Page 212 of My Unhinged Alphas
“Bold assumption,” I say lightly. “You don’t actually know me.”
He lets out a short breath that might be a laugh if there was anything amused in it. “I know enough.”
“Clearly not,” I shoot back. “You’ve made this entire plan around the idea that I’m important to them, which is flattering, but also a little unhinged.”
“My life was ruined because of people like them,” he says. “Because of your father.”
That catches me off guard. For a second, I forget the fear, the restraints, the room.
“My father?” I repeat.
“Yes.”
I blink at him. I can’t help it.
“That’s impressive,” I say. “Considering I don’t even know who my father is.” The words are out before I can think better of them.
His hand moves faster than I expect. The backhand snaps my head to the side. Pain bursts across my cheek, bright andimmediate, my vision blurring for a second as the world tilts and rights itself again. I taste blood.
“Don’t play games with me,” he says.
My head is ringing, but I turn back to face him anyway. “I’m not,” I manage. “You’re giving him a lot of credit for someone who never showed up.”
His expression twists. “Of course he didn’t,” he snaps. “Men like him don’t stay. They break things and leave other people to deal with the consequences.” His voice is louder now, not shouting, but closer to it. Controlled anger slipping just enough to show what’s underneath.
“No one cares about you,” he goes on. “Do you understand that? No one. You’re a tool. A means to an end. Something they’ll use until it stops being convenient.”
Tears gather in my eyes. I look back at him defiantly.
Because if that were true, if I really didn’t matter, if I was exactly as disposable as he’s trying to convince me—then this wouldn’t be happening.
“Then you wouldn’t have brought me in here,” I say quietly.
His eyes narrow.
“You needed me to matter,” I say. “Otherwise, none of this makes sense.”
Silence stretches between us.
For a second, I think he might hit me again.
Instead, he just watches me. And I hold his gaze.
He reaches into his pocket, and my breath catches despite myself. When his hand comes back out, there’s a knife in it.
Everything in my body goes still again.
He looks at me like he’s measuring something. “Let’s see,” he says quietly, “how much you really matter when I start sending you back piece by piece.”
And just like that, the room shrinks around the edge of the blade.
Chapter 36
Havoc
Knox driveslike the road has personally offended him.
He doesn’t speed carelessly. That’s not his style. He simply takes every gap before it exists, cuts through the thinning traffic with both hands locked on the wheel, and treats red lights as obstacles to be assessed rather than obeyed. Vale is in the passenger seat, one hand braced against the door every time we turn hard, his bruised face giving nothing away except for the set of his jaw. I sit in the back with the address clenched in my hand and every nerve in my body stretched tight enough to sing.
