My Triplet Biker Alphas
I was pregnant and just 20 years old. Scared, and stupidly hopeful.
But when I told Corey, my mate and the father of my child, he sneered.
“Don’t lie to me, you fat b**ch,” he said before slamming his fist into my stomach.
The child I carried? Gone. Just as unexpected as it had come.
My father, Alpha of our pack, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he brought back his real daughter and sold me off like trash to three Alphas. One of them in a wheelchair, a broken alpha no one wanted.
They called him useless. Crippled.
But when his cold eyes met mine for the first time, he said,
“Good. You’re already used to pain. That makes you easier to keep.”
They are leaders of a brutal outlaw pack, exiled and feared. They don't need permission to touch me—they own me.
When I wake up screaming from my nightmares, it’s their voices that calm me.
“You’re ours now, little lamb. And no one hurts what’s ours.”
They say the men I now belong to are broken. One is Crippled, and the others are psychos. But they don’t know them like I’m starting to. They are not just Alphas, they are bikers.
I know I can't escape now.