Page 5 of Trapped By the Cartel

"Of course not," I agreed smoothly. "You are far too valuable to be a mere plaything. You are… a project." My voice dropped to a low murmur, sending a fresh shiver down his spine, if my senses were accurate. "A fascinating study. And, ultimately… mine."

The words were meant to unsettle him, to test the boundaries of his defiance. And they certainly seemed to be doing so, as a wave of genuine alarm washed over him. Good.

"You're insane," he whispered, shaking his head slightly.

"Perhaps," I conceded, tilting my head. "But insanity is often merely perspective. And my perspective is, quite simply, that you belong here, with me." A possessive warmth bloomed within me, a deep, visceral certainty. He was going to be mine. It was inevitable, as natural as the changing of seasons.

I could practically feel it already—the way he would scent-mark our territory, the quiet contentment of his presence, the unwavering loyalty in those hazel eyes. He wouldn't resist for long. Omega's rarely do. They crave protection, belonging—a place to call home. And I offered all of those things, wrapped in an alluring package of dominance and power. And in his case, he craved home more than anything else.

"You don't even know me," Elliot protested weakly, but the fight had already started draining out of him.

"That's precisely what makes this so intriguing," I replied, drawing closer, until my muzzle was just inches from his face. The scent of his fear, now laced with a faint undercurrent of something akin to fascination, filled my nostrils. Irresistible. "I intend to find out."

He closed his eyes briefly, bracing himself for… what? He didn't know. I certainly didn't. And that was part of the fun.

"Tell me," I purred, letting the sound vibrate against his skin. "What were you running from, Elliot Hayes?" The question wasn't accusatory, but rather curious. A gentle probing, designed to loosen his defenses and coax out the truth. Because sooner or later, he would tell me everything.

"Don't…" Elliot began, but the words caught in his throat, a strangled sob escaping instead. He pressed his hands against his face, shoulders shaking visibly. "Just… stop it."

Stop? Stop what? Stop this little game we were playing?I don't think so.

I observed him silently, the internal amusement warring with a flicker of something else—a surprising wave of… pity? It was fleeting, quickly suppressed, but there. Still, I registered it. He was crumbling, and frankly, it was rather pathetic. And yet, somehow endearing. More endearing than pathetic, to be honest.

"Stop what?" I asked, feigning ignorance, though I knew precisely what he wanted me to stop. "Providing stimulating conversation? Sharing my… insights?" I almost laughed after saying the last thing.

He lifted his head, face streaked with tears, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. He looked utterly wretched, a delicate flower battered by a storm. And yet, even in his distress, there was a spark of defiance still flickering within him.

"You're mocking me," Elliot choked out, the accusation raw and vulnerable. "You're enjoying it."

"Merely observing," I corrected gently, letting my voice soften slightly. "Omegas are fascinating creatures when under pressure. You reveal so much about yourself." I paused, letting the words sink in. "It's quite entertaining, really," I added, almost as an afterthought. The arrogant smirk returned, a subtle flash of teeth amidst the wolfish features.

He flinched at my words, a fresh wave of tears spilling down his cheeks. "Why are you doing this?" He pleaded. "Just… leave me alone."

Leave him alone? Not yet. As I thought before, he was mine.

A pang—something akin to regret—twitched within me. I hadn't intended to break him quite so thoroughly. It was almost… messy. Still, I wasn't about to back down. Not now.

"I can't do that, Elliot," I said. "You're here. And you're mine."

He recoiled as if I'd struck him. "How… how do you know my name?" The question was delivered in a rush, fueled by desperation and rising panic. And the answer was simpler than he thought.

The blatant shift in topic caught me off guard for a moment, though. I hadn't expected him to bring that up.Clever boy."That's a remarkably astute observation," I purred, deliberately prolonging the suspense. I let out a long, slow breath, savoring the way his eyes narrowed, trying to pierce through my facade.

"Stop playing games with me," he snapped. "Who told you?"

"Information is currency, Elliot," I replied cryptically. "It flows freely when properly acquired." I paused, letting the ambiguity hang in the air. "Let's just say I have… sources." And, of course, I wasn't going to reveal them.

He scoffed, a wet, broken sound. "Sources? What, do you have spies in my father's library?"

"Your father is an interesting man," I mused, ignoring his jab. "A collector of knowledge, a guardian of secrets. He has a fondness for certain… arrangements." I let the implication sink in. "He isn't always as discreet as he believes."

Elliot's eyes widened, understanding dawning in their depths. A wave of realization washed over his face, leaving him pale and shaken. "You're connected to him and you know him personally," he whispered. There was no mistaking the horror in his voice.

"Connected is a rather broad term," I conceded, letting my gaze linger on his face. "Let's just say we share… mutual interests." And then, because I couldn't resist, I added, "Besides, it was never a secret that you were the prodigal son of a very important man."

I saw the fight drain completely out of him. He slumped against a nearby tree, defeated.

Chapter 3

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