Page 63 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
Peaches.
She moves carefully, her face composed, her hands steady. But I can feel her fear even from here—like static in the air, likeit’s soaked into her skin. Still, she keeps smiling. Not for the men in the kitchen barking orders at her. For the other omegas.
She whispers to them, reassures them. Smiles at them when they flinch. One of them looks like she hasn’t spoken aloud in years, but Peaches gets her to crack a small smile—and I can’t explain the way that hits me. What itmeans.
She even smiles at me once—just a flash of soft sweetness when she glances up and catches me watching her.
…I don’t deserve that.
I don’t deserve her.
She has no idea who I am, not really. Not what I’ve done. Not what I’ve been. Not what I’ll have to do to survive this place, to keep her safe.
I look away.
“Three’s been complaining about a leak in the roof again,” Ephraim says, casually spearing a piece of meat with his fork. “Guess the hurricane tore off some of the weather-proofing in the tower—I’ll have to fix it.”
My brow furrows. “Three?”
“Oh—it’s what the girls prefer to be called,” Gideon says smoothly, sipping from his glass. “Just a cute nickname.”
I go still.
“You…numbered them,” I say, my voice low.
A laugh rumbles out of Abel like this is all very funny. “Helps keep track.”
The world tilts. A flicker of memory—metal collar on my throat, cage bars welded shut, a number on the door instead of a name. Even in the fighting pits, they let me keep myfucking name.
“Easier that way,” Gideon says, all charm. “Especially when I’m goin’ bed to bed. They each get their own room—it’s what they prefer, actually. Bit of privacy. And it keeps things fair.”
I stare at him.
He talks about them like they’re inventory. Like he’s proud of the system.
Like he thinks it’skind.
My stomach turns. I put my fork down, pressing my fingers together to keep from reaching for a knife instead.
“One’s been lookin’ a little plump lately,” Abel says around a mouthful, not even glancing up. “She just gainin’ weight, or is she pregnant?”
The air goes still.
No one laughs. No one answers.
My pulse spikes.
Then—crack.
Gideon’s palm slams against the table hard enough to shake the dishes. His silverware clatters across the wood. “You know damn well she’s not pregnant, boy.”
The sharpness in his voice draws every gaze. Even Peaches flinches from the kitchen.
“Before you ask,” Ephraim cuts in quickly, clearing his throat, “we already had the medic look at her.”
He speaks like someone trying to redirect a fuse that’s already been lit.
“Said she’s depressed,” he mutters. “Reckons she’s eatin’ more to cope. Told us to pick up some antidepressants next time we run a supply mission.”
