Alphas Like Us (Like Us 3)

That’s not the owner. My head swerves as Farrow rushes into the bedroom.

“The owner isn’t here,” he says quickly, putting on black joggers, elastic band to his waist, and my brain is reeling.

I’m pretty sure there’s a natural disaster on the other side of that door, and I think, my family. My family.

My family.

My goddamn family. I’m rigid, wading deep in crisis mode, and I grab my charged phone off the dresser. I power it on. “My family would’ve called you if they couldn’t get ahold of me?” I ask him.

Farrow lifts his brows at me. “A hundred percent. It’s not them, wolf scout.”

Knocking returns, more impatient sounding this time.

I get that my family was instructed not to come here, but there’s always an asterisk that says, unless there’s a dire emergency. If they were in trouble and needed me, I’d welcome them to interrupt everything. Like a birthday, a honeymoon, a fucking rocket takeoff to Mars.

I don’t have time to comb through the hundreds of missed group chat messages. Because the doorbell jingles again.

Farrow leans on the dresser. “I’m going to call security.” His jaw tics, irritated without a radio, which would be faster.

“Maybe the media knows we’re not in Tahiti and our location leaked.” I already know it’s unlikely before Farrow tells me.

“It’d be all over the news.”

And it’s not.

After the umpteenth doorbell ring and urgent knock, I start walking down the narrow hall. Towards a sky-blue door with a chalkboard sign that says welcome in Greek.

Farrow jogs to catch me, his inked fingers in my waistband. Pulling me back. “Wait, wolf scout.” He gives me a hard look that says we’re not doing this shit again.

Again.

Nate.

My stalker.

It’s why he’s overly cautious. Why he hasn’t bombarded the front door himself. And I can see it eating at him, having to grip onto a cell instead of a gun.

I stand like I’m ready for whatever hell exists on the other side. A war, a hurricane, I can handle it. “Bruno is at least fifteen minutes away. If that is my family, I need to answer it now.”

Farrow speaks into the phone while staring right at me. His gaze says, I’m with you; don’t go alone. “We’re fine. Someone’s at the door,” he tells security. “We’d just like a couple guys out here. Yeah, thanks.” He hangs up and then nods to the door. “I’m going first.”

He’s already passing me, his stride long and fast.

I’m right by his side.

“Stay behind me,” Farrow instructs.

I don’t remind him that he’s not my bodyguard. He still has the experience from training and being on-duty for years. But putting Farrow in danger—it’s never been as easy as putting myself in harm’s way. He’d say the exact same.

So I don’t slip behind him. I stay by his side. He has no time to call me stubborn, another fist raps the door.

Farrow puts his hand on the knob. “Who is it?!” he yells, his voice commanding and threatening all at once. My pulse pounds hard.

Silence ekes out the other end, and that…yeah, that sends my blood cold.

Farrow hisses at me, “Back up. I’m not messing around anymore.”

I glower. “You don’t even have a canister of pepper spray.” I reach for my knife on my ankle—I don’t have a fucking tactical knife on me. Or a switchblade. I feel more unprepared. And I’m not even positive what I’m supposed to be preparing for.

Farrow extends his arm over my chest. Keeping me a foot or two behind him. “I don’t need a weapon,” he whispers lowly. “You’re safe; I’ll be safe. Just stay back. Or this door stays closed until Bruno gets here. And I know neither of us will like that.”

I hang onto the part where he says he’ll be safe.

Alright.

Alright.

I don’t push forward. As he cracks the door open, Farrow has the view. I only see the sky-blue painted wood, which blocks the person from my sight.

I watch my boyfriend’s expression change from territorial protectiveness to outright anger. He tries to swing the door closed on them.

That person sticks their foot in the crevice. A nice leather loafer jams the door open.

“Move your motherfucking foot,” Farrow sneers. “Or I will break it.”

“I have photos!”

What.

Blood drains out of my head. And I don’t recognize that urgent male voice. Farrow must though, and he’s one second from shoving his weight into the door and breaking that guy’s foot.

“Nude photos!” the guy shouts. “Of both of you!”

Bullshit.

There’s no way.

There’s no way, I think over and over again. I start layering my demeanor, my features, with brick and brick, mortaring down for the storm to come. “Farrow,” I say, voice strict. I have to see this guy. I can’t be in the dark anymore.

Farrow knows.

It’s why he doesn’t argue. He just yanks the door wider to allow me a better view. But he fills the doorway with his six-foot-three frame and muscular MMA build. Whoever is on the other side would have to barrel through Farrow to reach me.

Five people.

Five people stand outside our villa, cypress trees landscaping the private front yard and pebbled parking spot. The ratio blares in my brain: five to two.

We’re outnumbered.

Two heftier men in the back carry bulky cameras, and two taller guys have black duffel bags slung across their chests. Lighting equipment of some kind.

But the late-twenty-something guy out in f

ront, wearing a baby blue suit and yellow pocket square, steals most of my attention. I zero in on his ashy-brown hair, a quarterback build and gunmetal eyes.

Familiarity creeps into me, but I can’t quite place him. The picture is lost in the cobwebs of my brain.

Who are you?

My boyfriend white-knuckles the doorframe, one second from slamming it shut. “You’re full of shit,” Farrow sneers. “Get your camera crew off our front steps. This is private property.”

The gunmetal-eyed guy ignores him. “Maximoff,” he says quickly. “We weren’t properly introduced. I’m Ace Steel—”

“What,” I snap heatedly. Fucking Christ.

This is the porn star. I wonder how much the company is paying him to be here. To try to convince me to work for them.

He starts again, “I—”

“No,” I cut in. “Whatever you want from me, no.” Anger gnaws at me, clawing to take hold and destroy before I’m destroyed. I breathe and turn to my boyfriend. “Farrow.” I want him to shut the door. His earlier instincts were spot on. Get this fucking guy out of here.

“I’ll leak the nudes!” Ace yells before Farrow can do anything.

He’s not serious.

I charge and Farrow actually blocks me from bombarding the door, his arm across my chest.

“You’re blackmailing me?” I growl. “To my face?!”

“It’s not blackmail.” Ace glances cautiously to the four men around him, then back to me, “I just want to talk. Give me five minutes. Do you understand what I had to go through to get a face-to-face with you?”

Yeah…he had to bid two million dollars on me at an auction, and he still couldn’t get that time with me. I don’t even want to know what he did to track us down here.

I don’t want to know.

I don’t want to feel even more violated than I do right now.

“You don’t have nudes,” I say like it’s a real fact. It has to be. Anything else feels wrong.

Farrow has reached back and wrapped an arm around my waist, all while facing forward and keeping his focus on Ace. He’s trying to protect me, but I want to raise our armies for him. I want to tear this guy to fucking pieces.