My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas

I don’t seem to get a grip on my own actions.

Tell any normal—sane—person that twelve hours ago, I had a friend die in my arms. Now I’m having vent-flirting banter with the walking brand logo of the pharmaceutical world.

And all while being held by a man who collects omega body parts like trophies—in jars—in his basement.

Taxidermy shouldn’t be hot, but maybe that was the gas talking. Or the adrenaline. Or just how drained I am—body, mind, soul.

The result was the same. I passed out.

Never faint. That was the rule. The only one I had left.

And I broke it.

I don’t even remember the moment my brain gave up. Just Killian’s voice—low, breathy, moaning my name like it meant something.

I miss him.

Maybe because he was the last thing I controlled before I became someone’s plaything.

I remember kissing him.

Sloppy. Messy. Raw.