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The flicker of monitors cast a pale glow across my trembling hands. Each breath, a quiver. Each heartbeat, a deafening drum in my ears. I hadn’t planned for this—stumbling upon the guard room in my frantic search for my father. I was supposed to find him, not bear witness to a war unfolding on screens.

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“Well, shit,” I muttered, my fingers gripping the edge of the console. “This is definitely not the bathroom.”

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Fists and bullets clashed with brutal elegance on the monitors. The men on the screen moved with deadly intent, their shadows dancing across the walls as if mocking my stillness. I couldn’t tear my gaze away, couldn’t suppress the terror that clawed at my chest. The De Luca Cartel’s men were outnumbered, their movements desperate and disjointed against an enemy with precision that cut through the night like blades.

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And then, amidst the chaos—a shock of black hair glinting under the artificial light. He moved like a force of nature, his broad shoulders plowing through adversaries as if they were mere inconveniences. His pale blue eyes, even through the grainy footage, held a glacial calm that belied the violence of his actions.

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“Mr. Iceflare,” I whispered, my throat suddenly dry. “Of course it would be you.”

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Blood spattered across the screen as he drove his fist into a man’s face. I shouldn’t have found the violence beautiful, but there was something mesmerizing in the raw power of his movements—something that made my omega instincts sit up and take notice despite my brain’s desperate objections.

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Beside him, another figure wove through the fight with a dancer’s grace. His dark brown hair fell in waves that seemed untouched by the struggle around him. Green eyes focused with lethal clarity on his opponents as he dispatched them with strikes so precise they seemed choreographed.

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A third man hung back slightly, his stance calculated and watchful. Dark blonde hair tousled from combat, his stormy gray eyes scanned for threats with an intensity that made me shiver. Every movement he made was measured and deliberate, from the way he aimed his weapon to the protective glances he shot toward his comrades.

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“The unholy trinity,” I muttered, my fingers unconsciously finding the scent glands at my neck. “Just my fucking luck.”

​

These were not faces one forgets easily—not when they’ve haunted your dreams and fueled your nightmares in equal measure. These men—the ones I had spent those harrowing weeks with in the dungeon—were now here, tearing through De Luca’s men as if they were nothing more than paper targets.

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My breath hitched, the thunder of my heart deafening in the stillness. I continued to watch, transfixed, as they moved through their enemies with a grace that was terrifyingly beautiful. They were a storm personified, their movements fluid and unyielding.

​

I shouldn’t have found them captivating, not when fear laced every part of my being at the sight of them. Yet, there was a strange allure in their coordination, in the silent language they spoke as they fought side by side. It was almost like watching a dark ballet, where each step, each turn was meant for survival rather than applause.

“Stop being impressed by the men who are literally here to kill everyone,” I scolded myself. “This isn’t a superhero movie, Ty. This is your actual life.”

​

Then it happened. He flicked his gaze upward—directly at the security camera—and for one impossible moment, I felt his icy blue eyes pierce through the lens and find me. My heart leaped into my throat. I stumbled backward, a silent scream lodged in my chest.

​

“No, no, no,” I hissed, backing away from the monitors. “Don’t you dare look at me like you know I’m watching.”

​

This wasn’t the time to get lost in those eyes, to feel the stirrings they awakened inside me. As an omega, there was something undeniably compelling about his alpha presence, but I shoved it down with all the strength I had left. I needed to find my father.

​

“Stupid omega biology,” I growled, mentally cataloging three possible escape routes. “Not today, Satan. Not. Today.”

​

With one last glance at the monitors, I bolted from the room. The corridors echoed with chaos, but it was my chance—my chance to slip through unnoticed and find him.

​

Deeper into the bowels of the building I ran until I could hear nothing but my own ragged breathing and pounding footsteps. The dungeon loomed before me, its oppressive darkness swallowing me whole.

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But then—gunshots reverberated closer than before, and panic surged anew. Darting into a nearby room, I pressed myself against the wall and prayed for invisibility.

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“Become one with the wall, Ty,” I whispered to myself. “Channel your inner chameleon. Or better yet, your inner ‘not about to die today.’”

​

A crackle of static cut through the silence before a voice growled over the radio. “They’re all down… And fucking De Luca’s dead.”

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My blood ran cold. De Luca dead? The implications were vast and terrifying.

​

“Find our little omega before my patience runs out,” came another voice that vibrated with restrained power.

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“Be patient; we’ll find him.” The responding voice held a chilling certainty. “He’s around here.”

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They were looking for me? But why? And then it dawned on me—their alpha senses could detect my omega pheromones.

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“Stupid scent blockers,” I cursed under my breath. “You had one job. ONE. JOB.”

​

Panic clawed at me as I realized hiding was futile; they would find me no matter what. I could already feel it—that telltale prickle at the back of my neck, the heightened awareness that came when an alpha was near. My body was betraying me, my omega instincts responding to the proximity of dominant alphas despite my desperate attempts to suppress them.

​

The door swung open with a menacing creak, revealing a towering figure in the doorway, a looming specter against the dim light filtering in from the hallway. My heart skittered to a stop, then hammered with renewed fervor. He was an imposing silhouette, his broad shoulders filling the frame, and that familiar glacial calm in his eyes froze me to my core.

​

The scent hit me first—pine and smoke and something dangerously metallic. Blood. His scent wrapped around me like physical chains, making my knees weak and my mind fuzzy. I’d never experienced an alpha’s pheromones this potent before, not even during those weeks in captivity when they’d been drugged and I’d been forced to… to touch them, to extract what De Luca needed while they were restrained and semi-conscious.

​

Terror clawed up my throat. This was Mr. Iceflare fully awake. Fully aware. And clearly furious.

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I tried to retreat, my back pressing into the cold wall as if I could somehow melt into it and escape his piercing gaze. His presence commanded the space, the air around him seeming to thrum with authority. He moved toward me, each step measured and deliberate, and I could feel the room shrinking with every inch he closed.

​

His eyes raked over me, a slow, deliberate assessment that felt like a physical violation. I could almost feel the heat of his gaze as it lingered on my face, my throat, the place where my pulse hammered visibly beneath my skin. My scent glands throbbed in response, a treacherous reaction I couldn’t control.

​

“There you are, little thief.” His voice wrapped around me, a low growl that vibrated through the stillness. I flinched at the title—thief—though what had I stolen? His tone held an edge that spoke of retribution and a chilling promise.

​

“Thief?” I managed, raising my chin despite the tremor in my voice. “That’s rich coming from someone who just stole an entire building through murder. What’s next, are you going to accuse me of breathing your air?”

​

His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes. He stepped closer, and I pressed harder against the wall, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. He was close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the intoxicating blend of alpha pheromones and adrenaline that clung to his skin.

​

“You stole something far more valuable,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave that made my inner omega whimper. He reached out, one finger tracing the line of my jaw with surprising gentleness. “And I’ve come to collect.”

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Before I could muster another snarky response or a plea, he was upon me. His hands framed my face with a grip that was anything but gentle, and then his lips crashed against mine.

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I thrashed against him, pushing at his chest, clawing at his arms—anything to break free from this invasion. This was raw. Possessive. Personal. Terrifying.

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His mouth was hot and demanding against mine, forcing my lips apart. When his tongue swept inside, claiming me with a possessive stroke that sent unwanted heat spiraling through my body, I bit down—or tried to. He anticipated the move, his thumb pressing painfully into the hinge of my jaw, forcing it open wider.

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“Fight me all you want, little omega,” he growled against my mouth. “It only makes this sweeter.”

​

His tongue delved deeper, tasting me, exploring every corner of my mouth with a thoroughness that made my knees weak. The kiss wasn’t just a meeting of mouths; it was an assertion of power, dominance—and despite my struggles, my body began to betray me. His taste was intoxicating—dark and rich and dangerous, like whiskey laced with something forbidden.

​

He angled my head back, deepening the kiss until I could barely breathe. His tongue tangled with mine, coaxing a response even as I tried to resist. The slick, hot slide of it against mine sent electric shocks down my spine, pooling molten heat in my core. I hated myself for it, hated the omega biology that made me respond to his dominance even as I fought against him.

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A shameful moan escaped me, swallowed by his hungry mouth as his hands slid down to grip my waist, fingers digging into my flesh with bruising intensity. He used the sound to push deeper, his tongue stroking against mine in a rhythm that mimicked something far more intimate, making my insides clench with unwanted desire.

My treacherous omega instincts purred at the contact while my brain screamed in protest. Heat pooled low in my belly, my scent glands throbbing painfully as they released pheromones in response to his dominant presence. I hated my body’s betrayal, hated the way it recognized him as alpha, as potential mate, even as my mind rebelled against the very idea.

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When he finally pulled away, I gasped for air, my chest heaving with panic and unwanted arousal. His eyes had darkened to midnight blue, pupils dilated with a hunger that terrified me.

​

“Don’t you ever—” I snarled, my voice breaking. “I never wanted any of this! De Luca forced me—he threatened my father—”

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“And you complied,” he cut me off, his voice dangerously soft. “Used your pretty hands and mouth on us while we couldn’t fight back. And now you’ll answer for it.”

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His powerful arms enveloped me completely as he lifted me from the ground with ease. I kicked and thrashed, my fists pounding against his chest to no effect.

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“Put me down!” I struggled against his iron grip. “I’m not a sack of potatoes, and I had no choice! De Luca would have killed my father—”

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“De Luca is dead,” he growled, tightening his grip until I could barely breathe. “And your excuses mean nothing. You used us. And now we’re taking what’s ours.”

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I stared at him in confusion and terror. “What are you talking about? What could I possibly have that’s yours?”

His chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against mine where our bodies pressed together. “Your scent has changed, little omega. You reek of fertility… and of us. I may not know which of us is responsible yet, but that hardly matters.”

​

The words sent me spiraling into panic. How could he possibly know? I'd only just confirmed the pregnancy myself a week ago, after Mia had practically forced the test kit into my hands. Until then, I'd dismissed the morning sickness, fatigue, and sensitivity as stress or a persistent virus. I'd been in denial, refusing to even consider the possibility.

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But here was this alpha, declaring my condition with absolute certainty. Alphas shouldn't be able to detect pregnancy this early unless...

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Unless they were the sire.

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“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whispered, terror making my voice thin.

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His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in close, inhaling deeply at my neck where my scent was strongest. The sensation of his nose dragging along my scent gland made me shudder involuntarily.

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“Lie to yourself if you want, but don’t lie to me,” he murmured against my skin. “Your body knows the truth even if you deny it. Your crime, little omega, was taking something that belongs to me. To us. And now we’re taking it back.”

​

The words sent me spiraling into panic. This was worse than I’d imagined. At least with De Luca, I’d known what he wanted—an heir, a continuation of his legacy. But these men? These powerful, vengeful alphas? What would they do to me? To the child I was carrying?

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As he carried me away from the room that had offered a false sense of sanctuary, I was acutely aware of his heartbeat against my own—a steady, implacable rhythm that mocked my racing pulse.

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“Just so we’re clear,” I said, my voice breaking despite my attempt at defiance, “if this is a kidnapping, it’s my second, and I’m really not interested in making it a habit.”

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His grip tightened, and he paused at the threshold, his ice-blue eyes boring into mine with an intensity that stole my breath.

​

“This isn’t a kidnapping,” he said. “This is a sentence. And unlike De Luca’s pathetic excuse for captivity, our prison has no escape. No mercy. No end.”

​

The cold promise in his voice turned my blood to ice. As he carried me through corridors littered with the bodies of De Luca's men, Mr. Enigma and Mr. Storm fell into step behind us with predatory grace. I realized I was exchanging one hell for another infinitely worse one.

​

I caught Mr. Enigma's vivid green eyes, and my blood froze in my veins. His stare burned with a predatory hunger barely contained behind glacial contempt, dissecting me layer by layer as though calculating exactly how to take me apart piece by piece. Beside him, Mr. Storm's stormy gray eyes flickered deliberately to my abdomen before meeting mine with such raw, possessive hunger that my breath caught painfully in my chest. Both men looked at me like I was simultaneously prey to be devoured and a traitor to be punished—a contradiction that promised nothing but pain. These weren't the semi-conscious men I'd been forced to touch in De Luca's dungeon. These were apex predators, fully awake, fully aware, and out for blood. My blood.