Page 7 of Ruthlessly Mated
I don’t know what I’m going to do. Even if I don’t get caught here, I still have to get out of the port with my cargo. Goddammit. Why didn’t I pay for the seal?
I didn’t have enough money, that’s why. There’s only so much money in the world, and I only have so much of it, and it wasn’t enough.
This has got to be the worst thing that’s happened to me in a very long time. No matter if I get away or not, I’ve made an idiot of myself in front of Cyril, I’ve caused a scene in the tavern, and people will find out that it was me because smugglers and criminals gossip more than teenage girls do.
Bam!
A loud sound tells me that I made a mistake in choosing my hiding place as something impacts the side of the barrel hard, splitting it open. I spill out everywhere with the rest of the fish. The same wolf who grabbed me in the tavern snatches me up immediately. This time I am much oilier, and so much wetter. My hair is clinging to my face and my makeup is smeared. I stare at him in fear, because he is so handsome right now. So masterful. So fucking masculine. So…
“Messy little pup,” he growls at me, giving me a shake. A bit of fish falls out of my coat. “What are we going to do with you?”
They’re all here.
I look around at the three of them, well, the ones who aren’t holding me. There’s the one who has me; the tall, elegant man, who is probably going to be most off-put by my fish scent; and the dark, quiet one whose expression is entirely unreadable.
“I told you not to run,” he says. “Do you know who you’ve crossed?”
The question prompts me to respond with sass. I’m kind of glad for his tone, for the rough way he’s pissing me off, because it lets me respond in the way I usually would, when I’m not so fucking turned on I can barely stand it.
“Three big assholes who like picking on single women?”
“Wrong. On so many counts. One, you’re not a single woman. You’re not a woman. You’re a female wolf, and by the scent of you, you’re overdue for a good breeding. Two, you’re not single anymore. You belong to us. We are your mates.”
I let outrage run through me, even though I know he’s right. Every word he says is completely true. I’m theirs. I belong to all three of them. Goddamn. I’ve never been with one man before, let alone a wolf like me, let alone three, let alone three fucking alphas. They’ve all got that scent, that bearing. I wonder how they manage to stand being around one another when they’re all like that. How do they decide who is in charge? And why is it this massive beast who is holding me now?
“Belong to you? I don’t even know you!”
He leans in and runs his tongue up the side of my neck, cleaning off the fish and the water, and leaving one small part of me clean.
“That’s not how this works, and you know it. Your body is producing mating pheromones so intensely you’re lucky you don’t have all three of our cocks inside you right now.”
“Let’s get her back and contained. If she runs again, God knows what she’ll do. She’s clearly impulsive and unpredictable,” the blond interjects.
The dark-haired one still hasn’t said a word, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me. It’s unsettling. And exciting. I feel a tremor in my nether regions as I meet his gaze, then look away in an effort to stop myself from responding physically.
The man holding me shakes his head. “No. That’s letting her off far too easily. We should take her back to the tavern. Show her oily little ass off to everybody, whip her until she’s crying and promising to behave herself.”
I pull a knife out of my coat and do my best to stab the man holding me. I would be successful too, if not for the dark one darting forward and staying my hand. He gives me a slight smirk and shakes his head at me. I don’t think the big one even noticed I almost removed an organ or two.
The dark-haired man hasn’t said anything to me. He hasn’t said anything at all. The other two are all talk, but he is perfectly silent.
“What’s your name?” The blond one crouches down. “My name is Tailor. This is Conroy,” he gestures at the tall one with the curly hair and the dark plan for me. “And this is Damon.” He flickers a glance at the dark-haired one. “Worry about him more than the rest of us.”
“My name’s Kita,” I say, reluctantly introducing myself.
“I know. Your reputation precedes you.”
“You mean Cyril snitched on me and told you my name.”
We are all first names only, apparently. That’s not uncommon in the criminal underworld.
“Don’t you want to get out of those fishy clothes?” Tailor says. “I’m sure you want to get comfortable, don’t you?”
“I’m not going with you.”
That’s the wrong thing to say, because it means Conroy hefts me up and over his shoulder.
“I’m taking her in,” he says. “This is not the time for polite introductions. We have a filthy little smuggler to discipline.”
