Page 8 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
Then, lower, rougher—like the words were torn out of him against his will:
“Never smelled anything like her before.”
A pause.
“Like…fruit or something.”
A shiver runs through me.
Not just from his voice—from the truth in it.
No.
No, no, no, no?—
Because this isn’t just heat. This isn’t just instinct.
This is him.
Something in my chest squeezes, a terrible, bone-deep knowing that makes my breath turn shallow, makes my body burn hotter just from the way he said it. Javi, the man who captured me, the man who is taking me back to my father to be caged like an animal…there’s a connection between us I can’t deny.
Boyd snorts. “Yeah, I figured—never seen you lose control, even though you’re a damn brute when you want to be.”
Footsteps sound, moving away from me. “Hey—lights ahead,” Javi’s voice comes from far away. “Is that it?”
“Let me hail them,” Boyd replies. A click sounds from behind me—the ship’s floodlights, if I had to guess. A moment later, light flashes behind the fabric of my hood, a pattern I recognize.
They’re telling us we have permission to dock.
Panic surges in my chest, shoving everything else aside—even the unbearable, maddening heat curling under my skin. I jerk against the ropes, twisting hard, my nails scraping uselesslyagainst the fibers. I should have done this a long time ago. I should have fought harder. Bitten. Clawed. Something.
I’m too far from Austin now. Too far from Tilda, from Reyes, from anyone who might come for me.
And I’m about to go home.
Except—home isn’t what’s waiting for me.
Last time I was on the Rig, my father tried to kill me. After, I helped at least fifteen women escape from him.
I don’t know what he’ll do now.
But I know it will be worse.
My pulse slams against my ribs. I arch against the ropes again, shifting my weight, testing how much movement I have. Not much. Not enough. The boat rocks, and the motion sends a sharp realization slicing through me.
I could fling myself into the water.
I could drag myself to the edge, roll my body overboard, let the ocean swallow me instead of my father.
Salt and waves instead of chains and cages.
I suck in a breath, choking on the gag.
Dying in the Gulf wouldn’t be quick. It wouldn’t be kind. But drowning might be better than what Gideon Vinton has planned for me.
I shift again, feeling out the distance, measuring my odds. I just need to get free enough to roll. Just a little more?—
“Hey!” Boyd snaps. “She’s squirming.”
