Chapter 7

Keiran’s POV

Being kidnapped sucks. Zero out of five. Would not recommend, especially if these idiots are the kidnappers. They don’t even have a proper vehicle. Instead, I’m sandwiched between Greg and Paulie in the cramped backseat of a fucking Ford Fiesta. The third guy, Jake a.k.a. Douche One, is driving. I almost want to ask them why I don’t rate the tricked out SUV they were trying to shove Remy into, but I don’t want to antagonize them too much.

Beyond twisting my arm and forcing me into the vehicle, they haven’t actually hurt me and I’m smart enough not to make things worse for myself.

Unfortunately, I get the impression that the only reason I’m not already in a bloody heap somewhere is because their Alpha prefers to deal with trespassers himself.

Or something like that.

And, at least for now, that’s all these guys think I am: a trespasser who didn’t ask for permission to be in their Alpha’s territory, albeit one who interrupted whatever plans they had for Remy. Hopefully, they’ll keep thinking that until I figure a way out of this.

Jake pulls the car up to a luxury apartment building in a section of the city I’ve never ventured into. Much too rich for me. I couldn’t even afford to work as a housekeeper here. Jake tosses the keys to a valet—who side eyes both Jake and the car like what the hell do you want me to do with this piece of crap?—and the other two pull me out of the backseat and march me inside.

The building is upscale enough to have a doorman, something that could work to my advantage if I wanted to make a scene and try to slip away.

Except for the fact the doorman is a shifter and so was the valet, two things that don’t bode well for me as they suggest this entire building probably belongs to the Alpha who runs Chicago.

Shit. I’m in way over my head. This kind of money means power, and not just the kind that comes from being an Alpha. If this guy takes real offense to me trespassing in his city, he could simply make me disappear.

I dart my gaze around the lobby, my brain cataloging various means of escape, but nothing that will do me any good since we head directly into the elevator. Jake presses his thumb against some sort of biometric scanner by the keypad, then pushes the button for the top floor. We zoom upward at a speed that almost makes me want to puke.

Though, that might just be the feeling of my anxiety eating through my stomach lining.

At the top, the elevator doors slide open, revealing a swanky entryway with a hallway leading deeper into the apartment. Or is this considered a penthouse? Whatever it’s called, it takes up the entire top floor of the building.

Greg has his hand wrapped around my arm in an iron grip as he tugs me along behind Jake. At the end of the hallway, Jake knocks on a door.

“Yes?” says a voice from beyond the door.

“We’ve brought you a trespasser.”

“Come in.”

Jake pushes the door open and strides inside. Greg pulls me in after him and Paulie takes up the rear. Jake stops before a large shifter, head bowed and hands clasped together behind his back. The shifter–obviously the Alpha–is a broad-shouldered man in his late forties with salt and pepper hair and severe features. His gaze moves from Jake to Greg and then finally lands on me. He scowls.

“That’s not the Matisse brat.”

Jake shuffles his feet. “No…”

The Alpha’s hard gaze narrows in on Jake. “You had very specific instructions.”

“I know. We—”

“Quiet,” snaps the Alpha. He stands up to his full height and storms over toward us, stopping in front of me.

I don’t have to fake submissiveness. His power rolls over me, and I bare my throat as a small whimper escapes my lips. I knew my old pack was a small fish in a big pond, but I hadn’t realized until this moment exactly how small. This Alpha is so far above Randy, power wise, he could probably bring me to my knees with half a thought.

Greg digs his fingers into my arm and gives me a shake. “He’s not a Matisse, but he’s friends with them and he’s been living here in the city for a few months. He might be a spy.”

Oh fuck, Greg. Shut up! Being thought of as a trespasser is one thing, but if the Alpha thinks I’m a spy…

Acid flood into my stomach and my knees shake as the Alpha pushes more and more power onto me. I whimper again and cringe away from him as much as I’m able with Greg holding on to my bicep.

“I see.” The Alpha cocks his head to the side and studies my face. “Is that what you are? A spy sent by Julian to find the weaknesses in my territory?”

I shake my head frantically, my mouth almost too dry for words. “I don’t know anyone named Julian.”

The Alpha shrugs, then turns to speak to Jake. “Take him to the basement. Tell Faris we’re still going forward, but with this one instead of the other. Get him to shift into his wolf and have Faris take the mongrel’s claws and send them to Julian with the same message as before. It probably won’t be as effective, but it will have to do.”

My fingers involuntarily curl into my palms.

“And once that’s done?” asks Jake.

The Alpha grips my chin and squeezes, pushing my lips together, then turns my head from side to side. “It’d be a shame to waste such a pretty face. He might be good for a favor or two. Send him along with the group sold to the Vegas Alpha.”

He’s not…

He can’t…

I’m frozen in place, too stunned to move as my brain struggles to process what’s happening. The Chicago Alpha is selling other shifters.

As the Alpha turns his back to me and walks away, Greg lets out a malicious chuckle. “It’ll serve you right to lose those claws after you stabbed me with them.”

The Alpha spins around and his nostrils flare as his attention turns to Jake.

“Your report mentioned nothing about a shifted fight. Where did this happen? Are you sure you weren’t seen?”

“Sir, there was no shifter fight. It—”

Greg interrupts, waving his hands in front of his chest. “No, no, no. The kid’s the only one who changed and just his hand.”

The Alpha goes absolutely still.

Oh fuck.

“Just his hand?”

“Yeah,” says Greg, nodding violently.

The Alpha’s attention goes to the other two. “Did you see this as well?”

They shake their heads.

“Betas can’t partially shift and there’s no way he’s an alpha,” says Jake, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “I think Greg just missed the knife. He’s not always very observant.”

The color drains from Greg’s face as his buddy throws him under the bus. I’d feel bad for him if he wasn’t such an idiot and he hadn’t just thrown me under a much bigger bus.

“No,” he says stubbornly. He tugs the bottom of his shirt forward. “The wound’s mostly healed, but no knife did that.”

The Alpha grabs the bottom of Greg’s shirt and runs his fingers over the four distinct holes in the fabric. He nods to himself, and his eyes go out of focus as if he’s thinking. After a moment, he drops Greg’s shirt, then takes a step backward, turning his attention to me.

“Show me,” he whispers. When I do nothing, he grabs my arm to turn my hand palm up, digging his fingers into my skin. “Show me!”

The command rolls over me and my hand shifts into fur and claws.

His gaze is glued to my hand, eyes practically glowing with avarice, as his mouth twists into a malicious smile. “Omega.”