CHAPTER FIVE - BIRDIE #3
I’m on my feet in a flash, sliding over the sofa arm and backing up warily.
They’re clearly not expecting me to move so fast, but Colt follows me with surprising grace.
His sloppy smile quickly sharpens into something predatory as he balances on the balls of his feet.
I can almost hear him whispering run, rabbit, run and I narrow my eyes at them both as I take a careful step back.
Chase me all you want, but there’s no fucking way I’m going back into the basement.
“Hold up,” Gung Ho says, hands lifting in a calming gesture. “We’re not going to hurt you. You’re safe here, Birdie.”
Sure I am. Until I break one of his rules and he decides to starve me for a couple of days. Or I try to sneak off, and he ties me to the nearest piece of furniture, probably with another pair of those zip ties he loves so much.
I retreat another step, weighing up my options.
I’m aware that I’m backing myself into a corner, but there’s no point in heading towards the front door.
The hallway behind Gung Ho is blocked by his wide-ass alpha shoulders, which leaves me with only one route.
Keeping my gaze on the door, I suddenly dash around the sofa, running for the stairs.
It’s stupid as hell to head to higher ground when you have no idea where it leads, but I catch a glimpse of Gung Ho staring after me, his mouth hanging open. “What the hell…?”
Colt is after me with a whoop, almost falling through the coffee table as he tries to cut me off. “Fuck, the rat’s going for a hole, boss!”
So, I’m the rat - not the rabbit - in this scenario. Well, wait until you get a load of my teeth, you cheesy asshole.
“Don’t fucking chase her, Colt!”
Gung Ho’s bark is edged with command, but his packmate just gives a manic chuckle as he dashes after me.
He might act like a sloppy drunk, but he’s disturbingly alert now.
A swipe of his hand narrowly misses the back of my sweatshirt, and I put on a burst of speed as I sprint upstairs.
Colt thunders up behind me, but I’ve got survival on my mind, while he’s got a bellyful of booze.
Still, a part of me isn’t surprised when he tackles me through an open door and onto a bed that smells of sunshine and alpha sweat.
“Good choice, Baggage!” he crows, leaping off me to slam the door shut and shoot the lock. “I knew you liked me best.”
I roll onto my back right as he flops on top of me, his weight only partially captured on his hands.
I grunt at the hard length of his body, but it’s the wicked gleam in his eyes that stops my wriggling.
He dips his head almost to my neck and breathes me in, and I expect more of his manic giggles, maybe a swipe of his rum-soaked tongue.
But when he pulls back, his eyes are dark with confusion.
“Why the fuck don’t you smell at least a little like him? ”
I frown at him, wondering if he means Hog, when the pain in his eyes hits home.
Charlie. My supposed dead brother and Colt’s lost mate.
“Off,” I grunt, feeling the speech inhibitor give a hiss of warning. “Get. Off!”
He lifts himself in a half pushup, holding the pose as a fist thumps against the door. “Let me in, Colt,” Gung Ho growls, “or so help me God, I will knock you through the fucking wall!”
I’m quite impressed by the rage in his bark, but Colt just flutters his lashes as he wraps a hand around each of my wrists. “Lost the key, boss!” he calls back, his tone all innocence. “Looking for it now, though.”
“Don’t fuck around, Colt. I’ll tear it off its goddamn hinges if I have to!”
The door groans, clearly begging for sympathy, and Colt gives a resigned sigh.
But instead of rolling off me, he drags his body backwards like a stretching cat.
I can feel the ridge of that impressive Adonis’ Belt scraping over my stomach, his knee tucking up to press into the mattress between my legs.
“What do you think, Omega?” He nudges his knee up until it brushes the V of my sweats. “Want me to warm you up? Cos I think your sad little popsicle act is driving the boss man crazy.”
I roll my eyes, but when I can’t resist glancing at the door, he hums happily.
Leaning down, his hands still gripping my wrists, he presses his mouth close to my ear.
“Wanna know what would really blow his mind?” His throaty whisper sends a shiver down my spine.
“If he busted in here, only to find you down on your knees, those pouty lips wrapped around my cock.”
I close my eyes, so he can’t see that I’m actually considering it for a moment.
Not because of the erotic picture playing through my head, or the chaos that would no doubt follow, but because the doctor said alpha lubrication soothes the speech inhibitor.
I guess the real question is would it be more or less therapeutic if the dick in question is pickled in rum?
Colt’s bedroom door whines on its hinges and he pulls back, licking his lips. “Fuck, guess the boss really means business. Better make your mind up, Big Eyes. Is it door number one or door number two?”
I’m contemplating door number three – him on his knees, while I escape out the window – when the floorboards creak and Hog looms up behind him.
Colt only has a moment to squawk out a protest, before the massive alpha wraps a thick arm around his throat and drags him away.