Page 16 of Trapped By the Cartel

His smile widened slightly as he seemed pleased that I was picking up on certain aspects of their way of life. "You're quick," he conceded with a nod. "We prefer to think of ourselves as… innovators." He paused, then added in a low voice, "Like the Yakuza, but more refined."

"And Damon?" I asked pointedly. "What's his role here? Besides being an infuriating distraction and tormentor?"

Hunter let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the hallway. "Damon? Oh, he's the… talent scout," he said with mock seriousness. "He has a knack for finding stray omegas, you see. Lonely little things wandering around, needing someone to take care of them. Someone to make them happy."

The sheer absurdity of his statement made my blood boil. He really found this funny, didn't he? "Happy?" I spat out. "You think Damon Vexley can make anyone 'happy'?"

I couldn't believe his audacity. His words were a calculated jab, designed to provoke a reaction—and it worked. That was why he was doing it.

"Don't underestimate him," Hunter said casually. "He has a way of getting what he wants."

"And what is it that he wants from me?" I asked. "To break me? To mold me into something I'm not?"

Hunter shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Damon's intentions are… complex. Best not to worry your pretty little head about it." He paused, then added with a mischievous grin, "Just enjoy the ride."

Enjoy the ride? I hated it. I hated everything about what was happening here.

I glared at him, wanting nothing more than to punch him in his smug face. But I knew that would be foolish, reckless. So, instead, I channeled my anger into icy silence.

"So," Hunter continued after a moment, breaking the tense atmosphere, "you must be hungry, little omega. All this drama must have worked up an appetite."

I hadn't realized how hungry I was until he pointed it out. My stomach rumbled in response, betraying my earlier attempts at stoicism. The journey through the forest, the confrontationwith Damon, the unsettling tour of this manor—it had all taken a toll.

"Damon is waiting for you in the grand dining room," Hunter announced, gesturing down the hallway. "He's expecting you."

Expecting me? I didn't like that one bit.

My heart sank at the prospect of another encounter with that infuriating alpha. But my stomach protested, and I knew I couldn't refuse. It was better to face him again, wasn't it?

The thought of a proper meal—something other than the stale bread and water I'd been subsisting on since escaping—was almost irresistible.

"And why would he be waiting for me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Hunter shrugged again, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. "He likes to play games," he answered with a shrug. "Besides, everyone here wants a piece of you." He paused, then added with a wink, "Even me, so enjoy the show."

I bit back a frustrated sigh and started walking towards the dining room as I followed Hunter, my every step heavy with reluctance. I hated this place. I hated Damon. And I hated the fact that I was probably going to end up liking whatever disgusting meal he'd prepared for me.

The grand dining room was even more opulent than the hallway we had just passed through. A long mahogany table stretched across the room, laden with an array of dishes that looked both extravagant and intimidating. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, casting a warm glow on the scene. And at the head of the table, sitting in a high-backed chair, was Damon Vexley, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

He rose to his feet as I approached, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Took you long enough," he murmured. "I was wondering when you'd decide to grace us with your presence."

Chapter 8

Damon

I watched as Elliot reluctantly approached the table, his expression a mixture of defiance and apprehension. He didn't want to be here, obviously, but he also didn't have another choice.

The sight of him—his slight frame, his unruly curls, the vulnerability lurking beneath that carefully constructed facade—stirred something primal within me, tightening my muscles and raising a familiar heat between my legs.

I tried to maintain an air of nonchalance, leaning against the head of the table and regarding him with an amused expression. It wasn't easy, though. The raw desire churning inside me threatened to spill over, betraying the carefully controlled persona I'd cultivated for so long.

There were so many things I wanted to do to him, but couldn't in that moment.

"Welcome, Elliot," I said, my voice smooth and welcoming. "I trust your journey here was… satisfactory?"

He didn't bother to meet my gaze, instead focusing on the elaborate spread of food laid out before us. The aroma was intoxicating—a collection of spices, herbs, and roasted meats.

"It could have been shorter," he muttered.

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