Chapter 13
thirteen
. . .
The clock mocked me with every tick, each minute dragging us closer to the inevitable.
Ten after ten. Seventeen past. Thirty-four minutes after ten.
By now, they'd be waiting, those three alphas in their luxury camp, expecting me to arrive exactly when commanded like some well-trained pet responding to a whistle.
Fuck that.
If I had to surrender to blackmail, I'd do it on my terms. Small rebellions were all I had left, and being late—deliberately, calculatedly late—felt like the only control I still possessed in this entire fucked-up situation.
I'd showered for the second time today, scrubbing my skin until it turned pink, as if hot water could somehow wash away the inevitability of what was coming.
Now I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, examining the mark Matteo had left on my neck the night before.
The bruise had darkened to a perfect imprint of his teeth, a possessive brand that made my pulse quicken every time I touched it.
"Well, this is just perfect," I told my reflection. "Countdown to complete degradation: T-minus however many minutes until I decide to stop stalling and face the three horsemen of the omega apocalypse."
My clothing choice seemed simultaneously important and utterly pointless.
What did it matter what I wore when the entire purpose of tonight was for them to remove it?
Still, I pulled on the tiniest sleep shorts I owned and an oversized t-shirt that slipped off one shoulder.
If I was walking into my own surrender, I might as well dress like the victim I was about to become.
"Might as well hang a sign around your neck that says 'willing sacrifice,'" I muttered, tugging the shirt down over my hips. "Or maybe 'property of alpha mafia, please return if found wandering.'"
The worst part was the flutter of anticipation beneath the dread, the way my body remembered their hands and mouths with inconvenient clarity.
Six months of touching myself to those memories, and now I was voluntarily walking back into their arms because of blackmail.
The universe had a particularly cruel sense of humor when it came to my life choices.
My ankle monitor felt heavier than usual, the weight of it a constant reminder of my captivity. Seven years of my father's electronic leash, and now I was exchanging it for a different kind of restraint—one made of alpha hands and cruel promises.
Ten forty-seven.
Outside my window, the night was quiet except for the soft whining of dogs—not barking, just that plaintive sound that said they were waiting. Apollo and Zeus, sent to escort me, or perhaps to drag me back if I didn't come willingly. The furry vanguard of my captors.
I pushed the curtain aside just enough to peer out and immediately regretted it.
Matteo stood in the garden below, face tilted up toward my window, his stillness that of a predator who could outwait his prey.
The moonlight cast his features in silver and shadow, making him look like something from a darker mythology than mere man.
"That's not creepy at all," I whispered, letting the curtain fall back into place. "Nothing says 'consensual encounter' quite like stationing your most terrifying alpha to stare at my window like a serial killer from a particularly unimaginative horror movie."
Even through the closed window, I could detect the faint trace of cedar and rain—his scent carrying on the night air, wrapping around me like an invisible claim.
My omega biology responded immediately, a flush of warmth spreading across my skin despite the triple dose of suppressants I'd taken.
My body was a traitor, recognizing and welcoming what my mind still fought against.
I paced my room, watching the minutes tick by with perverse satisfaction. Eleven twenty-three. Eleven forty-one. Eleven fifty-six.
Each passing hour felt like a small victory, a tiny rebellion that would undoubtedly be crushed beneath alpha dominance, but it was mine for now. Stefano's face when I finally showed up hours late—that would almost be worth whatever punishment followed.
Almost.
Midnight. The witching hour. Appropriate timing for selling my soul to three devils in designer clothes.
I pulled on a light jacket over my sleep clothes, a flimsy barrier against what was coming, and made my way downstairs.
The cottage was silent, Aunt Akiko and Uncle Jiro having been asleep for hours.
Their predictable routine—in bed by ten, up with the sun at six—was part of what made them such perfect guardians for a troublesome omega.
Too early to bed to notice my late-night wanderings, too early to rise to catch me returning.
The night air hit my face as I stepped outside, cool enough to make me shiver, or perhaps that was just anticipation.
Matteo was waiting exactly where I'd seen him, his stillness unnerving in its completeness.
Only his eyes moved, tracking me as I approached, his expression impossible to read in the darkness.
"You're late," he said, his quiet voice carrying easily in the still night. "Deliberately."
I lifted my chin, feigning a confidence I didn't feel. "Am I? I must have misunderstood. I thought the invitation was for 'whenever the hell I feel like showing up.'"
"Midnight," he stated flatly. "Two hours past the required time."
"Required by whom? I don't recall agreeing to a specific schedule for my blackmail-induced surrender. Should I have put it in my calendar? 'Ten p.m.: Be sexually coerced by three alphas with delusions of ownership.' My bad. Next time I'll set an alarm."
His expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted, coiled tension preparing to spring. "We don't like waiting, Leo. And disobedience has consequences."
The barely veiled threat made my stomach flip with unwelcome heat. The implicit claim and demand for submission hit something primal in my omega biology that I'd spent years pretending didn't exist.
"I'm not interested in your dominance games," I said, my voice embarrassingly breathless. "I'm here because you're blackmailing me. Nothing more."
"And yet," he replied, his eyes tracking the pulse hammering in my throat, "you dressed for the occasion. Those shorts leave very little to the imagination."
I crossed my arms defensively. "What I'm wearing doesn't matter. You know I'm only here because of those videos."
"Tell yourself whatever you need to maintain your illusion of resistance." In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between us, towering over me with that quiet menace that made him so effective. "Your defiance has consequences, Leo. You're going to learn that tonight."
Before I could react, he bent and lifted me over his shoulder in one smooth movement, arm banded across the backs of my thighs. The familiar position—ass in the air, face hanging down his back—sent a rush of blood to my head and heat to my core.
"Put me down, you Neanderthal!" I pounded my fists against his back, though we both knew it was futile. "I can walk! This caveman carry is completely unnecessary!"
"Apparently not," he replied, already striding toward the forest path with Apollo and Zeus trotting ahead as silent guides. "If you could be trusted to arrive on time and under your own power, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
The steady rhythm of his stride made my position increasingly precarious, my t-shirt sliding down to expose my stomach while my shorts rode up in ways that would have been mortifying if anyone could see.
"This is assault," I informed his back as my world bounced with each step. "Kidnapping. False imprisonment. I'm keeping a running list of charges for when I eventually testify against you. The prosecutors are going to need extra paper just for my statement."
His hand landed on my ass with a sharp crack, the sting radiating outward in a wave that made me gasp.
The sensation sent an immediate pulse of heat straight to my groin—a remembered response from that night in the forest when I'd discovered, to my absolute mortification, that being spanked by Stefano did inexplicable things to my omega biology.
"That's one," he said calmly. "Keep talking, and I'll deliver the rest of your punishment before we even arrive."
The casual threat—and the heat it sent spiraling through me—was enough to silence my protests. I hung limply over his shoulder, watching the forest path disappear beneath us as he carried me deeper into the trees.
I'd expected a long trek, but after only ten minutes, the forest opened into a clearing that took my breath away. This wasn't the hastily assembled campsite from our first encounter. This was luxury in the wilderness, a glamping setup that would have featured in high-end travel magazines.
A massive canvas tent dominated the space, set on a raised wooden platform with a proper entrance.
Outdoor furniture was arranged around a stone fire pit where flames danced merrily, casting warm light across the clearing.
Solar lights strung between trees created a perimeter of gentle illumination, making the space feel both intimate and surreal.
As Matteo carried me into the circle of light, I saw Marco lounging in one of the chairs, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they tracked our approach. Stefano stood by the fire, the flames highlighting the angles of his face, turning those cobalt eyes into something dangerous and hypnotic.
"Look what the cat dragged in," Marco called, his smile widening as he took in my position over Matteo's shoulder. "Or should I say, what our wolf carried home."
Matteo set me on my feet before Stefano, his hand lingering at the small of my back as if to prevent escape. I stumbled slightly, disoriented from being upside down, and found myself caught in Stefano's steady grip.