AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’ve never even seen a boat outside my foster brothers’ tub toys.
Jin snorts. “It’s isolated. Only one working trawler within a few hundred nautical miles.”
“There’s no ferry or helicopter or…?”
“No way on or off besides our ride. It’s safe,” Bishop promises.
I was worried about safe before.
Now I’m worried about being stranded on an island with four alphas who play too easily with my lies.
My thoughts spin faster than Jin’s wheels, but he’s barreling onto a private airstrip before I can scheme a way to keep my distance.
Best I’ve got is pretending to be really into snorkeling.
As soon as we pass the gate, Jin zooms across the tarmac toward the tiny plane with steps rolled to its lit-up door. He doesn’t slow until we’re almost docking as cargo, finally hitting the brakes. “Let’s get in the air before Kairo pulls shit with air traffic control.”
Bish throws open our door. Before I can jump to freedom, the sharp scent of jet fuel stabs my memories.
Suddenly, I’m not in Bish’s arms.
I’m in another alpha’s.
When the pack that bought me flew me home, Tommy Orlov tried to force me to ride in his lap.
I ruptured his ball sac before he tied my hands and feet.
Then I rode on the floor.
Eating carpet.
Tommy kicking me, roaring for revenge.
Rance only stopped him so he wouldn’t hurt Serafina’s face.
There were more cooperative omegas on the flight. The Orlovs used them to show me exactly what would happen once they got me home to their nest. Rance rested his heels on my hip, every bump of turbulence rattling my broken ribs.
The whine of the engine and the whine of—
“Queen.” The voice calls me back to the alpha who smells like a picnic at peach fields instead of wilting crabgrass.
Bish anchors me, pinching my chin. “Lie and tell me everything is fine.”
“Everything’s fine.” I breathe out, shaking.
Bishop holds my gaze, deep and unmoving. “Say that nothing is wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I repeat.
He thumb-strokes my jaw, letting me keep my lies and supporting me anyway. Seen but not questioned, I start to relax.
“Left inner pocket,” he commands, not barking, just dishing Bishop-brand certainty. The smartest course of action is always what he tells you to do.
I feel up the satiny lining of his jacket until my fingers slip into his pocket and find a handful of white pills.
“I confirmed the dosage for your height and weight. If you trust—”
I toss them back and dry swallow.
