Page 60 of Rescued By Four Alphas
"This isn't a favor. I am collecting my blood debt."
Rivera goes quiet again. When he speaks, his voice has dropped an octave. "Tell me everything."
I tell him about Dahlia, about our babies, about what Reid plans to do with them.
"This is suicide," Rivera says when I finish. "Even for someone like me."
"That's why I'm calling," I reply. "You're the only one crazy enough to take this on."
He laughs, a harsh sound with no humor in it. "Flattery, Stonefang? That is not like you."
"It's not flattery if it's true," I counter. "I need your team, your expertise, and your absolute discretion. In return, the blood debt is paid in full."
"The blood debt covers my services," Rivera says. "But my men will require compensation. The risk is exceptional for this type of operation..."
"Money is not a problem," I assure him. "Name your price."
"Two million. Half up front, half on completion." Rivera names a figure that would make most people choke. "Plus another million if we need to engage in direct combat."
"Done," I say without hesitation. "When can you be here?"
"Twenty-four hours. I'll bring my core team. You need to provide local intelligence and additional support personnel."
"We'll be ready," I promise.
"One more thing, Stonefang." Rivera's voice turns deadly serious. "If this is a trap, if there is any deception here, I will kill you before they kill me. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," I reply. "But remember, if you betray us, there won't be a hole deep enough for you to hide in."
He laughs again, this time with genuine amusement. "Your wolf has grown teeth since Calgary. Good. You will need them."
The line goes dead, and I lean against the wall, closing my eyes briefly. Rivera is dangerous, unpredictable, and not entirely sane. But he's also our best chance of getting Dahlia back alive.
"Hold on, baby," I whisper. "We're coming for you."
Chapter 18 - Dahlia
Ijolt awake to the burning sensation of another needle sliding into my arm. My eyes fly open, but the harsh fluorescent lights make me wince and turn away. The technician doesn't even acknowledge my consciousness as he pushes whatever new drug they've concocted into my system.
Three days. It's been three days since they brought me here, though time has become slippery in this windowless room. I mark the passage by Reid's visits because he comes twice daily, the shift changes of the technicians, and the gradual, terrifying changes in my own body.
The technician finishes and wordlessly leaves the room, never meeting my eyes. They never do. It's easier to experiment on someone when you don't have to acknowledge their humanity. As the door hisses shut behind him, I cautiously turn my head to look down at my body.
My belly has grotesquely expanded, stretching so rapidly that angry red stretch marks crisscross my skin like a roadmap of torture. What took five months to develop naturally has been accelerated to happen in just days. The restraints around my wrists and ankles have been loosened to accommodate my swelling limbs, but they're still tight enough that escape is impossible.
"It's okay," I whisper to my babies, the only comfort I can offer them. "I'm here. We're going to be okay."
A lie, but one thing I have to tell. These four little lives inside me have become my only connection to sanity in this sterile hell. I feel their movements constantly now, more frantic and unsettling than before. The drugs are affecting them too.
The door slides open again, and I don't need to look to know who it is from his precise footsteps and the soft click of his pen against the clipboard.
"Good morning, Dr. Baldwin," Reid says, as if we're colleagues meeting in a hallway. "How are we feeling today?"
I say nothing. I've learned that engaging with him only gives him satisfaction and more data for his meticulous notes.
"Still giving me the silent treatment?" He doesn't sound bothered as he moves to check the monitors. "Your vital signs are excellent, much better than Subject 12's at this stage. Your multiple Alpha bonds seem to provide remarkable stability."
He approaches the bed, pulling back the thin sheet to expose my swollen belly. His hands are cold as he presses and prods. I stare at the ceiling, trying to disconnect my mind from my body as he measures and examines me.
