Page 73 of Bubblegum Pop

Bile rose in my throat as my body writhed with need. My alphas had sated my heat enough for me to sleep, but it was already coming back with full force.

Drawing in a breath, my chest deflated in relief when I realised they were betas. Their scents were too weak to be alphas or omegas, and there was no tang of scent blockers. I was safe for now.

But, under the gag, I was panting. Sweat was already beading under my arms, and even the lightest brush of my nipples against the sheet triggered warm flushes pulsing out from my pussy.

I just had to breathe through my nose and keep myself calm. I could do that. I was strong enough for this.

I couldn’t react properly until I knew what was actually happening. It felt like the van was going too fast. If I did get free and somehow dodged them, I couldn’t jump out like this. I had to trust they wouldn’t shoot me until it stopped.

Rubbing my wrists and shaking my ankles, I started struggling again. I threw my head back, whimpering as my head connected with the metal wall.

“Stop moving, for fuck’s sake,” one of them snapped.

My heart raced with a mix of heat and fear. In the past, when alphas attacked me, I didn’t really care if they killed me, as long as they didn’t make it hurt. The ones who beat me were the worst. But this time, I had to survive.

One last jerk had me falling sideways; my shoulder hit the floor of the van with a heavy thud.

I felt a body lean over me, trying to push me up, and I took my chance.

I bolted forward, kicking out my bound legs as a ‘fuck you’ for even daring to kidnap me.

I was sure it wouldn’t do anything, but as my foot connected with something hard, satisfaction bubbled in me as one of them yelled out. My foot throbbed, but it was worth it to hear him swear.

“Fucking hell!” one of them shouted.

“Come on, just chloroform her.”

“We’re almost there, though.”

“Whatever. It’s not like he cares if they’re awake or not.”

I moaned through the gag. Just because I had a lot more control over my heats since they began didn’t stop me from being weak.

I thought thrashing around would stop them from getting to me, but they caught me, grabbed my shoulders, and pinned me down.

The last thing I felt was one of them clenching my hair, yanking my head back, and the harsh alcohol sting of chloroform suffocating me as a cloth was shoved against my face, and I sank into darkness.

Odin

Isat wheezing in a hard plastic chair that only just supported my weight.

Apollo had his fingers wrapped around Zeus’s, caressing his arm, murmuring in his ear, pouring love on him, and doing everything else he could to comfort him. His right arm was fixed in a sling across his chest, which meant there was only one person he could stroke.

I was the strong twin; I could hold myself in. I didn’t need our pack lead to stroke me and coax me and tell me it was okay that I lost Candy. But I wish he would at least turn to me and check to see if I was okay. Just because we could feel each other through the bond didn’t mean I didn’t want him to ask.

We were on full alert, all our emotions exploding in a whirlpool of pure shit: loss, anger, fear, guilt and anything else that slammed us to the ground. We were trapped in this situation, and we had no idea what we were going to do.

With a burst of fear, Zeus let out a snarl. In his rut-induced state, his instincts had taken over, and his aura kept spiking randomly. Like this, it was harder for him to tell the difference between his dreams and what was really happening. If Apollo wasn’t soothing him, he would be running around the club, tearing open every door to find her. And there was still a chance he could go rogue again.

My rut had subsided, and Apollo trusted me to keep it together, which was the only reason I hadn't kicked off as well.

“Calm that shit down!” Arrow snapped from in front of us, pushing back against Zeus with his aura.

We were in the operation room, hidden underground in the club. It would be nice to say Michael just dealt in sex, but he had so many threads of his organisation that I didn’t want to think about the kind of influence he really had. These were rooms we’d worked in for years in all different parts of the world, carrying out his missions, most of the time not knowing what the fuck we were really doing.

Arrow and Bones ran the club and studio security teams from the room next door. This room was for particular missions, and they looked the same, no matter what country we were in.

The room was as bland as it could be—white walls, white plastic furniture, six circular lights embedded in the ceiling, highlighting every detail of the plan on the whiteboard behind Arrow.

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