My dick is still at full mast in the air since I can’t put it away myself, and no one else thought it was important. I’m leaking from my eyes, cock, and asshole, and it’s a very confusing experience. I’m very angry and hurt.
Those things haven’t changed as much as I’m still attracted to my alphas, and the way they speak to me makes my blood burn in my veins in the best of ways. However, this relationship isn’t healthy or equal, and I can’t live like this.
“I think we can all agree you’re a flight risk,” Skylar says, folding his arms over his chest. I stare at him blandly and he nods as he sees he has my attention. “Exactly. We were hopingyou’d fall madly in love with us and decide you felt safe enough to stay, but Fishman has a big mouth.”
“Who is that guy anyway?” I ask. I’m waiting for him to lie to me again, and Rhodes pauses his work to glance at Skylar.
“He’s someone we use when we need information. Fishman also cleans up our messes, gets us materials when we need them, and he found you when you went off the grid during your heat,” Skylar says. “He’s a hacker with no morals. Do you remember the night the team went to the bar?”
“Not all of it,” I admit. “There are fuzzy parts that don’t make sense.”
“You were drugged at the bar,” he explains. “Not by us! There was a fan who was very adamant about fucking a hockey player, even if the guy wasn’t conscious during it.”
“Fuck,” I whisper. “I remember that guy. He seemed so normal.”
“We stayed behind to watch when the team left and the fan wouldn’t stop talking your ear off. He talked you into drinking a drugged beer, and then held your dead weight while he walked you out of the bar,” Skylar explains.
It feels as if my body’s been dumped into cold water, and I shudder at the thought of being at someone’s mercy like that. God, that’s one of my worst nightmares.
“And then?” I rasp.
“We followed you two out of the bar, made sure you were safe, and then Skylar and I killed the rapist. I don’t care if he didn’t have a chance to do anything other than drug you, the intent was still there,” Rhodes growls. “Skylar made you take something to puke up the drugs, and then we took you home.”
“Your apartment wasn’t safe,” Skylar grunts like a caveman. “It didn’t smell like you were happy, so we did what we had to do. Fishman made sure the cameras were erased after we killedthe fan, and he went to your apartment while we were at practice and flooded it.”
Rhodes cuts the rest of the duct tape apart and allows the rug to open, revealing a bound and gagged man. Rhodes’ fingers pinch his chin, forcing his face up so I can see who he is.
“Coach Foster?” I ask, confused.
“Got it in one,” Skylar purrs. “While he’s now retired, he’s still working with kids. What he did to you was predatory behavior and inappropriate. Believing all omegas will be raped for their ‘weak’ designation is disgusting. There was no reason for him to scare you like that.”
“So you have him here to…”
“Show you what happens when people cross me and mine,” Skylar growls.
Whimpering, I can’t control myself from perfuming, and my alphas grin.
“Now, to have some fun,” Rhodes says, standing to pull out a roll of plastic. “We’ll never get our deposit back if we get blood everywhere, and torching the place isn’t an option.”
I suppose that makes perfect sense in his head. I’m too turned on to be able to wrap my head around this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SKYLAR
Having my gorgeous Viking turned on by murder wasn’t on my bingo card, but I’m very excited about it. I help Rhodes transfer the despicable coach onto the plastic sheeting and then hammer in anchors into the ground. I strip the coach down to his boxers while trading his bindings out to tie his arms and legs down to the anchors, and my lips twisted in disgust. I’ll buff out any marks later.
Unlike Rhodes, I don’t much care if we get our deposit back.
“Teaching children is the last thing you should do,” I mutter, jumping up and landing with my full weight on his pudgy stomach.
The coach attempts to puke, but can’t due to being gagged, though Rhodes still makes a face as he coughs delicately. As I’ve said, Rhodes has a sensitive stomach.
“Children shouldn’t have to worry about being raped by a predator when they grow up,” I mutter, shaking my head as I look through the bag of fun I asked Fishman to pick up for me.
There have been multiple texts between us since I first left the house earlier today.
“I want the dead blow hammer,” Rhodes says.
