Page 24 of Stalked By the Alphas

23

ZACH

The phone is clutched in my hand as I stare longingly at the video of me fucking Hazel two days ago. It’s so wrong, in every single way, and yet it felt perfect. Natural. Real. I stifle a groan as I close my eyes and remember my cock sliding into her warm, wet pussy. It was nothing short of heaven. Wishing we could go back, I know that we can’t. We pushed our luck by going back a second time.

I can’t tear my eyes away from the screen, reliving every moment of our encounter with her. The way her body responded to us, even in her heat-addled state, was intoxicating. I zoom in on her face, capturing every nuance of pleasure and confusion that flitted across her features.

“Zach!” Noah calls up the stairs. “Get down here.”

Reluctantly, I lock the phone and pocket it, rising from my position slumped against the wall. Taking the stairs quickly, I am greeted by a sight that the worst devil inside me responds to with enthusiasm.

Carter is standing there with chains and handcuffs in his arms while Noah unlocks the door under the stairs that leads to the cellar in this old Victorian terraced house.

“Are we really doing this?” I croak as Noah shoves the door open.

The scent of damp fills my nostrils as Noah reaches in to flick a light on. We move into the space under the stairs wordlessly. My question was rhetorical, so an answer isn’t needed. We are doing this, and it’s happening now. The bare bulb swings above us as we brush past it. We are all well over six feet tall, so we have to duck to pass through the doorway that leads to the dank cellar. “Have you ever been down here?” I mutter to Carter.

“No. You scared, Zach?” He jibes, and I give him the finger, even though he can’t see me as he walks down the stairs in front of me.

The cellar is larger than I expected, stretching out beneath the entire footprint of the house. The bare concrete walls are damp with condensation, and the air is thick and musty. A single bare bulb casts harsh shadows across the space.

Carter dumps the chains and cuffs on the floor with a metallic clatter. “We need to secure these to the walls,” he says, his voice echoing slightly. “Make sure they’re solid. ”

Noah nods, already examining the walls for the sturdiest points.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. This is really happening. We’re creating a prison for Hazel. A sick thrill runs through me, even as my conscience prickles uneasily.

“Zach, start clearing out this junk,” Carter orders, gesturing to the assorted boxes and old furniture scattered around. “We need space to work.”

I nod mutely and get to work, hauling musty cardboard boxes up the stairs. As I work, I hear the clink of metal and the grinding of power tools as Carter and Noah begin attaching the restraints to the walls.

“Hey, did you know there is an old bed down here?” I ask, finding it under a broken-down cupboard and some other bits and pieces. An old mannequin with no head, draped in a purple shirt gives me the creeps, and I wonder if we should put it in the corner to unsettle Hazel even more. I lift it up and move it to one side.

“Drag it over here,” Carter says.

Noah crosses over to help me drag the small metal-framed bed with the dingy mattress over to the far side of the cellar.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Carter says, giving it the side-eye. “After one night on that, Hazel will be begging us to take her upstairs and claim her.”

“We hope,” I mutter.

Carter claps me on the shoulder. “Have faith, Zach. This is all going to work out. ”

I nod, but the doubt clawing at me is hard to ignore. Carter seems so sure of his emotions, his plans, but I’m like Captain fucking Flip Flop. I can’t settle on what I want or how I feel. I think it might be time to start my meds again, but they make me drowsy, and the brain fog is unbearable. My guts twist as the memories of why I am this way flood my mind. The nightly beatings, the sexual abuse, the pain and humiliation of being my dad’s whipping boy. I absently run my fingers over the line of cigarette burns that runs across the top of my back, shoulder to shoulder. I can’t seem to shake off the memories as easily this time, but I force myself to focus on the task at hand.

As we transform the cellar into a prison, I can’t shake the growing unease in my gut. This is crossing a line we can’t come back from. But then I think of Hazel - her soft skin, her breathy moans as we took her during her heat. The need to possess her, to keep her, overrides my doubts.

“What about food? Water?” I ask, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

“We’ll bring her what she needs,” Carter replies dismissively. “She’ll be completely dependent on us. That’s the point.”

Noah adds, “We’ll need to establish a routine. Regular meals and bathroom breaks. It’s important to maintain structure.”

“The only thing we don’t want her to get used to is who will be coming for her,” Carter says .

I nod, feeling my insides shudder, but then I remember my cock inside her, and I shake it off. This is how it has to be. Hazel left us, cut us from her life and now she will be punished.