Page 5 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
Nothing.
2
PEACHES
“You motherfucker—you bruised her…their Prime is gonna kill us…”
“We don’t have to take her if you’re…”
“Are you crazy? Someone’s going to take her back to Gideon, and if it ain’t us, then we don’t get the payout…”
The voices swim in and out of my aching head, muffled by the hood covering my eyes and dulled by the sedative still coursing through my veins. My mind is upside down and backwards—all topsy turvy. I’m dizzy, my head feeling like it’s bouncing, bouncing…
Water. We’re on the water.
A boat.
The realization slams into me just as another wave rocks us, sending my head lolling to the side. I can’t see a damn thing with the hood covering my face, but my senses are sharper now, cutting through the drug’s haze. Salt. Wood. Metal.
The Rig.
“Choppy out here,” a man’s voice says. It’s the alpha, the one without a scent—Javi, the other man said. “Is her head cushioned?”
“Oh, calm down,” the second man says, his voice higher with a southern accent—not like mine, maybe out toward Georgia. “She’s not an actual princess, ya know.”
Javi growls. Not just a sound—an Alpha sound. It makes my whole body lock up, heat curling through me like an instinct I refuse to acknowledge.
Then his hands are on me.
I flinch, trying to scramble away, but I’m tied, my arms pinned behind me, my legs bound at the ankles. I flop uselessly, twisting on the hard deck like a caught fish. A humiliated, furious fish who should not be reacting to this man’s touch the way I am.
“Hold still,” Javi snaps, his fingers finding the base of my skull.
I freeze.
Not because I want to. But because it’s him.
Because something in his voice makes me do whatever he wants.
It’s a terrifying realization—one that sends a shudder through me, makes my fingers curl uselessly against the ropes binding my wrists. My body shouldn’t be listening to him. It shouldn’t be responding to him.
But Javi’s voice is low and firm, a steadying force against the rolling sea and the panic clawing up my throat. And worse—his hands match his voice.
Rough. Calloused. Warm.
Too warm.
He cradles my head like I’m something breakable. It’s instinct, maybe, but that doesn’t make it better. I don’t want his care. I don’t want his hands on me.
I jerk against them, twisting on the hard deck, but all I succeed in doing is feeling him more. His fingers splay at the base of my skull, holding me still as the boat lurches.
He doesn’t squeeze. Doesn’t force me down. Just…holds.
Like he can’t help it.
A growl rumbles through him, low and almost pained, and my breath shudders in my throat.
I’m tied up. Helpless. Gagged.
