, flickering weakly against the darkening sky. As I pull into the lot, I catch Havoc looking at me from the corner of my eye. Not amused now. Not careless either. Measuring.
I know that look. He’s wondering the same thing I am.
Whether he likes her.
Whether that changes anything.
Whether any of us are still thinking clearly.
I kill the engine and sit there for one second with my hands on the wheel.
Then I say, “Inside.”
Havoc gets out first.
Lena follows.
And as I watch them cross the lot ahead of me, I know one thing for certain: I do not like how much he gave away in that car. And I like even less that she seemed to understand it.
I go inside last after I call Vale for the third time. No answer again. A prickle of unease moves through me, but I decide to shelve it away. It won’t be so easy to take out the little sucker.
The motel room door is half-open, light spilling out into the walkway in a pale strip. I push it wider and step in, already tired of the day and of everyone in it.
Havoc is too close to her.
Not touching. Not quite. But close enough to make the space feel occupied, his body angled toward Lena like the room belongs to him and she’s something he’s decided to stand near. She’s pacing in front of the bed, arms folded tight, turning atthe far wall and turning back again, phoneless and furious and wound up enough to vibrate.
And something in me snaps. Just all at once, like a line pulled too tight finally giving way inside my chest.
I shut the door harder than I mean to.
Both of them look at me.
Lena stops pacing. “Any news?”
I don’t answer right away. I’m still looking at Havoc. He sees it. Of course he does. His mouth shifts, not a smile exactly, but close enough to make me want to hit him.
“What?” he says.
“Back up.”
His brows lift. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Lena looks between us. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
Havoc doesn’t move. If anything, he settles more comfortably into the space, one shoulder against the dresser, all easy posture and bad instincts. “You think that tone’s helping?”
“No,” I say. “I think distance might.”
