Page 101 of Knot Their Arrangement

The implications of their words make my blood boil. They were going to gang-rape someone they thought was untouched, someone who'd never experienced pleasure or passion. Going to take something sacred and turn it into a nightmare, all because some rich bastard paid them to do it.

I can feel Trouble trembling slightly in my arms, though whether from cold, fear, or exhaustion, I'm not sure.

What I am sure of is that these men will never touch her.

Never even get close enough to try.

Their fate was sealed the moment they revealed their intentions. The only question now is whether I kill them quickly for efficiency's sake, or slowly for personal satisfaction.

I'll kill them all. Methodically. One by one.

The thought brings a calm focus to my mind, the kind that comes before violence. I've been here before, in this space between threat and action.

I know exactly how many moves it will take to end each of their lives.

But for now, I force that bloodlust into a corner of my mind. First, I need to ensure Trouble's safety. Need to get her somewhere secure before I can indulge the darker impulses these animals have awakened.

They don't realize it yet, but they're already dead men walking.

Whether it happens here in the rain or later in some dark alley, their fates are sealed. No one threatens what's mine and lives to profit from it.

Especially not her.

"There is nothing in the records stating this Omega is claimed by your... odd pick of Alphas that form your miniature pack," the leader announces, his voice carrying a smugness that signs his death warrant. His stance shifts as he speaks, trying to project authority he doesn't possess. "We did our research. Knew she was within a safe haven for months. Monitored her to ensure her routine."

Each word he speaks adds another method of torture to the mental list I'm compiling.

I imagine breaking each finger that dared write notes about her movements, crushing every knuckle that helped track her daily life. The casual way he describes stalking Trouble makes my blood boil, but I maintain my predatory calm.

I feel her shiver slightly in my arms, and the movement only fuels my rage.

How many nights did she walk home unaware of these eyes on her? How many times did these bastards watch her, waiting for their moment?

"It was only a matter of time before she was brought to us as the offering she is," he continues, seemingly oblivious to how each word shortens his life expectancy. The rain drums against his tactical gear, creating a rhythm that sounds like a funeral march. "Whatever scheme you're pulling off now won't work."

Another method of torture added to the list.

Every time this fucker opens his mouth, he's just giving me more reasons to make his death slower, more painful.

I imagine pulling his teeth one by one, making him eat them before moving on to worse things. The thought of them watching her, these degenerate pieces of shit viewing Trouble like some fruit ripening for their consumption – it makes my trigger finger itch with anticipation.

Their eyes track her movements even now, six pairs of eyes filled with a hunger that makes my inner Alpha roar for blood. They look at her like she's meat, like she's something to be consumed and discarded. Each glance they cast her way adds another hour to the torture they'll endure before death finally claims them.

My free hand twitches with the need to draw my weapon, to paint the forest floor with their blood.

The movement is subtle, but the leader's eyes drop to catch it, his survival instincts finally kicking in. There's a flash of fear in his gaze – the first intelligent thing I've seen from him all night.

Five seconds of tense silence pass, broken only by the steady drumming of rain and our collective breathing.

Then, as if choreographed, all six men draw their weapons in perfect sync, aiming directly at us. The barrels of their guns gleam dully in the low light, professional hardware that speaks of serious funding behind this operation.

But before I can make my move and show them exactly why I earned my reputation, applause cuts through the rain-soaked night.

Their guns swivel toward the sound with military precision, targeting a tall figure in a beige leather trench coat.

The coat itself probably costs more than these men make in a month, yet he wears it in this downpour like it's nothing. Despite being as drenched as the rest of us, he carries himself with an air of absolute authority that makes their tactical stances look amateur in comparison.

Ezekiel.

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