Page 49 of Broken Pregnant Mate
My hand clamps over the guard’s mouth while Emin locks his arms behind him. The guard struggles, but I press my forearm against his windpipe, applying just enough pressure to cut off his air supply without crushing his throat. Ahead of us, Dorian and Oren dispatch the other guard with similar efficiency.
The guards go limp in our grip. We lower them carefully to the ground, then Dorian takes their flashlights.
“They’ll be out for about an hour,” Oren says, staring down at them with disdain. “Let’s move before their absence is noticed.”
We continue forward, more cautious now. The tunnel begins to slope upward, and stone walls replace packed earth. When we reach a heavy wooden door, Oren steps forward, fishing a key from his pocket.
As he works the lock, I notice his hands are trembling slightly. His frustration and anger are palpable now, filling the narrow space with the acrid scent of rage.
This is the first time I’ve seen him show anything more than indifference. Even his joking that day when we went on our errand together was a thousand times dimmer than this. Dorian and Emin share a look as we wait, and I wonder if I should say something, offer him some level of comfort.
But Oren doesn’t seem like the type of man who wants comfort, so I just wait and watch. A second later, the lock clicks open, and we slip into a vast wine cellar. Rows of racks hold dusty bottles, some clearly decades old. The air is cooler here, drier, smelling stale.
“The main stairs are there.” Oren points to a spiral staircase at the far end of the cellar. “They lead up to the kitchen. At this hour, it should be busy with preparations for tonight’s celebration. We can blend in with the staff.”
We move silently between the wine racks, but freeze at the sound of voices approaching from above. A door opens at the top of the stairs, and light spills down into the cellar.
“—need the ’82 Bordeaux. Alpha wants it served with the main course.”
Two staff members descend the stairs, heading directly for our position. There’s nowhere to hide without backtracking to the tunnel.
“Allof it? There are only six bottles left.”
“All of it. You heard her—”
Emin—the only one of us that might not be identified immediately—moves forward without hesitation, slipping a bottle from the wall.
“Already got it!” Emin says, holding up the bottle.
“Who the hell are you?” we hear one of them say. I can practically picture Emin’s grin.
“Alpha hired me to watch over the wine cellar. Said some bottles have been going missing…”
The two go instantly quiet, and I wonder how in the world he knew to guess at that.
“Right,” one of them says, coughing a bit. “Well, then—”
“You can head up,” Emin says. “I’ll bring it. You just tell me what the order is, to make sure nothing else goes missing, right?”
“Right.”
With that, they’re going back up the stairs, and Emin rounds the corner, popping the top off the bottle and swinging a drink back before Dorian snatches it from him, shaking his head and tucking the bottle in the back of a rack, where nobody will find it.
“How did you know to accuse them of stealing?” Oren asks, eyeing Emin.
“Easy,” Emin laughs. “Just tried to think about what I’d do if I were them, working a dead-end job for Jerrod Blacklock. I’d steal the fucker’s booze, that’s what I’d do.”
Oren makes a noise of appreciation, shaking his head, then turns and points to a window in the back of the cellar. “That’s where we go. Out that way, then we can circle in and re-enter through my old room.”
“Ooh, fun,” Emin says, the first to boost himself up on an old crate, looking for the latch on the window. “We’ll get to see your prom photos. Juicy.”
Dorian chuckles, but the humor doesn’t reach Oren. I glance at him, and we share a look.
For Dorian and Emin, this is just another event in the course of their lives. A mission to complete. The two of them will return to their lives, to their wives, after this.
But for Oren and me, everything is about to change.
Chapter 22 - Emaline
