Page 16 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“What’s it to you?” I managed, straightening with effort. “Planning to send a get-well card? ‘Sorry your biology is torturing you while we watch. Best wishes, The Alphas Who Could Help But Won’t.’”
“Planning to avoid a corpse in our room,” he countered bluntly, though his eyes never left mine, the intensity in them belying his casual tone. “Heat toxicity is no joke, omega. Even we know that.”
I blinked, surprised by what almost sounded like concern. “I’ll be fine. I’ve survived worse. This one time, I had to sit through an entire movie marathon. Now that was torture.”
“Will you?” Mr. Enigma asked, his tone softer than I’d heard before. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the position making the muscles in his arms stand out in sharp relief. “Your scent says otherwise. It’s intense. More so than any omega I’ve encountered.” His nostrils flared again as he breathed me in.
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fire raging through my veins and the weight of their gazes on my skin. “Lucky me. I get all the fun omega traits. Extra strong heats, extra strong scent, extra strong cramps. The omega trifecta of misery. If they gave out prizes for biological suffering, I’d be taking home the gold medal.”
Mr. Storm was watching me with unsettling intensity, his eyes tracking every minute shift in my expression. The silencehe maintained somehow made his attention more potent, more focused. His eyes narrowed fractionally. “Different,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Did I grow a second head? Because that would explain the double migraines I’ve been having.”
Before he could answer, Mr. Iceflare cut in, the bed creaking slightly as he shifted position to face me more fully. “It means we might be able to come to an arrangement, little mouse.”
I eyed him suspiciously, trying not to be distracted by the way the movement had caused the sheet to slip even lower, revealing the sharp V of muscle disappearing beneath the fabric. Focus, Ty. Eyes up. This isn’t the time to be admiring the scenery, no matter how scenic it might be.
“What kind of arrangement?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest in what I hoped was a defensive rather than desperate posture. “Because if it involves me, you, and a turkey baster, I’m going to have to pass.”
“A mutually beneficial one,” he said, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate through my bones. He patted the edge of his bed, the invitation clear. “You keep our little secret, that we’re not as incapacitated as we appear, and in return…”
“In return?” I prompted when he trailed off meaningfully, my pulse quickening despite my better judgment.
His smile was slow and predatory, revealing white teeth that I couldn’t help but imagine against my skin. “In return, we might help ease your discomfort. To a degree.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I was mortified to feel another rush of wetness between my thighs. From the way all three alphas inhaled sharply, I knew they could smell it. Subtle as a foghorn, that’s me. “What exactly does that mean? Because there are degrees of ‘easing discomfort,’ and they range from ‘aspirin for a headache’ to ‘full-on knot party,’ and I’m guessing you’re not offering the latter.”
“It means,” Mr. Enigma interjected, his green eyes gleaming as he watched the exchange with barely concealed hunger, “that while we won’t give De Luca what he wants, won’t give you what you ultimately need, we might be persuaded to take the edge off.”
Another cramp hit me, and this time I couldn’t hide my reaction. I gasped, my knees nearly buckling as heat flooded my core. The thin silk robe suddenly felt suffocating against my hypersensitive skin, every brush of fabric a torturous caress. My body was officially staging a coup against my brain.
“Why would you do that?” I asked, genuinely confused. “Yesterday you were threatening to hunt me down and make me regret being born. That’s quite the mood swing, even for alphas.”
“Oh, we still plan to do that,” Mr. Iceflare assured me, though the menace in his voice was tempered with something darker, more sensual. His eyes tracked my every movement, lingering on the places where my robe clung to my sweat-dampened skin. “But in the meantime, we find ourselves curious.”
“Curious,” I repeated flatly, though my voice betrayed me with a slight quaver. “Like scientists observing a lab rat? Or more like cats playing with their food before they eat it?”
Unlike the others, who made no attempt to hide their reactions, Mr. Storm’s control was unnerving, only the rapid pulse visible at his throat and the darkness of his eyes betraying his response to my scent. His gaze locked with mine. “Someone breaks,” he said, the quiet statement more ominous than any elaborate explanation.
“This isn’t a game to me,” I said, anger flaring through the haze of heat. “This is my father’s life. This is my life. Some of us don’t have the luxury of treating torture and forced breeding as an amusing diversion.”
“Everything’s a game, little mouse,” Mr. Enigma said with a casual shrug that did nothing to disguise the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Some just have higher stakes than others.”
I stared at them, trying to understand their angle. They were offering to help me, sort of, while still maintaining their resistance to De Luca’s ultimate goal. It made no sense unless…
“You’re bored,” I realized suddenly. “This is entertainment for you while you gather your intelligence or whatever. I’m just a diversion. The omega equivalent of a sudoku puzzle to pass the time while you’re being held captive.”
Mr. Iceflare’s smile was neither confirmation nor denial, but the heat in his gaze as it trailed over my body was unmistakable. “Does it matter why, if you get what you need?”
Another wave of heat washed over me, this one strong enough to make me sway on my feet. The emptiness inside me was becoming unbearable, a physical ache that clawed at my sanity. The alphas’ combined scents filled the air, permeating every breath I took, calling to something primal inside me that recognized them as the solution to my suffering.
“What exactly are you offering?” I asked, hating the desperation in my voice but unable to hide it. “A handshake? A pat on the back? A strongly worded letter of support?”
Mr. Iceflare’s eyes darkened further, midnight blue swallowing the ice. He shifted, making room on the bed beside him. “Come here and find out.”
It was a terrible idea. These men had threatened me. Had promised retribution once they were free. Had made it clear they viewed me as complicit in their captivity. Walking over there would be like sticking my head in a lion’s mouth and tickling its tonsils.
But my body didn’t care about any of that. It recognized alpha—three powerful, virile alphas—and it wanted relief like a drowning man wants air.
