my arm, the idiot. As if I’d try to leave now. As if he could even stop me from leaving.
If I hadn’t wanted to come, I would’ve never gotten in the car, and there would’ve been nothing they could’ve done to force me.
“This her?” one of the new males asks. He has the curliest blond hair I’ve ever seen, the entire mop of it like tight springs growing out of his head.
“Yep,” Jordy replies.
Curly Cue’s blue eyes cast over me with curious detachment. Like one might look at a banana and wonder if it has one too many brown spots. “Good. The troupe master requested a special seat just for her.”
Jordy grins as I’m passed off from them to this new shifter. “Enjoy the show,” Jordy sneers.
“Go lick a hemorrhoid,” I shoot back.
Curly Cue tugs on me, leading me toward the front of the bleachers. “Not a good idea to taunt Jordy,” he tells me.
I look over at him with an arched brow. “Do you really think it matters? I’m not leaving here alive and we both know it, Shirley Temple.”
He grunts as he tugs me into the front of the fighting pit between the bleachers and the stage. With rough, jerky moves, he shoves me onto the ground where a splintered piece of wood is waiting for me. Apparently, it’s my designated seat, right next to the alpha.
Alpha Rourn looks down at me. “So you’re the troupe pet who ran away.”
Curly Cue moves to stand off to the side, apparently to make sure I don’t go anywhere, but I’m pinned in place regardless. With all of Rockhead at my back and my troupe at my front, I’m trapped.
I shift on the splintered piece of wood, holding back a wince when I feel shards of the sharp pieces jutting into my legs. I bend my knees, saving my legs from having to be in contact with it, and drape my arms on top in a casual move, pretending to be as cool as a cucumber.
I feel the alpha’s eyes on me, and even the females draped over his lap are looking at me with curiosity. They’re both wearing skin-tight dresses like they’re about to go clubbing, the scraps of fabric barely covering them.
“Hmm, I can see why Kaazu was so set on getting you back,” Alpha Rourn says, his dark eyes lewd as he drags over every inch of my body.
In the greenish glow emanating from the stage, I can see that he has slicked back brown hair and a scar down his cheek. He looks skeezy, and he’s definitely not as impressive a specimen as Alpha Hugo is, but there’s still a shit ton of alpha power wafting off of him in aggressive waves.
“Good to see my pack members weren’t mistaken. You meet Kaazu’s description perfectly, right down to the tattoos marring your skin,” he notes with a thoughtful hum. “You’ve made me a very rich male.”
“Good to see what I heard wasn’t wrong either,” I muse as I look at him coolly. “You are fucking ugly. Glad I’m gonna win that bet.”
His hand shoots out so fast I don’t dodge it, and he snags the back of my hair and twists my head toward him painfully. “If I want you to talk, I’ll ask you a question, female. Now sit there and watch the show, or I’ll request a nice public fucking to put you in your place.”
He lets me go just as fast as he grabbed me, settling back against his chair as he begins to fondle the shifters who return to his lap.
I reach up and pull out my loose hair tie before once more gathering up the strands. I resecure my hair and my resolve in three seconds flat, and then I turn my attention to the stage.
Trish is moving between four others, her performance as the betrayer bolstered by the blood-red costume that ripples over her body in silk waves. My eyes follow her graceful and precise movements as she dances between the males.
And even though I’m staring at the stage, watching her every movement, I’m not really paying attention. Because somewhere, Freddie is here. Somewhere, Cliff is here.
And somewhere...Kaazu is here too.
My skin prickles, like I’m being watched, and my eyes dart around as I try to find the source, but I can’t.
Everyone in the crowd is so into the performance that when Trish gives the proverbial stab in the back and then runs from the “pack,” they’re all booing and cursing at