Page 81 of My Unhinged Alphas
Knox still doesn’t move from the door. Vale still says nothing. He stands off to the side, silent and unreadable, which somehow makes all of this worse.
Havoc gives me a small, wicked smile. “See?” he says softly. “I’m trying to be nice.”
I stare at him.
I don’t believe that for a second.
Chapter 13
Havoc
Takingher out is a bad idea.
Knox is right about that, which is annoying all by itself.
It would be safer to keep her inside the complex where the gates are locked, the cameras work, and every person within shouting distance belongs to us or knows better than to ask questions. It would be smarter to keep her where I can predict the angles, where Vale can keep staring at her like she’s a prayer he shouldn’t want, and where Knox can pretend this is still just a problem to solve.
Safe. Sane. Contained.
Which is probably why I don’t do it.
I never liked cages much, even when they were built for good reasons.
Lena stands beside me in Vale’s shirt, her face pale but set, like she’s one bad word away from bolting and knows it. Knox is still watching me with that flat look that says he thinks I’m making a mistake. He’s right.
Still doing it.
“I said I’d take her,” I tell him.
“That isn’t the part I don’t trust,” he replies.
I grin. “You wound me.”
He doesn’t smile.
Vale stays quiet. He’s been quiet since the room, since the wall, since he left too much of himself on her to hide it now. He looks at Lena once, then at me. There’s no argument in him.
I jerk my head toward the door. “Come on, sweetheart.”
She follows me because right now following me looks more like freedom than staying. Funny how that works.
We move through the hallways in silence. The building wakes slowly around us, low lights and concrete, the hum of vents overhead, doors that stay closed because people in places like this know when not to step out and ask questions. Lena keeps close enough that I can feel her nerves without touching her. Every few seconds her gaze flicks to a turn, a window, a stairwell. Measuring. Still looking for a way out.
Good.
At the final security door, I stop and pull a black strip of cloth from my pocket.
She sees it and goes still. “No.”
“It comes off when we’re clear,” I say.
Her throat moves when she swallows. “You said you were taking me home.”
“I am.”
“That is not comforting.”
“Most of what I say isn’t.”
