Page 2 of Mating Mia (The Alphas’ Perfect Prey #2)

two

. . .

Mia

I open my eyes- my body cold and shivering.

My head throbs, a dull ache that intensifies when I finally manage to crack open my eyes. Darkness greets me, broken only by thin shafts of light filtering through what appears to be bars. My heart stutters in my chest as reality crashes over me.

I’m in a cell. A prison cell. Oh god.

The memory of being grabbed outside the bathroom, of struggling against iron-strong hands, flashes through my mind.

I push myself up slowly, wincing as my palms press against the rough concrete floor. My entire body aches, especially my temple where that bastard hit me. I touch the spot gingerly, feeling dried blood crusted in my hair.

“Kane,” I whisper. My voice sounds strange, hoarse, as if I’ve been screaming. Maybe I have. I can’t remember everything that happened after being forced into that car.

Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself, only now realizing that I’m still wearing my dinner outfit, a silky blouse and skirt that offer practically no protection against the chill. My feet are bare, my shoes lost in the struggle or removed by my captors.

I curl my toes against the cold concrete, trying to generate even the smallest bit of warmth.

The cell is small, maybe eight by ten feet. Bare concrete walls, floor, and ceiling. No bed, no toilet, just a metal bucket in the corner that makes my stomach turn. The only light comes from a dim bulb in the hallway outside my cell, casting long shadows through the bars.

I force myself to stand on shaky legs, needing to explore my surroundings, to look for any possible way out. The moment I’m upright, a wave of nausea rolls through me, reminding me of my condition.

The baby.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, as I place my hand over my belly. “We’re going to be okay.”

But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. Nothing about this situation is okay. I’ve been kidnapped by strangers, locked in a cell, separated from my alphas. My body already aches with their absence, the bond between us stretched thin and painful.

I move to the bars, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal and peering into the dim hallway. More cells line the opposite wall.

“Hello?” I call softly, not expecting an answer but needing to break the terrible silence. “Is anyone there?”

Nothing. Not even a guard. I’m alone in this nightmare.

I rest my forehead against the bars, fighting back tears. Crying won’t help. I need to think, to plan, to figure out where I am and how to escape. Kane, Jace, and Finn will be looking for me. I know they will.

I just need to stay alive and unharmed until they find me.

A soft sound from my right catches my attention. There’s a shifting sound, a whisper of movement. Maybe I’m not alone after all.

Someone is in the cell next to mine.

“Hello?” I try again, moving to the right-hand wall of my cell, pressing my ear against the rough concrete. “Is someone there?”

A rasping breath. Then a dry voice croaks out, “Can’t be... not possible…”

The voice is male, frail with age or illness.

“Who are you?” I ask, scanning the wall between us. Near the floor, I spot a crack where the concrete has begun to crumble, creating a small gap between our cells. I drop to my knees, ignoring the pain as they hit the hard floor, and press my eye to the opening.

At first, I can’t make out anything in the darkness of the neighboring cell. Then my eyes adjust, and I have to hold back a gasp.

A man hangs suspended from the wall, heavy chains wrapped around his wrists, holding him in a half-standing position that must be agonizing.

He’s emaciated, his body so thin I can count each rib beneath the tattered remains of what might once have been a shirt.

His hair hangs in gray, stringy clumps around a face that’s all sharp angles and hollow cheeks.

His nose, once probably strong and straight, now looks too large for his gaunt face, hooked and prominent.

But it’s his eyes that hold me frozen, pale green eyes that seem to glow with discovery. Eyes that stare at me with a mixture of disbelief and something that looks disturbingly like recognition.

“My pup,” he whispers, the words barely audible. “My little pup. You, omega.”

I jerk back from the crack, my heart hammering against my ribs. What did he just say? My pup? Is he delirious, confused? Maybe he’s been here so long he’s lost his mind.

“I think you’re mistaken,” I say, but curiosity pulls me back to the crack. “I don’t know you.”

A sound escapes him—it might be a laugh or a sob, I can’t tell.

“No,” he agrees, his voice a little stronger now. “You wouldn’t. You weren’t born yet when she ran and took you away.”

“What are you talking about?” I demand, fear making my voice sharper than I intended. “Who took me away? Who are you?”

He shifts slightly, chains clanking as he tries to move closer to the wall separating us. I can see his face more clearly now, the deep lines etched around his mouth, the scars that crisscross his neck and disappear beneath his ragged collar.

“Your mother,” he says. “She fled when she was pregnant with you.”

“My mother gave me up for adoption,” I say automatically, reciting the story I’ve been told my whole life. “She was young, couldn’t care for me.”

The man’s lips twist in what might be a smile.

“Is that what they told you?” He shakes his head slowly.

My head spins with this new information, with the implications of what he’s saying. “And you? Who are you supposed to be?”

“Your father.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I sit back on my heels, my mind reeling. This broken, chained man claims to be my father? It’s absurd, impossible. My father was never in the picture—that’s what my adoptive parents always told me.

He wasn’t interested in being a parent. He abandoned my mother before I was born.

“That’s... that’s not possible,” I stammer. “My father left before I was born. He didn’t want me.”

“Is that what you believe? That I didn’t want you?” He shakes his head, chains rattling with the movement. “Little pup, the only thing that’s kept me alive is the hope of finding you and your mother again.”

I press my hand against my mouth, trying to process what he’s saying. It can’t be true. It can’t. But why would he lie? What could he possibly gain by claiming to be my father?

And then there’s his scent.

Now that I’m paying attention to it, there’s something familiar about it, something that calls to some deep, primal part of me.

It’s earthy and warm, like sun-baked soil after rain, with hints of pine and something metallic that might be blood.

It makes me feel safe, in some way. Protected.

Even though he’s clearly in no position to protect anyone, least of all himself.

“If you’re my father,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “then what’s your name? What’s my mother’s name? Where was I born?”

“My name is Liam,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine. “Your mother’s name is Sarah. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to witness the birth. We were under attack from Orion and his pack. They took me prisoner and killed Ezra and Theo, your two other fathers. I never found out what happened to Sarah.”

“This is insane,” I whisper, more to myself than to Liam. “How can this be happening? How can you be my father?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just watches me with those pale green eyes.

“Blood recognizes blood,” he finally says. “Scent recognizes scent. You feel it, don’t you? Something familiar. Did your mother name you Mia?”

“Yes,” I say, feeling the connection. Despite the circumstances, even though we’re both prisoners, despite the impossibility of his story, something in me recognizes something in him.

“I don’t understand any of this,” I admit, my voice small and lost in the darkness between us. “If you’re my father... if everything you’re saying is true... how did you end up here? Why are you chained like this?”

Liam’s face twists with a pain that goes beyond the physical.

“That,” he says, “is a very long story. One I’m not sure we have time for right now.” He shifts, wincing as the movement pulls at his chained wrists.

“Careful,” I say. But suddenly a sound echoes down the hallway, footsteps, multiple sets, growing louder with each second and coming toward us.

“They’re coming,” Liam hisses, suddenly urgent. “Listen to me. Whatever happens, whatever they do to me, don’t react. Don’t show emotion. Don’t give them anything they can use against you.”

“What are they going to do?” I ask, fear making my voice thin.

“Whatever they think will make me talk. But I’ve endured twenty-three years of their hospitality. I can endure a little more,” he smiles with all teeth and without any warmth.

The footsteps are almost upon us now. I scramble back from the crack in the wall, my mind spinning with too many revelations, too many questions.

My father. This broken, chained man is my father. And whatever is about to happen, I have a terrible feeling it’s going to get much worse before it gets better.

The crash of the main door flies open, and three figures appear—two hulking men flanking a woman whose silhouette I recognize instantly.

It’s her. The omega from the restaurant bathroom with the bitter coffee scent and sleek black hair.

The one who smiled at me with those blood-red lips right before I was taken.

“Well, well,” she purrs, stopping directly in front of my cell. “Our guest of honor is finally awake. Did you enjoy your little nap, princess?”

I say nothing, keeping my back pressed against the wall. She’s dressed differently now—black pants and a fitted jacket that emphasizes her slender waist, hair pulled back in a severe ponytail that highlights the sharp angles of her face.

Her dark eyes assess me coldly, lingering on my stomach where my hand still rests protectively.

“Don’t worry about the pup,” she says, noticing my gesture. “We have every intention of keeping it healthy because it will be mine.”

“No, it won’t!” I scream, my heart racing.