Page 136 of Psycho Alphas: Part One

To own.

Without a thought for what it would mean for her.

Except she’d seen that cruelty before. It left her with jagged shards of should-have-beens and dreams she barely dared whisper, clutching close a ragged Bunny made of stitches as if without it her own might come undone.

And somewhere down the line, stupidly, impossibly, I’d decided I wanted to be the one to begin sewing patches back on so she might have a chance to breathe again.

But if I bit her, I couldn’t be that person.

Because I couldn’t be in a pack with Rogue, and I thought he might be one of those patches she needed so desperately, too.

One day, she’d have to choose.

I shut my eyes, arms winding around her frame, a low growl of a claim in my chest I knew would make her melt.

One day, but not tonight.

Tonight, she was here, holding me close, and banishing every last nightmare.

THIRTY-FOUR

KNOX

“You want me to erase all traces of Thistle Maverick from their databases?” Doyle’s voice was utterly shocked.

“We’re not talking about a different Thistle Maverick, right? We’re talking about an Omega who chopped up Ace Maverick himself?”

I was seated in a twenty-four-hour diner across from Doyle, the retired detective who coordinated my work with the authorities. Neon signs and scattered table lamps threw warmth on red vinyl booths and chrome countertops. Around us was a buzz of late-night patrons chatting, and the smell of burnt coffee and fries filled the air.

I scowled, my eyes darting to the side as the old jukebox began a loud rock song. “I need it done.”

“Do you know how stupid this is?” he demanded.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to ground myself.

I was falling apart at the seams.

She had mounted me when we’d woken this morning and told me she desperately needed me to let Rogue out of his cage—right after she’d sunk her tight little cunt over my cock. Then she’d pulled back just when I was on the edge of climax, giving me a bratty, doe-eyed look.

I’d fucking caved, shooting a text off to the misfits’ chat to let him out when one of them was up and about.

Then I’d fucked her into the sheets until she was shivering and three orgasms deep.

She’d spent the rest of the day working on her first sketch, adding a downpour of rain over the craggy landscape, focused on the little details.

It was now nine in the evening, which was when Doyle was available for a meetup, and she was fast asleep in my bed, Bunny and sketchbook cuddled close by the time I snuck out.

It had sealed the deal.

“Can’t we do a massive data wipe?” I asked Doyle. “So, she isn’t singled out?”

I needed an exit plan for her—and that meant I wanted her records wiped. The Ring kept records, took blood and prints. It was intimidation—so those they caught knew they couldn’t ever really escape. It was also so they knew who’d bought whom, and could tell if there was a leak.

One of the first things Doyle had done when I got in contact with him was try and wipe mine. Odd thing was, I had already been removed.

“The moment they realise I’ve got someone in their server, it’s gone. Do you know how long it took us to get this far?”

“You fucking owe me!” I hissed.

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