Page 211 of My Unhinged Alphas
He takes a step closer.
Slow. Unhurried.
My pulse kicks harder, but I don’t look away. “Good,” I add, because I can’t seem to stop myself now that I’ve started. “You should be worried.”
That’s when he reaches up and pulls the mask off.
For a second, I don’t understand what I’m seeing.
A face. Not familiar in the sense that I know him, but human enough to register. Lines at the corners of his eyes. Stubble along his jaw. A mouth that looks like it knows how to smile and chooses not to.
He lets me see him. Just like that.
And everything inside me drops.
Because that means something.
People who plan to let you go don’t show you their face.
My anger falters, replaced by something colder and far more dangerous.
He’s not worried about being recognized. He’s not worried about me walking out of here and telling anyone what he looks like.
Which means?—
Oh.
The thought doesn’t finish. It doesn’t need to.
My mouth goes dry.
I stare at him, really seeing him now, and for the first time since I woke up in that chair, fear settles properly into my bones.
He’s older than me. Not by a little. A lot. Maybe late forties, maybe more. Still in shape, though.
I pull against the restraints once, testing them again even though I know it won’t help.
“You know,” I say, softer now, not because I want to be, but because something in me is recalibrating, “there are easier ways to charm a girl.”
He doesn’t move away. If anything, he settles in front of me like we’ve reached the part he’s been waiting for. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asks. His voice is level, almost conversational. That makes it worse.
“No,” I say. “But I’m sure you’re dying to tell me.”
Something flickers in his expression. Approval, maybe. Or irritation that I’m not playing the role he expected. “I hate them,” he says.
“Congratulations,” I reply. “You’ll have to narrow it down.”
“The three men,” he clarifies, like I’m slow. “The ones you were with.”
My stomach tightens, but I keep my face still. “That’s a crowded club,” I say. “You’re going to need a membership card.”
His eyes harden. “They think they’re untouchable,” he continues, ignoring me. “They walk into places like they own them. They interfere where they shouldn’t. They destroy things they don’t even understand.”
There’s something building under his voice now. Like he’s been holding this in for a long time and doesn’t intend to stop once he starts.
“And your solution was to kidnap me?” I tilt my head slightly. “That’s… creative.”
He steps closer. “My solution,” he says, “was to take something that matters to them.”
