Page 15 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
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JAVI
I’ve never considered myself a sentimental man.
I was born on the coast, and those of us from around here live and die by the law of the sea. I’ve lived in coastal cities, on islands, on ships, boats, and barges of all shapes and sizes. The Rig is no different from those places—harsh and unforgiving for the weak among us.
I’ve always been strong, so it never mattered.
Survival is simple when you don’t let yourself break.
I learned that young—too young—in the fighting pits of Miami.
There was no pack structure there, no rigid hierarchy of dominance and submission—just men with money placing bets on who would last longest in a cage soaked with blood. No one cared about designation. No one cared about bonds.
Only who could fight. And who could keep fighting, even after they lost.
I was just a kid when I got thrown into that pit, barely old enough to understand what they wanted from me. But I learned fast.
Learned how to kill before I ever learned how to kiss.
Learned how to win before I ever learned how to want.
And I learned—real fucking quick—that the world isn’t kind to those who flinch.
So I don’t.
I don’t flinch at the Rig’s stink of salt and rusted iron. I don’t flinch at the way the men here watch me, calculating, testing my worth. I don’t flinch at the caged women, at the way their eyes go dull and unfocused when they look at me, same as they do when they look at any man.
I don’t flinch at the omega I dragged here, even when she trembles in my grip like something fragile.
But something about her does bother me—she doesn’t strike me as someone with a bounty on her head.
Omegas are supposed to be weak, docile, and well-behaved. When they aren’t, they don’t make it long in our world. That’s just the way things have been ever since the Convergence. And as far as I can tell, Esther Vinton—or Peaches, if that’s really her name—is exactly as an omega should be.
Submissive. Docile. Manners like a lamb.
So why was she on the run?
And why is she being treated like a criminal?
The whole situation doesn’t sit right with me as I leave the building they call the citadel, my hands in my pockets. I feel itchy—like my skin is crawling. The wolfsbane must be wearing off as the full moon comes out, making me want to touch something soft and pretty. My wolf has half a mind to run back up those stairs and have my way with the princess in her tower, but I know I’d be in deep shit with Boyd and all these angry rednecks if I so much as stepped foot back in that place.
I have to leave her behind.
Best to put her out of my mind.
The mess hall is packed when I step inside—low-lit and loud, the air thick with sweat, cheap booze, and the unmistakable scent of bodies rutting in the open. Beta females weave throughthe crowd, some balancing trays of drinks, others perched in laps, their hands trailing along thick arms, bare chests. One is bouncing on an alpha’s cock right there in the corner, riding him like she’s done this a thousand times before, eyes unfocused, mouth slack.
Boyd’s already drinking himself stupid, hunched over the bar with half a dozen of the locals, a grin splitting his flushed face. The guy’s been my partner for just over three years, but I can’t say I particularly like him. He paid off a chunk of my fighting pit debt back in Miami, not out of kindness, but so he could own me for a while. I worked it off, paid him back in full, but by then, we were already tangled up in business together. Now we’re partners more out of convenience than anything else.
"Mr. Ortega!" he bellows, slamming his empty glass down with a too-loud thunk. He waves me over, laughing. "Come and join me for a round on these fine gentlemen."
I don’t think these gentlemen seem fine at all.
They’re alphas, most of them, though none bigger than me. They size me up the second I approach, their shoulders squaring, their postures instinctively shifting. Even here, in a room full of dominant men, I’m the one that takes up the most space—and I like it that way.
I keep my glower sharp as I walk over, my square shoulders and easy, predatory pace reminding them I won’t be fucking around tonight.
