Page 117 of Psycho Alphas: Part Two

“Huh.” From the corner of my eye, I saw the bastard’s pupils dilate. “I’ll have to attend. Watching will help me take it much more seriously the next time I get you in trouble.”

“Alpha!”

Rogue was unphased as he dragged Thistle closer, easily capturing her whole waist with his hands as he pressed his lips to her neck—words once more just for her, and for me. “Tonight is mine, Kitten. I have a few years’ worth of payback to cram into hours.”

Thistle pulled back, her eyes dazed as she got lost in his gaze. Finally, she shot me a guilty glance and a shrug as if to say ‘I tried’. But then she broke our gaze as Ace beckoned her back to his side.

“You won’t attend shit,” I breathed once she was gone.

Rogue just chuckled. “Decor, remember, Mutt? Don’t break those rules you set. Now…” He cleared his throat, voice a normal volume. “Get me a drink.”

I didn’t move, eye twitching at the order. The stares of the others in this place felt like lasers, all watching with unquenchable curiosity.

I don’t know if they knew what to make of it, but enough hated me that I could feel the satisfaction emanating from some as I battled with the order.

“Get me a drink.” Rogue said it slower this time, challenge in his eyes as he watched me.

I don’t know how it happened—or how a man of Rogue’s size could move as quickly as he did—but in a blink, I felt my head, and muzzle, smash against the marble. Rogue had his fist on the side of the bars and was crushing me against the floor.

I shoved up, unable to control my furious growl, but he was too heavy.

Carefully, he let go of the muzzle, managing to get to his feet while still trapping the chain beneath his boot, keeping me in place. I grabbed at it, twisting to get away, but not before pain shot through my stomach as he kicked me.

I groaned, winded, chest seizing up.

“So fucking disobedient.” I could just see him, looming over me, half a grin on his face as he watched me catch my breath.

“Alpha…” I blinked at the sound of Thistle’s voice. She was saying something, but I could barely hear it through the ringing in my ears. “…Break him too much and I can’t play with him later…”

I heard Rogue chuckle, then he dropped back down into his seat, boot releasing my chain as Thistle clambered onto his lap for a kiss. For a moment as she twisted around, her violet eyes met mine, a little too proud of herself. She bit her lip as if shecould see the calculation in my eyes, then gave Rogue another nip on the neck.

Brat.

I managed to drag myself to my feet, a lingering snarl on my face as I turned and made for the table of drinks before he could do anything else.

I jumped at a tug on the loose chain hanging from my muzzle, only to turn and find she’d hurried after me. She was winding the chain around her fist, accompanying me to the drinks table.

I glanced back at the others. Ace was shooting us a quick look, but he didn’t seem surprised.

“Help me pick a drink!” She was all but hanging from the chain as she looked up at me.

Uh… Could this be part of our act?

But it wasn’t as if Bella didn’t know that she wanted me—and I’d bitten into her pack in order to keep Thistle safe. We were getting some curious glances as Thistle began tugging the chain, hustling us toward the table. Actually, it probably just added to the image. I wasn’t just Rogue’s; I was beneath even the Omega they’d seen auctioned just weeks ago.

And… Well, I’d balked at the idea of wearing a muzzle since the moment it had been spoken aloud. But watching Thistle curl my chain around her dainty little hand in front of an audience… I waspossiblynot against all forms of humiliation.

She really upped the act as we reached the table of drinks, clambering right up onto my back, fingers gripping the corner of the muzzle to get herself adjusted. I almost snorted, but managed to catch myself.

Thatwouldruin the image.

Thistle proceeded to direct me in making a very precise kind of cocktail for her.

“Where did you learn this much about drinks?” I muttered after she’d flicked me in the ear for pouring just a tad too much orange in her margarita.

“Dumb Dan and his stupid pack always had me on drinks at the bar,” she said. “But I’ve never had no one make one for—Oh my god!” She squeaked, and before I knew it, her weight was shifting on my back as she leaned to the side.

I turned, trying to see what had caught her attention. She was reaching over to one of the white-clad servers, who was setting a glass down beside us.