Page 16 of Shaken Knot Stirred

“He was dirty.”

Surprised by Helena’s comment, I encouraged her to say more.

“He was wearing one of those flashy suits. Like the hosts of Pack Me. You know, the pack dating show?” she said, speaking to me like I was dull. I had no idea what “Pack Me” was. “Dressed like he was going to a club. But, I don’t know. It looked like he slept in his clothes after running through the woods or something. His shoes were filthy.”

I was not a fashion slut like my brothers, but you couldn’t grow up in our pack without being born with an appreciation of designer goods. But knowing the brand of this prick’s suit wouldn’t get me anywhere.

“What did he look like?”

“Alpha. You all look alike,” Marty spat. Designation bigotry certainly existed, but I hadn’t pegged Marty as a beta-pride type. I knew he had grown up in a pack house and was on pretty good terms with his birth pack. But after being assaulted, I’d let the slight slide.

“He was kind of handsome, you know,” Helena said, showing off her abused wrist to fill in the blank.

“Hel!” Marty shouted, disgusted.

“What? He can be handsome and a psychopath at the same time.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Marty aggressively pushed the mop bucket to the kitchen door and kicked it open.

“He had that bad boy look. Beady eyes, square jaw. Five o’clock shadow. Oh,” she said, sitting up straight, remembering something. “He wasn’t bald. Well, not naturally bald. He shaved his head. I could see fuzz just sprouting in the back.”

By the time Marty reemerged from the kitchen, tying an apron around his waist, I had Helena go over the whole story again. The details were as thin as the first telling. I found it odd the guy had been silent the whole time. He’d just tied her up, trained a gun on Marty, and waited for Moxie.

Chapter 8

Moxie

I turned and walkedright into the gun. The muzzle nestled between my breasts.

“Use it or lose it, big guy,” I said.

Beg’s face froze.

“You, big bad alpha. Me, tiny omega, alone in the woods. If you’re not going to kill me, this is, well, overkill.” I tapped a nail on the barrel, proud that I wasn’t quaking in my sneakers. This wasn’t bravado or balls of steel; this was survival. That old adage, if you act like a victim or some shit.

Once in the car, there was no need for Beg to give me orders. I had barked them out even before the thought rose to the top of his shiny dome. He wanted his money, so I drove him right to it. It was textbook insanity to walk willingly into the woods with an armed alpha, but here we were.

“Is this a bluff?” Beg finally asked.

“No, genius. I just don’t want a gun in my back.”

“Where’s my money?” he asked for the thousandth time.

“I told you. Buried. Are you dumb enough to think I’d walk us into the woods with no witnesses for no good reason?” My intelligence was debatable at this point, but what Beg’s aura was conveying was more interesting.

Once I knew what someone was sensitive about—their points of pride or concern—I had them. I’d know which buttons to push, and I could tap dance on them to get what I wanted.

I put my hands on my hips and looked pointedly at the gun with a raised eyebrow. If we weren’t ankle-deep in dead leaves, I might even have tapped my toe to show my impatience.

I made a disgusted noise and turned my back on him. That was a risky move with alphas, but fear was impairing my good decision-making abilities, if I ever had any.

I used all my will to keep my arms loose at my sides. Even if Beg was dumb, he’d still pick up on body language. So that ruled out hugging myself. I desperately wanted to look back and see if he’d put the gun away, but I kept walking straight.

I paused before the dead tree. It looked like it had been hit by lightning or something. It was spooky as shit, all spindly and blackened. I kicked some leaves and debris free at the base and made a “well, here you go” gesture to Beg.

He looked down. His gun was still in his hand but lowered to his side.

“What the fuck is that?” He took a step back, horrified.

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