Page 71 of Claimed By the Psychos

We move into position with the practiced ease of men who've done this dance a hundred times. Bane takes point, because he always does, the mountain of muscle and rage that makes enemies piss themselves. Elias falls into the middle, supposedly for medical support but really because he's deadly accurate with that rifle when he needs to be. And I bring up the rear, the shadow with too many knives and not enough care. Even if that's changing by the minute.

The breach is textbook. Bane kicks the door off its hinges—literally, the thing goes flying like a very rusty frisbee—and we flow in like water finding cracks. The first three guards don't even have time to reach for their weapons before my knives find their throats. Beautiful, synchronous, arterial spray painting the walls in patterns that would make Jackson Pollock weep with envy.

"Clear left," I report, stepping over a body that's still twitching.

"Clear right," Bane growls, his rifle smoking.

We move deeper into the warehouse, a well-oiled machine of death and professional courtesy. This is what we're good at, what we were made for. Not the complicated emotional calculus of scent matches and omega dynamics, but the simple arithmetic of violence. One bullet plus one brain equals one less drug dealer.

And every body that falls takes me further away from wanting to put a bullet in Elias' skull for touching what's mine. Even if she doesn't know it yet.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

JUNIPER

Moving day.

The words bounce around my skull like pinballs while I watch these alphas bustle around with boxes and tactical gear like we're evacuating from a war zone instead of relocating to what Carlisle keeps calling "more suitable accommodations." Whatever the fuck that means in rich psychopath speak.

Felix sits beside me on the couch, pretending to read but really observing every movement, every exit, every potential weapon. I can tell by the way his fingers tap against his thigh—three short, three long, three short. S.O.S. in Morse code. Our little inside joke that's not really a joke.

"Right," Bane announces, clapping his massive hands together like he's about to brief us on invading a small country. "Here's how this is going to work."

"Let me guess," I interrupt, because his serious face makes me want to poke at him like a bear in a zoo. "We're getting stuffed in the trunk like good little hostages?"

Carlisle's laugh cuts through the room, sharp and delighted. "Oh little hellcat, we'd never put you in the trunk. That's where we keep the bodies."

"Carlisle." Elias's warning tone suggests this isn't the first time they've had this conversation.

"What? I'm joking." Carlisle examines his nails with studied innocence. "Mostly."

Bane looks like he's developing an ulcer in real time. "As I was saying, for security reasons, you'll need to be blindfolded during certain points of transport."

I gasp, pressing my hand to my chest in mock horror. "Blindfolded? What, you don't trust us?" I turn the full force of my puppy dog eyes on them, the ones that used to get Felix to buy me ice cream even when we were broke. My bottom lip trembles just a little.

Archer actually takes a step back, his face cycling through about twelve different emotions. Bane's scarred jaw works like he's chewing glass.

The silence stretches for about three seconds before I burst into cackles, doubling over with the force of my laughter. "Holy shit, your faces! You'd think I just asked you to donate a kidney!"

"She's joking," Felix says flatly, not looking up from his book. "She does that."

"Frequently," I add, wiping tears from my eyes. "You're all so fucking easy to mess with. Big bad alphas afraid of hurting the poor little omega's feelings like I wouldn't have killed you all in cold blood a week ago."

"You did try," Elias says flatly.

"You're a menace," Bane mutters, but there's something that might be fondness lurking beneath the exasperation.

"The blindfolds are non-negotiable," Elias says, ever the practical one. "It's for everyone's protection, including yours."

"Kinky." I waggle my eyebrows at him, just to watch him flush. "Is this where you tell me you've got a whole dungeon set up at the new place?"

"Juniper." Felix's voice carries that particular note of 'please stop traumatizing the alphas,' but I can see him fighting a smile.

Twenty minutes later, we're walking across the tarmac toward a plane that looks like it costs more than this entire compound. The blindfolds dangle from Carlisle's fingers like promises of either adventure or murder. Possibly both.

"Who wants to go first?" he asks, twirling them with unnecessary flair.