Page 3 of The Forgery Mate (Taken by His Alpha #6)

C old, stale air brushes my face, reminding me of the inside of an old safe. I hesitate at the threshold, the weight of the art tube at my spine a reminder of what I’ve already risked tonight.

What I stand to lose if I’m caught.

Five more seconds, I promise myself. Just a quick peek.

The gap is wide enough for me to slip through, and recessed lighting flickers to life, triggered by the motion.

I freeze, cataloging potential exits, hiding spots, and threats with the automatic assessment that’s kept me out of jail for fifteen years in this business.

The room isn’t large, perhaps twenty feet square, with temperature and humidity control. A proper conservation space. The walls are bare concrete rather than the plaster and paint of the salon behind me, and the air holds the particular emptiness that comes from too much soundproofing.

A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the temperature.

People don’t use this level of soundproofing to keep noise out. They use it to keep sound from escaping.

Wood crates hide what I can only assume are more precious artworks, and my fingers itch for a crowbar to crack them open and discover the secrets they hide. I take a few steps farther into the room, and sleek metal bars come into view, poking out from behind a flat crate taller than I stand.

My pulse quickens as I look back at the cracked opening in the wall, weighing the guaranteed route to freedom if I make my escape now against the adrenaline rush if I stay to explore. But then a moan fills the room, unmistakably human, and my stomach drops.

Turning back, I hurry forward, the cage coming into view. Its sleek metal bars gleam under the cold lights, polished to a high shine. Another piece of artwork. A display case. A trophy meant to be admired.

For a moment, my brain refuses to process the huddled figure inside, knees drawn to chest, head resting on folded arms.

Then the figure lifts his face, and the floor tilts beneath me.

Jade Bustly stares back at me, his usual swagger replaced by hollow-eyed fatigue.

His bleached blond hair is longer than the last time I saw him, with dark roots at his scalp, and his sharp features are made sharper by starvation.

A bruise blooms across his left cheekbone, purple fading to sickly yellow at the edges.

“Who the fuck are you?” His voice cracks from disuse, but the hostility is unmistakable.

I stand frozen, processing this unexpected variable.

Jade Bustly belongs to the Rockford household, the cocky son of the frightful housekeeper who runs the manor and instills fear in the powerful Alphas. We had played chess together, and he had modeled for me.

And he has no idea who I am.

“I said, who the fuck are you?” He straightens in the cage, fingers curling around the bars, and he studies my face. “You with these assholes?”

I should leave. Right now. My job is done, the painting I came for secured, the forgery hanging in its place. Whatever is happening here is none of my business. There are no altruists in my line of work, only survivors.

But I find myself stepping closer, keeping my movements slow and non-threatening. “What happened to you?”

Jade barks out a bitter laugh. “What do you think? I’m enjoying five-star accommodations courtesy of Halcyon’s owner?” He rattles the bars once and winces as the movement jostles his bruises. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I work for the event organizer downstairs.” The practiced lie slides from my tongue without thought.

“Bullshit. Staff don’t come through hidden doors.”

Smart kid. He was always observant, so how does he not remember me? My disguise isn’t that complex.

“You’re right,” I concede, moving around the cage to check for security cameras. None that I can see. “I’m not staff.”

“Then why are you dressed up as a waiter with that stupid wig?”

I don’t react. The wig is perfect, as is the makeup that softens the angle of my jaw and the altered shoulders on the jacket to give my shoulders more breadth.

So, how did he call out the disguise?

I take another step toward the cage, searching Jade’s face for any sign of recognition. There’s none. Only suspicion and hostility hide the brittle edge of fear.

Thirty-one days. I’d lived in his home for thirty-one days. Eaten at his table. Listened to his crude jokes. Watched Ezra ruffle his hair, the same way he’d do to a little brother. I’d even helped him to his room one night when he’d had too much to drink after losing a bet with Caleb.

And he doesn’t recognize me at all. Up close, the mask holds. The knowledge should comfort me. Instead, it leaves me empty.

I was a ghost in their lives, as forgettable as my grandfather once they locked him up. I’d crafted Professor Knox so well, the shy art history scholar with the gentle and unassuming manners, that I’d completely erased myself.

It shouldn’t hurt. It’s proof of my skill, the ultimate testament to my ability to blend in and disappear.

But it burns regardless, the uncomfortable heat spreading through my ribs. To be forgotten by someone who once insisted I call him “the Jadester” and demanded I teach him how to spot forgeries.

“How long have you been here?” I ask, the professional part of my brain still working, still gathering information despite the emotional undertow.

“What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

He counts on his fingers, lips moving. “Five days, give or take. Hard to tell in this fucking coffin. They dropped me off with the rest of the lot for auction.” His eyes dart around the room. “Look, whoever you are, can you get me out of here? I’ve got people who’ll pay. Serious money.”

I turn back the way I came, ears straining for the sound of the security on their rounds. I’ve been in here too long, my entire timetable ruined. I should already be back downstairs, helping with final cleanup.

Every second I stay increases my risk of discovery. But Jade tracks my movements, desperate despite his attempt at nonchalance, and I can’t bring myself to leave him to his fate.

I crouch beside the cage. This close, I can see the dehydration cracking Jade’s lips, the dark circles under his eyes.

He’s been roughed up, but there’s no systematic torture.

This is containment, not interrogation. Someone wants him out of the way but intact.

My mind catalogs these details while my chest tightens with an emotion I don’t have time to examine.

I search his slender frame for signs of serious injury. “They feeding you?”

“Enough to keep me alive.” Jade shifts, wincing as he straightens his legs. “Twice a day, some tasteless protein bar shit and water. You didn’t answer my question. Who are you? How’d you find this place?”

I weigh my options. Give him nothing and lose any chance of information, or give him something and risk exposure. The decision comes easy. Risk is my business, after all.

“I found it by accident.” Not a lie. “I was examining the artwork.”

Suspicion etches deeper lines around his mouth. “Nobody examines artwork in a disguise, unless they’re planning to steal it.”

I don’t confirm or deny, letting the silence stretch between us. My fingers trace the edge of the cage door, testing the lock. Industrial grade, but easy enough to pick with the proper tools.

Which I don’t have.

I pat my pocket as if a bobby pin might appear by magic, before I remember the wig. Two pins hold it in place. But removing it would blow my cover. And my exit strategy.

It’s too great a risk. Even if I could open the lock, getting Jade out of the building would be another operation entirely. I can’t improvise a second heist in the middle of the first.

Jade’s eyebrows draw together. “Are you a cop?”

I almost laugh. “No.”

“Then what’s your play here? You just happened to find a secret room with a prisoner and thought you’d stop in for a chat?”

His defensiveness makes sense. In his position, I’d be suspicious, too. I need to offer him a real thread to follow, just enough to get him talking.

“I’m an acquaintance of the Rockfords,” I say finally. “I’ve spent time at the manor.”

The change is immediate. Jade’s body tenses, his expression sharpening with sudden attention. He leans forward, fingers wrapping around the bars. “Which ones? Who sent you?”

“No one sent me.” I shift my weight, keeping my back to the wall so I can watch the entrance. “As I said, I found this room by accident. But I recognized you. You’re the housekeeper’s kid.”

Hope cracks through his suspicion. “You know my mom?”

I shrug, noncommittal.

“Bullshit. We don’t have casual visitors at the family house.” He studies me more closely, trying to see past my disguise. “Who are you really?”

I change tactics. “I knew Ezra for a brief time.”

The name drops between us like a stone in still water, sending ripples through Jade’s expression. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again.

“Wait.” He leans as close as the bars will allow. “Are you the guy Ezra’s been going feral over?”

The question slices through me, unexpected and devastating. My pulse falters, then surges, blood roaring so loud I nearly miss what he says next.

“The one he’s been hunting? The Omega who vanished?”

My fingers go numb on the cage bars. The air becomes heavy, the room shrinking around me, and a weight settles beneath my ribs, each breath shallow, strained, edged with pain.

Going feral over.

The words tumble through my mind, colliding with memories I’ve kept locked away.

Ezra’s hands on my skin. His whisper in my ear. The way he handled me with such care.

And the envelope on the desk. Fifty thousand dollars to disappear.

Had Ezra not known about his family’s payoff? Had he been searching for me all this time, thinking I had abandoned him without explanation? The possibility opens a chasm in my chest, dark and bottomless.

Or worse, is this his new fixation? Did he find someone else to obsess over after I left? The thought shouldn’t hurt. It was never real between us, just a job, a way in, but acid jealousy burns up my throat.

“No.” Despite the inner turmoil, I remain in control. “It’s been a long time since I saw Ezra.”

Disbelief tightens his features. “You sure? Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost. And Ezra’s been...”

“Been what?” The question slips out before I can stop it, hungry for information.

A slow, knowing grin spreads across Jade’s face, transforming him for a moment back into the cocky kid I remember. “Holy shit, it is you. Where the fuck did you go? He went ballistic when you disappeared. Tore apart half of Skyhaven searching for you.”

Each word is both balm and poison. Ezra searched for me. He cared enough to rage at my absence. It means I hurt him when I was only protecting us both from the inevitable collapse of my lies.

My hands tremble, and I clasp them together to hide it. “It doesn’t matter now. Tell me who put you in here. Was it the Rockfords?”

“Fuck, no.” Jade shakes his head. “I got taken—” Jade stops mid-sentence, his head whipping toward the hidden entrance. “Shit.”

I hear it, too. Footsteps in the hallway outside, the soft murmur of voices growing closer.

“They’re coming.” Panic flashes across Jade’s face. “You need to get out, or they’ll put you in here with me. Or worse.”

My eyes dart to the entrance and back to Jade. I can still slip away unnoticed if I move now. My mission here is complete. Whatever entanglements Jade has gotten himself into aren’t my concern.

But I see the raw fear beneath his bravado, and I remember how young he is. Barely twenty-one, for all his swagger and sharp edges. He’s a kid playing at being dangerous in a world of genuine monsters.

“Please,” he whispers, and the word sounds unfamiliar in his mouth. “If you know Ezra, if you care about him at all, tell him where I am.”

The footsteps grow louder, accompanied by the jingle of keys. Two people at least, maybe more.

“They’re going to sell me,” Jade says urgently. “They’ve been waiting for the gallery event to clear out the merchandise.”

My window of escape is closing with each passing second.

I stand, heading toward the door.

“Wait!” Jade reaches for me through the bars, but his fingers slip off my pant leg. “Please promise to tell Ezra!”

Ignoring his pleas, I slip through the bookcase and pull it closed with a gentle click, erasing any evidence of the secret room and the prisoner inside it.

My body moves on autopilot, shifting into the shadows beside a tall armoire as the salon door swings open. Two security guards enter, their conversation cutting off as they scan the room.

I become nothing, less than air, my breathing shallow and controlled as I slide along the wall toward the exit, the painting a solid weight on my back, anchoring me to my purpose as my mind races with unwanted complications.

“Check the artwork,” the taller guard directs. “Harcourt wants hourly confirmations tonight with all these people in the building.”

They head for the display wall, not sparing me a glance as I slip into the shadowed hallway beyond. Their flashlight beams sweep across my forgery, lingering on the anatomical ghost that took me nine months to recreate.

They don’t spot the swap. Of course, they don’t. Even experts would need specialized equipment to detect the substitution.

In another life, I might have felt triumph. Instead, all I can think about is Jade’s face, hollow with fear and exhaustion, and the words that keep circling my brain like hungry wolves.

Ezra’s been going feral.

Tore apart half of Skyhaven searching for you.

I navigate the hallway with practiced stealth, my shoes silent on the thick carpet. At the junction where the private wing meets the main house, voices drift up from the party below.

I pause at the top of the service stairs, listening for movement. Clear. Three flights down, and I’m back in the staff corridors, where hired help rush back and forth with empty boxes, packing up for the night.

I straighten my uniform and step into the current of bodies seamlessly, grabbing a box filled with foam packaging.

“Load that into the van,” a harried coordinator directs as I pass. Her eyes slide over me without seeing, just another server in identical clothing.

Invisible to everyone here.

My grandfather’s words fill my ears, Never leave evidence. Never leave witnesses. Never leave loose ends.

And Jade is the very definition of a loose end.