Page 34 of Claimed By the Psychos

"Someone wanted us dead," Bane continues, ignoring the byplay. "Someone with resources and connections. We need to know who."

"Get in line," I tell him. "We make it a point to know as little about our clients as possible, and half the criminal underworld wants you dead. You're not exactly subtle in your operations."

"Neither are you, apparently." Archer speaks for the first time, his voice mild. "The Tucson job was yours, wasn't it? Senator Fairview?"

Juniper goes still beside me. I keep my expression neutral, but internally I'm calculating exit strategies. They know too much. This is going to end badly.

"Never heard of it," I say.

They clearly know it's bullshit.

"Here's what's going to happen," Bane says, using his tough voice. "You're going to stay here as our guests?—"

"Prisoners," I correct.

"Guests," he insists, "until we figure out who's targeting us and why. You'll have freedom of movement within reason, access to food and medical care, and we won't harm you as long as you don't try to harm us."

"And if we refuse?"

"Then you stay here anyway, just with less pleasant accommodations."

Juniper snorts. "So our choices are minimum security prison or maximum security prison. How generous."

"It's better than a bullet to the head," the golden-haired alpha points out cheerfully. "Which is what you'd get from anyone else in our position."

He's not wrong. Any other crew would have executed us on sight. The fact that we're having this conversation at all is bizarre. There's something else going on here, something they're not telling us.

"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious now. "Why keep us alive?"

They exchange glances, some kind of silent communication that speaks to years of working together. Finally, Bane shrugs.

"Call it professional curiosity. An omega and an alpha who work as equals, taking down high-profile targets with barely a trace? You're either the best partnership we've ever seen, or there's more to the story."

There's definitely more to the story, but they don't need to know that.

"Fine," I say, too tired to argue. "We'll play your game. For now."

"Excellent." The doctor stands, gathering his tablet. "I'll have food sent up. Real food, not just coffee and sugar packets."

"Sugar packets are food," Juniper protests, but she's already eyeing the door like she's planning our escape.

They file out one by one, but Jackal pauses at the door, those blue eyes finding mine with unnerving intensity.

"Try not to make any sudden movements. Those stitches are fresh."

It's a warning with a double meaning, and we both know it. Like Juniper said, they're watching.

He leaves, and I finally let myself breathe. Juniper immediately curls back against me, her body a warm weight that grounds me in the present.

"He knows something," she whispers.

"Maybe. Doesn't matter." I press my lips to her hair, inhaling her scent. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

"Felix?" Her voice is small, uncertain. "They're… different. From our usual targets. Why?"

It's a question I've been avoiding since I woke up. These alphas who kept us alive when they had every reason to kill us. They're not the monsters we expected. In this world, even the so-called heroes are usually just tyrants by another name. If people end up on our list, they deserve it.

Usually.