Page 23 of Claimed By the Psychos

"Some people are worth saving." His blue eyes are cold as the January sky. "If you knew who you were working for, you might reconsider."

"Doubt it."

I throw everything I have into the next combination. Left hook to his liver, right cross to his jaw, knee toward his solar plexus. He blocks two out of three, but the liver shot lands clean. He doubles over, gasping.

Above us, Juniper yells "Timber!" with the kind of glee that would terrify any sane human being and more than half the animal kingdom.

The chandelier comes down like a boulder, crystal and metal and thousands of dollars of decorative excess crashing onto the big alpha. He goes down hard, trapped under the wreckage with Juniper perched on top like a conquering queen.

The silver-haired alpha tries to help his partner, but I'm already moving. I tackle him around the waist, drive him to the ground, scramble for position. He's strong, but I'm desperate. Desperation trumps training every time.

My boot finds his throat, pins him to the expensive carpet. I cock my gun, aim it at his head, watch his eyes for fear. There's none. Just resignation and something that might be disappointment.

Juniper was right. He does have kind eyes. Too bad.

"Think we've earned that vacation, haven't we, Juney?" I ask, wondering why my finger wavers slightly as it wraps around the trigger.

It's not like I feel anything as I look down at him. No satisfaction, no regret. Just the cold calculation of a job nearly finished. He's probably someone's son, someone's friend. Might even be a good man fighting for something he believes in.

Doesn't matter. He's in my way.

I start to squeeze the trigger.

"I'm afraid the trip planning will have to wait."

The voice is smooth, cultured, with that British accent that makes everything sound posh and slightly menacing. I spin, gun tracking toward the sound, and my blood turns to ice water.

The golden-haired alpha stands in the doorway, swaying slightly on his feet. The drugs are clearly affecting him—his pupils are dilated, his movements loose and uncoordinated. But he's upright, he's armed, and he's got Juniper.

His hand rests loosely around her throat, almost casual. The gun at her temple might as well be pressed against my heart. She's looking at me with wide, frightened eyes, and I can see the calculation in them. She's trying to figure out how to get free without getting shot.

My lip curls back in a snarl that feels more animal than human. "Don't hurt her."

"Put the gun down," he says, his voice dreamy but still carrying that edge of violence. The drugs haven't made him harmless. Just unpredictable.

"Felix, don't," Juniper pleads.

The big alpha gets to his feet, shaking off crystal and debris. The silver-haired one rises too, hauling his unconscious partner upright. They all draw on me, a triangle of death with me at the center.

I'm outnumbered, outgunned, and the one thing in this world that matters to me is about to get her brains splattered across expensive wallpaper.

Slowly, I lower my weapon.

The big alpha holds out his hand, stern as a disappointed father. I look at the gun in my grip, think about all the ways this could go wrong, then reluctantly pass it to him. But none of those matter if Juniper is gone.

Nothing does.

"My," the golden-haired one purrs, pressing his cheek against Juniper's like a lover, "such devotion for such a recently acquired 'asset.'"

My jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth. He's the one who called our bluff. Maybe from the beginning. "What gave it away?" I ask dryly.

"She doesn't flinch when you touch her."

Of course. The one detail I couldn't fake, couldn't plan for. Juniper's comfort with my touch, the way she melts into me instead of pulling away.

I give a bitter laugh. "That figures."

"Let her go," I say, forcing my voice to stay level. "She's an omega. She has no part in this."