Chapter 442
The mattress dipped. A freezing hand wrapped around my limp fingers. I couldn’t open my eyes, couldn’t scream, couldn’t fight.
Braydon Hyde leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear.
“There you are, Addie,” he whispered, his voice dripping with sick, triumphant possessiveness. “All alone. Just like you’re supposed to be. Mine.”
The heavy fog of the sedatives finally began to lift, leaving a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. I blinked against the harsh morning light filtering into the master bedroom. The comforting scent of storm and cedar was entirely gone, suffocated by the sour, arrogant pine of the Alpha sitting in the velvet armchair in the corner.
Braydon Hyde.
He sat in the shadows like a predator waiting for its prey to bleed out. “I told you he would leave you,” Braydon murmured, his voice dripping with sick, triumphant satisfaction. “I am the only one who stays.”
I struggled to push myself up against the silk headboard, my limbs still heavy and uncoordinated. “He drugged me,” I rasped, my chest tightening with a toxic mix of betrayal and terror. “He drugged me and left me to you.”
“He abandoned you, Adella,” Braydon corrected smoothly, standing and stepping into the light. “He threw you away to play the hero. But I found you.”
“Get out,” I ordered, channeling every ounce of my remaining strength.
Before he could respond, the sharp chime of the penthouse doorbell echoed through the hallway.
Ignoring the dizzying spin in my head, I shoved the duvet aside and stumbled out of the bedroom. I practically crashed into the living room just as the heavy front door opened. Duncan Whitaker stepped inside, his tailored suit immaculate, his face carved from pale stone.
“Where is he, Duncan?” I demanded, grabbing the lapels of his jacket. “Where did he go?”
Duncan didn’t flinch. He looked down at me with a hollow, professional detachment that terrified me more than anger ever could. “He is en route to Beirut, Luna.”
“To fight a Rogue army alone? He’s crippled!” I screamed.
“He is not just an Alpha King,” Duncan said, his voice dropping to a grim whisper. “Before he took the throne, Dallas was the legendary commander of the Dire Guard. They called him Ghost. Years ago, during a black-ops extraction in Aleppo to save a young Azalea, he was sold out by Estevan Parrish.”
The name hit me like a physical blow. Estevan. The mechanic who had cut my brakes.
“Estevan led them into an ambush,” Duncan continued, his eyes darkening with the memory. “Dallas took the brunt of it to shield his men. Pure silver shrapnel. It shredded his knee and embedded in his spine. He isn’t going to Beirut just to rescue his daughter, Adella. He is going to end Estevan Parrish. And he doesn’t plan on coming back.”
The breath vanished from my lungs. The rejection, the drugs, the coldness — it wasn’t abandonment. It was a suicide mission. He thought he was a broken monster, so he had locked me away to die a soldier’s death.
“He’s a killer, Adella.”