Page 15 of Trapped By the Cartel

As I ventured deeper into the bowels of the beast's lair, I found myself confronted with an unsettling display of naked flesh and unapologetic masculinity again. It was hard to miss it.

Alphas lounged openly in various stages of undress, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings. And to be honest, I was surprised some of them were not completely naked.

Some sprawled on plush chaise longues, engrossed in heated debates; others engaged in physical activities—sparring matches, weight training, even wrestling bouts that appeared far too intimate for mere sport.

The sight of so many powerful, half-naked men parading about should have been disconcerting, yet I couldn't deny the stirring it elicited within me. Each glimpse of sculpted muscle, every flash of thick cocks swinging freely between sturdy thighs, stirred a growing hunger that I struggled to suppress.

Was this normal behavior for alphas? Or was this merely the Vexley pack's particular brand of debauchery? Or maybe even something else entirely I was unaware of?

I paused before a vast window overlooking the expansive gardens, watching as two burly alphas rolled around in the grass, locked in a passionate embrace. Their limbs tangled together, bodies pressed close, mouths fused in a frenzied exchange. Heat flushed through me as I watched, unwelcome desire pooling in my belly.

Why did this turn me on so damn much? Why did seeing these dominant males rutting and preening like proud beasts make my cock throb painfully in my pants? Why did part of me want Damon to fuck me?

Damn Damon for putting these images in my head! For making me crave things I knew I shouldn't. Things I barely understood.

A harsh laugh escaped me as I realized the irony of my situation. Here I was, an omega—the very essence of submission and nurturing—surrounded by alphas who wore their dominance like armor. And instead of shrinking back, cowering under their collective might, I was standing tall, challenging their authority, defying expectations. Maybe that was why I was so frustrated, because I might be fighting against my own nature.

But why did I keep having those thoughts? Because Damon brought out the worst in me? Because he pushed me, prodded me, taunted me until I snapped?

Or was it because he saw something in me—something hidden beneath layers of self-doubt and fear—and refused to let me hide from it any longer?

My thoughts were interrupted by the soft padding of footsteps behind me. I tensed, turning slowly to face whoever dared approach me while I was lost in thought.

It was one of the guards that had been posted at the gate. His muscular form was draped in nothing more than a loose silk robe, tied loosely at the waist. His broad chest bore intricatetattoos—symbols and sigils that seemed to dance across his skin as he moved. To be honest, I was surprised he was wearing something at all.

"Ah, the new pet," he rumbled, eyes gleaming with amusement as they swept over me. "Damon's little omega plaything. I'm Hunter, by the way."

My blood ran cold at his words. 'Pet'? Was that what Damon thought of me? A plaything to be paraded around, a possession to be flaunted? I didn't even have to voice that question. Damon was an asshole. Of course that was exactly what he thought of me.

The insult was blatant and infuriating, igniting a fresh wave of anger within me.

"I am nobody's pet," I snapped back, clenching my right hand. "And I will not be treated as such."

Hunter merely chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. He really seemed to enjoy taunting me and piling on the pressure. Well, he could try, but that wasn't going to work on me. I was stronger than that and soon he would know.

"Such spirit," he said with a mocking tone, leaning against one of the pillars. "Damon has good taste, then. You're defiant enough to be entertaining." He paused before adding: "But we all belong to someone here at Nightshade."

"Does that make you the owner?" I retorted, my gaze narrowing as he watched me out of the corner of his eye. "Because if so," a dangerous glint shone in my eyes, "I'd suggest getting your leash."

His smile didn't waver, but there was something new behind those eyes—a flicker of respect that hadn't been there before. "You're feisty," he admitted softly, his voice dropping to a low rumble. He finally stepped away from the pillar and walked closer with purpose. "I appreciate it."

"What is this place?" I asked abruptly, needing to shift the focus away from my simmering anger. "This isn't some kind of… club, is it? What exactly does Nightshade do?" My voice was strained as I tried to keep everything calm and collected. It had been brewing inside me for too long now, so, what could be done about that?

And deep inside, I knew what the Nightshade Wolves did. I just didn't want to admit it.

He considered my question for a moment before answering with a casual shrug. "We're… facilitators," he said with an almost bored indifference. "Connectors of people who need things."

Again with the vagueness? I hated it.

"What kind of 'things'?" I pressed further, impatience creeping into my tone.

Hunter grinned, revealing a flash of white teeth. "Information, influence, resources," he answered smoothly. "Anything that money can buy." He paused briefly before adding: "And some things that money can't."

I frowned, sensing the veiled threat in his words. It wasn't just about legal business; there was something else going on beneath the surface of this organization—something darker and more sinister.

"So, you're essentially a black market operation?" I asked, deliberately testing his reaction. "A cartel running under the guise of luxury services."

And I knew that was the truth, so his answer didn't matter much.

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