CHAPTER 149: FRIENDLY CELLMATE ( EMILIANO’S POV )

"You can’t arrest me without proof."

"If you resist arrest, we will have no choice, but to sedate you!"

"Very well. Arrest me then."

"Be careful with him! His pheromones are toxic!"

"He’s an alpha, Madam Akna. He can be threatening, but not dangerous to our health."

"That’s right, Madam Akna. What harm could I really do?"

"Mister Sanchez, you have the right to remain silent! Anything you will say could and will be used against you in the court of law!"

"May I call a lawyer, please?"

"One attorney will be provided by the state if you cannot afford it. As soon as we get to the station, you will have the right to contact your designated attorney if you can afford one!"

"Great! Cuff me up! But carefully, I am married, you know?"

"Little f-ck! I’ll kill you one day!"

Just how dumb can Killian truly be?

Well, it’s not like it’s not playing into my favor.

"Officers, I am scared about my safety. Can you get me out of here quicker, please?"

They walked me out past security. The receptionist stared. I smiled at her. She looked like she wanted to sink through the floor.

The car was unmarked. Windows cracked. Ventilation high. No one spoke for the entire ride. One officer kept glancing back at me like he expected me to evaporate mid-turn.

I was led through booking like a VIP.

Quiet. Precise. Gloves on.

They didn’t even touch my arm when guiding me—just gestured like I was capable of understanding direction. Which I was. I’m nothing if not cooperative when it suits me.

Mugshot.

No smile.

One side of my face lit like a war criminal, the other like a magazine cover. I looked good.

I usually do.

Then came the punch.

Not part of the arrest. Some officer who hadn’t been involved. Big guy. Angry posture. Walked in after booking and announced himself with his jaw.

"That him?" he asked the room.

Someone muttered.

"Yeah. That’s Sanchez."

He walked right up, looked me in the face, and said:

"No way you’re the guy running half the shit underground. You look like a barista."

I turned toward him slowly.

"I was going for the librarian vibe actually."

He didn’t answer. Just swung.

Fist to face. Clean connection. My glasses broke in half, one lens skipping across the floor. Sharp pain, then heat under the skin.

Blood, yes.

Impressive?

Not really.

I straightened, one golden eye visible behind the shattered frame.

"Hope that made you feel bigger."

He stepped back like he’d won something.

"I just punched Emiliano Sanchez," he said to the hallway. "That’s going on my résumé."

Congratulations, Officer Nobody.

They processed me into holding after that. Didn’t even try to hide the tension in their posture. They knew what I was. They didn’t know what I could do.

They didn’t need to.

The cell was clean. Cold bench. Iron bars. No one else inside.

Next cell over wasn’t so lucky.

He saw me the second I walked in. Big, bald, covered in low-effort tattoos. The kind of man who believes a chinstrap beard is a personality.

"Well, well," he said. "They finally give me a cellmate with cheekbones."

I didn’t respond.

"You’re a quiet one. That’s okay. I like my meals rare."

I sat on the bench, leaned back, and closed my eyes. One cracked lens still hanging from the ruined glasses.

I didn’t bother fixing them.

Such a headache.

I wonder what my wife is doing.

"I bet you’re one of those high-dollar freaks. Designer blood. Lab-grown ass. They cook you up in Akna’s basement? You look like an omega."

Still nothing from me.

Wonder if Luther knows about my arrest yet. It should be on the national news already.

Will he come to save his husband?

"I’d take you apart so slow," he continued. "I’d start at the ribs, work my way down. Get you cryin’ my name."

I breathed. Not deeply. Not sharply. Just normal. Steady.

Noise. Noise. Noise.

Like the one I used to hear on the streets. Reminded me of my childhood.

"You’re the kinda guy makes a man creative, you know?" he said. "Like, I’d have to hold you by the hair just right. Real tight. Make you scream sweet."

Yeah, streets were filled with rats like these.

Sadly, these ones had too many STDs to be cookable.

"You think being quiet makes you scary?" he asked. "Nah, sweetheart. You’re in a cage now. You’re just meat in a pretty bag."

He got louder as I got quieter. More grotesque by the minute. Describing angles. Fluids. Sounds. Things he wanted to taste. Things he wanted to keep. At one point he moaned, loudly, on purpose.

I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t even blink.

"You wanna know the worst part?" he said finally. "I love it when they don’t talk. Love it when they just sit there, shaking. That little tremble. That little cry in the back of the throat. You’ll sound perfect."

I kept looking forward. Calm. Still. Golden eye half-lidded behind cracked glass.

He pressed his face against the bars, tongue wetting his lips like a starving man.

"I swear to God, when they let us out, I’m gonna make your insides beg to stay inside."

I turned my head, slow.

Looked at him.

Met his eyes.

Held that stare for five full seconds.

Then I looked away again.

Said nothing.

Just smiled.

And let him stew.

But the Officer Nobody came again. Smirking.

He opened the next cell and dragged him out — the alpha. Bigger than ever up close. Arms like tree trunks. Sweat already running down his back, the stink of him filling the hallway before he even stepped inside.

"You sure about this?" the other officer asked, half-laughing.

The first shrugged. "Let the freak get what’s coming to him. Not our problem."

They shoved him into my cell and shut the door.

The lock clicked.

They walked off.

The big guy just stood there, staring at me like he was being handed a meal with a bow on it.

"Ain’t you lucky," he muttered, licking his bottom lip. "They really left you alone with me?"

I didn’t move. Sat where I was, same position. One leg up, one hand on my knee. My glasses still cracked. One golden eye looking straight through him.

"I was just gonna keep talking through the bars," he said, voice low and guttural, "but now? I can touch."

He started circling the cell like a dog testing the cage. Big steps. Heavy breathing. Shoulders rolling. He looked like he was trying to decide where to grab first.

"You got that soft skin, huh?" he said, circling behind me. "Like you don’t even know what pain feels like. You ever been marked up? No, probably not. But that’s gonna change."

I stayed still.

"You got that tight little mouth, too. I bet it’d bruise so good. I bet it’d slide right off my—"

Still nothing.

That made him bolder.

"You don’t speak? Fine. I don’t need you to. I just need you to hold still. Or don’t. I like a little fight."

He stepped in front of me again. Crouched. His breath was rancid — sweat, stomach acid, old blood.

"I’m gonna choke you until your eyes roll. Then I’m gonna spit in your mouth and shove it in. You’ll take it. I’ll make you take it."

He laughed.

"You’ll cry. You’ll gag. And when you throw up, I’ll make you lick it off my—"

I looked up slowly. Not flinching. Not blinking.

Just looking.

Golden eye on his sweaty, grinning face.

"Yeah," he breathed, "just like that. Look at me. That’s right. Pretty b-tch."

He reached out and grabbed my collar.

Pulled.

Hard.

He dragged me up off the bench until we were eye to eye, faces inches apart.

His grin widened. His lip curled.

He was breathing like a dog. Hot and sticky.

"You feel that?" he whispered. "That little tremble? That heat? That’s fear. I feed on it."

He leaned in.

His tongue came out and slid across his lips, leaving a trail of spit.

He exhaled through his nose, long and heavy.

"I’m gonna have you until you pass out," he said. "Then I’m gonna wake you up and do it again. I’ll carve my name into your hip with my teeth. Then you’re gonna have my babies. In every crevasse of your body"

I smiled.

He froze.

"Why are you—"

I exhaled.

Not deep. Just natural. Casual.

Air left my lungs like nothing at all.

And the room began to change.

He didn’t notice it at first. Most don’t. It creeps in through the blood — a tiny tightness in the chest. A metallic taste behind the teeth. The smallest flicker of panic in the back of the brain.

He pulled back half an inch.

Sniffed.

Blinking.

"Why’s it hot in here?"

I said nothing.

His nose twitched again. A tiny drip of blood ran from one nostril. His eyes blinked harder. His chest rose faster.

"What the f-ck did you do?"

I just kept smiling.

And then—

Click.

The lock turned.

The cell door swung open.

He turned fast.

Tom stood in the doorway.

Suit crisp. Tie straight. Red hair sharp as a blade. He didn’t look angry. Just annoyed.

His voice was flat.

"Let go of my client."

The big guy stumbled backward like someone had snapped their fingers inside his skull.

Tom stepped into the cell, looked me over once, then back at the alpha. The guy was shaking now, sweat pouring down his temple, eyes glassy.

"You keep causing trouble for me, don’t you, blondie?"

"I might not be blonde anymore, but I am sure d-mn happy to see you. Although, it’s been a while since I had a little playtime with a rat. This one talks a lot too."

"You’re making your situation worse."

"Then make it better for me, Tommy. Make me feel like a free man again!"

With a tight grasp of my hand, Tom pulled me out of the cell, leaving behind a shivering, crying, begging, bloody b-stard.