CHAPTER 5

"What is this?"

Mateo’s voice had lost its playful edge. His fingers pressed firmly against the elastic band through the expensive fabric of my suit. The warmth in the kitchen evaporated, replaced by the sudden, sharp scent of an Alpha whose territory had been breached by a small, defiant act.

"There weren’t any. So I used mine," I said, steadying my voice.

His jaw tightened. With one violent, fluid motion, I heard the silk of the suit strain and the unmistakable rip of cotton. I gasped, my legs falling open on the marble as he tossed the shredded black fabric onto the floor.

"That’s because you won't be wearing any. Ever."

"You’re back early."

Alejandro didn't look up from the tablet. He sat in the Shadow VIP Lounge, the dim light catching the scars on his knuckles. The room smelled of expensive bourbon and the lingering metallic scent of the Vargas territory's enforcement.

"Dante needed me at the Black Chamber," Mateo replied. He moved to the decanter, pouring a double. "One of Dragunov’s scouts was sniffing around the perimeter of the Vargas Grand Casino. Thought he could shift and blend in with the local strays."

"And?"

"He was talkative once I started pulling silver shards out of his skin." Mateo downed the drink, the burn hitting his throat. "He was looking for a gap in our security. Specifically, he was looking for the new addition to the pack."

Alejandro finally looked up. His eyes were cold, calculating. "Victor?"

"The very one." Mateo leaned against the bar. "Dragunov thinks Victor is the key to something. He wouldn't risk a scout on our land for a simple club dancer."

"I told you he was a liability." Alejandro stood, his presence filling the lounge. "He's a parasite. A spy wrapped in a pretty skin."

"You stared at him for twenty miles, Alex. I saw your pupils. You want to claim him, too. You’re just mad he doesn’t flinch when you growl."

"I want him gone." Alejandro’s voice was a low vibration in his chest. "He signed the contract, didn't he? He’s property. If he’s a spy, we break him. If he’s just a dancer, we use him until the scent wears off."

"He signed it without a single question." Mateo pulled the document from his pocket, tossing it onto the table. "Seven figures a year to be our personal stress relief. Most omegas would kill for that. But Victor? He looked at the 'Sexual Acts' clause like he was reading a weather report."

Alejandro flipped to the last page. The signature was bold. Defiant.

"Vetting him wasn't enough," Alejandro muttered. "I want Elena to run a full blood panel. If he’s carrying a scent-masker or some Russian tech, I want it found."

"I checked him myself, Alex. He worked at Dragunov’s old haunt, sure. But he was just the main attraction in the Crystal Dance Stage. The manager said he never took privates. Never shifted for anyone." Mateo stepped closer to his brother. "I watched him perform for a month before I brought him in. When he moves... the whole pack goes silent. He’s not a spy. He’s a masterpiece."

"He’s a target." Alejandro turned toward the door. "And if he brings Dragunov to our doorstep, I’ll be the one to put the silver between his ribs."

---

The next morning, the sun hit the Las Vegas Penthouse Loft with a vengeance. I jolted awake, the silver cuff on my wrist pulsing a steady, rhythmic red.

"You’re a light sleeper."

Mateo was sitting at the edge of the bed. He looked fresh—black denim, a tactical shirt that hugged his frame, and that effortless, predator-smile.

"I’ve spent three years sleeping in locker rooms and back alleys," I said, my voice raspy. "I don't do 'deep sleep' anymore."

"I noticed." He reached out, his thumb brushing my jaw. "You wore the pajamas I bought. Silk suits you. But I have something better for today."

He stood and walked to the closet, emerging with a navy tailored suit. It looked like it cost more than my life insurance policy. "Put this on. We’re going to the Vargas Chicago Townhouse. There’s a pack meeting you need to 'attend.'"

"As what? A trophy?"

"As the Vargas twins' newest acquisition." Mateo’s eyes darkened. "Go get ready. And Victor?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't bother looking for the underwear. I had Carlos burn the pair I ripped off you. From now on, you stay accessible."

He walked out before I could throw a pillow at his head. I showered, the water slicking back my hair, and pulled on the suit. The lack of fabric underneath made every step a conscious effort. The wool brushed against my skin, reminding me with every movement that I was exposed. That I belonged to them.

I walked into the kitchen to find a massive spread. Steak, eggs, blood oranges, and fresh marrow.

"Are we feeding a battalion?" I asked, looking at the counter.

"I didn't know your preference," Mateo said, sliding a plate toward me. "So I had Samuel bring up everything from the lounge menu."

Alejandro walked in then, a cup of black coffee in his hand. He didn't look at me. He just grabbed a piece of bacon and headed for the elevator.

"He’s charming," I muttered.

"He's hungry," Mateo corrected. He walked over, his hand finding the back of my neck. He pulled me in, his kiss hard and demanding, tasting of dark roast and dominance. He lifted me easily, setting me on the marble counter among the plates of fruit.

His hand went up my leg, sliding under the hem of the navy trousers. I expected a caress. Instead, his fingers found the elastic of the backup briefs I’d smuggled from my bag.

He pulled back, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"What is this?"

"I told you," I breathed, my heart hammering. "I don't like being exposed."

"The contract said total authority, Victor." Mateo’s grip tightened on my thigh. "That includes what you hide under your clothes."

With a sudden, violent tug, he shredded the fabric. The sound echoed in the quiet kitchen. He leaned in, his teeth grazing my ear.

"Now," he whispered. "You're ready."