Page 9 of Pack Obsession

Near the stairs, I press my back against the wall, each breath slow.

The voices grow clearer, and I pick out three distinct speakers. The first is gravelly and commanding, one of the two who chased me in the woods. The second carries an edge of dry intelligence, while the third holds a dangerous sort of playfulness.

"The Muso brothers sent through the plans," the intellectual one is saying. There’s a rustling of papers, the soft hum of what might be a computer screen. "Security’s tighter than it should be for a simple document retrieval."

They’re talking about breaking into a building, by the sound of it.

"Twenty grand for some paperwork to be retrieved," one of them says.

Wow, that is a lot of money for a break-in. I shift slightly, trying to hear better. Not just kidnappers but professional criminals. My chances of escape just dropped from slim to microscopic. Every exit is probably monitored, and every window is secured.

The intellectual one continues outlining their plan, talking about clean jobs and no casualties like that somehow makes them better than common thieves. Something in their manner suggests this is their usual type of work. They seem... calm.

I risk peering around the corner just enough to catch a glimpse of them gathered around what appears to be a dining table. Three Alphas, all built like they bench-press trees for fun, studying something spread out before them. My stomach clenches at the sight of sleek laptops and tablets—these aren’t just random thugs.

The one with glasses must belong to the intellectual voice. He has that tech vibe going, all quiet intensity behind his stare. His dirty blonde hair looks like he just rolled out of bed, but somehow it works for him. Probably breaks hearts at comic conventions.

The one sprawled in the chair nearby has to be Mr. Playful. There’s a dangerous grace to him even when he’s still, like a predator pretending to be tame. Dark waves fall across his forehead, and I catch myself wondering how it would feel to— Nope. Not going there.Remember the whole kidnapping thing, Case.

Then there’s the third one, all serious. He’s standing with his arms crossed, his Henley shirt pulling across his muscles that definitely weren’t built in some cushy gym. The way he scansthe screens reminds me of the special ops guys my brother used to work with. Great, because professionally trained Alpha isn’t scary enough.

Three apex predators playing at being semi-civilized. My Omega hindbrain purrs. My survival instinct screams. I tell them both to shut up and concentrate on the conversation.

"Guards in the foyer 24/7," the one wearing glasses answers. His fingers dance across a keyboard as he speaks. "Side entrance here is manned by two armed guards in constant communication with the front."

They keep talking about their plan when the phone rings. I pull back instantly to avoid being spotted.

Then, a pause.

"Julian..." The serious one answers, and his tone changes, tightens.

But my world implodes.

Did he just sayJulian?

The name slices through me. My legs forget how to hold me up, and I grip the wall so hard, my nails dig into the expensive wallpaper. Darkness edges my vision as memories I’ve tried so hard to bury, dark memories that now claw their way to the surface.

Not him. Please, not him. It must be a coincidence.

The memory crashes over me without warning.

Julian’s private room at his estate, the one with the reinforced door and soundproofed walls. The one he called his training room with that perfect white smile. His fingers trailing down my back as he circles me, each touch a promise of pain wrapped in silk.

"Such a disappointment," he whispered, selecting a thin silver blade from his collection. The metal caught the light like a star falling into darkness. "But we can fix that, can’t we, sweet girl? Make you perfect. Make you mine."

I surface from the memory, gasping silently, my heart trying to break free of my ribcage. The conversation below continues, and I force myself to focus through the roaring in my ears.

"There’s been a complication... No, we don’t have her yet," the Alpha says tightly. "With all due respect, Mr. Hayes, calling us so quickly could draw unwanted attention… That was the agreement."

Hayes.

Julian Hayes.

Bile rises in my throat as realization sets in that it is him… my ex. The psychopath I stupidly dated earlier this year, and he became obsessed. Scared me. Hurt me. Even tortured me.

Julian must have hired these men and sent them to collect me.

Fuck!

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