Page 210 of My Unhinged Alphas
I ask, “Who took her?”
“If I were certain,” he says, “this conversation would be shorter.”
Vale steps closer to the desk. “Then what do you know?”
“That she’s alive. That she was moved quickly. That the location I’m giving you has been used before to hold people temporarily. And that whoever sent you to the estate was counting on your uncertainty.”
Havoc folds his arms. “That narrows things down to only everyone.”
Andrew doesn’t react to the sarcasm. “You are being watched,” he says. “Whether closely or not, I can’t yet say. But anyone able to use my name convincingly has access to structure, timing, and enough confidence to act on both.”
Havoc looks at the address again. “And you’re sure she’s there.”
“I am sure she was taken there,” Andrew says. “Time determines the rest.”
That’s as far as he’ll go. Now it’s our turn.
I make the decision in that space. I look up at my brothers, my fellow Saints. “Let’s go get our girl.”
Chapter 35
Lena
The blindfold comesoff without warning.
Light hits me all at once. I squeeze my eyes shut on instinct, head turning away as my vision burns. For a few seconds it’s just white and blur and the afterimage of darkness still clinging to everything.
Then it starts to settle.
Edges come back first. The outline of the room. Bare walls. Concrete floor. A single overhead light humming faintly. No windows that I can see. No obvious exit from where I’m tied.
And him.
He’s standing a few feet in front of me, watching.
The mask is the first thing I register. It’s familiar in the worst possible way, the same kind the three of them wore the night everything started, stripped down, impersonal, designed to hide everything that matters. It sits wrong on this man, though. Not because it doesn’t fit, but because it feels like a choice instead of a necessity.
His shoulders are broad, posture relaxed in a way that says he’s comfortable here, comfortable with me like this, like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
My cheek throbs where he hit me.
I test my jaw carefully. It hurts, but not enough to matter. Not enough to distract from the anger building under my skin, hot and immediate, stronger than the fear for one reckless second.
I look straight at him. “You could have just asked for my attention,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake as much as I expect it to.
He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches me.
“So what now?” I ask. “You going to monologue? Or is this the part where you tell me what I supposedly did to deserve this?”
Still nothing.
The silence stretches just long enough to make me aware of my own breathing again, the restraints biting at my wrists, the way my body is still recovering from whatever he used to knock me out.
I lean forward as much as the chair allows. “You know they’re coming,” I say.
That gets the smallest tilt of his head.
“Those men?” I continue. “They’re not the kind of people you get to walk away from after this.”
