Page 2 of My Unhinged Alphas
Body.
My pulse stutters and then pounds violently in my chest. I concentrate on keeping my breathing even. Bodies mean dead. Dead means danger.
There’s the soft, clean sound of metal slicing through air, followed by another dragging sound across the floor. Wet. Heavy.
My stomach flips. That is not a good sound.
Another voice speaks. Lower. Controlled. “Focus. We’re not done.”
Not done. Great.
I breathe in through my nose and regret it immediately. The metallic smell is stronger now. Thicker.
There’s a soft clink, like metal tapping metal, then another slice through air.
“Oh relax,” someone says. Amused. Casual. “It’s not her blood.”
Her. That would be me.
Good to know I’m part of the conversation.
Boots step closer. The rhythm is unhurried. Whoever it is, they don’t seem concerned about me escaping. Which is fair. I am tied to a chair.
I lift my chin beneath the blindfold. “Hi,” I say. My voice sounds thinner than I want it to. “If you’re not planning to murder me, this is a very dramatic way to say hello.”
Silence. Then?—
A laugh. Low. Warm. Entirely inappropriate.
“Well,” that amused voice says, closer now. “She’s awake.”
Another voice, sharper. “Untie her.”
“Why? She’s adorable like this.”
Excuse me?
The air shifts as someone steps right in front of me. I can feel him there. Heat. Presence. The faint smell of gunpowder under soap.
That laugh again. “She hasn’t even screamed yet. I’m impressed.”
I swallow.You can scream later,I tell myself. Right now, information is more useful.
Hands grab the blindfold and I brace. The cloth is ripped away and light stabs my eyes. I blink hard, vision swimming, and shapes begin to form.
Concrete walls. Blood smeared across the floor. A man slumped against a metal table, head at an angle that no living person’s head should be.
And three men standing in front of me.
They’re dressed in black. Gloves. Masks that conceal everything but their eyes. One of them is cleaning a blade with methodical care, as if he has just finished a chore and intends to leave no trace of it. Another stands rigidly upright. His posture is military straight, his gaze fixed and assessing. The third has blond hair visible at the edges of his mask. He’s not moving. He’s simply watching me.
I blink again. They’re still there.
“Great.” I sigh softly. “My brain couldn’t even spring for shirtless firefighters. It went straight to murder cosplay.”
None of them look surprised to see me conscious.
“Where am I?” I ask. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. Gold star for denial.
