Page 119 of Knot Their Arrangement

His emerald eyes find mine, carrying a mix of fondness and something darker.

"Your father still a douche?"

A groan escapes me as I roll my eyes.

"Yeah. He still sucks."

Rhett nods as if this confirms something for him, moving toward the professional-grade stove with purposeful strides.

The motion draws my attention to the fluidity of his movements – there's an easy grace to him now that I don't remember from our youth. Years of racing have clearly honed his natural athleticism into something more refined.

Ezekiel glances between us, seeming to read volumes in our casual exchange. With a resigned sigh, he heads to the massive stainless steel refrigerator, apparently willing to assist with whatever culinary plans Rhett has in mind.

The domestic scene feels surreal given their earlier heated discussion about my safety.

"How's your brother?" The question slips out before I can stop it, memories of the older sibling Rhett used to mention surfacing.

"Six feet under," Rhett replies with casual detachment, not even looking up from the frying pan he's retrieving.

My jaw drops at the revelation, horror, and sympathy warring in my chest. But before I can offer condolences, Kieran's smooth voice cuts through the tension.

"Don't concern yourself with pitying him," he advises, those mismatched eyes carrying complete conviction. "He deserved it."

The stark declaration makes me pout slightly, uncertainty creeping in.

My gaze drifts to Damon, who's been quietly observing our interaction while enjoying his cigar. I look at him as if he has all the answers, which maybe he does, but it shouldn’t be expected.

I’m just following my instincts I guess.

He meets my questioning look with consideration, taking a long drag before deciding to satisfy my obvious curiosity.

"He tried to sell Rhett to some Alphas abroad," Damon explains, his golden eyes darkening with remembered rage.

"W-W-What?" Horror crashes through me as I look around at all four of them, trying to process this revelation. Ezekiel has paused in his task of pouring some water over ice in a tall glass, his expression grim.

"The fucker was a gold-digging Alpha who would do or sell anyone to gain profit," Ezekiel elaborates, his professional detachment slipping slightly as anger colors his tone. Setting the glass down, he leans against the counter and begins breaking down the criminal enterprise that had nearly claimed Rhett.

"There's an entire underground network dedicated to trafficking both Omegas and Alphas," he explains, his detective training evident in how he structures the information. "Each level feeds into the next, creating a self-sustaining cycle of exploitation that benefits packs lacking what they consider proper balance."

His eyes meet mine as he continues, making sure I understand the gravity of what he's describing.

"At the top, you have the wealthy established packs – old money, traditional values, extensive political connections. They're usually looking for very specific traits in their acquisitions. Particular ethnicities, certain physical characteristics, specific backgrounds or education levels."

The clinical way he describes it makes my stomach turn, but I force myself to listen. This is my world too, after all – the dark underbelly of our supposedly civilized society.

"Below them are the middleman packs," Ezekiel continues, his voice taking on a harder edge. "They handle the actual acquisition and transportation. These are usually packs with military or law enforcement backgrounds, who know how to move 'merchandise' without attracting attention. They're also responsible for 'training' their acquisitions to meet buyer specifications."

The way he says 'training' makes my skin crawl, understanding exactly what kind of conditioning he's referring to.

How many Omegas have disappeared into that system, broken down and rebuilt to match some pack's idea of perfection?

"Then you have the scouts. Smaller packs or individuals who identify potential targets. They monitor safe havens, universities, and anywhere they might find unmated Omegas or Alphas that match current market demands. The more unique the target, the higher the potential payout."

His gaze flickers to Rhett briefly before returning to me.

"Mixed heritage Alphas like Rhett command especially high prices. Some packs believe combining different bloodlines creates stronger offspring. Others just want the exotic appeal of having something rare in their collection."

The casualness with which he discusses treating people like commodities makes bile rise in my throat, but I force it down.

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