Page 69 of Unhinged Alphas

A growl rumbles in Valek's throat as his pale gaze locks on me. "I swear to fuck, if I don't go with you assholes because of your shitty mutant?—"

"Hey, bro, you started it," Whiskey chimes in, looking up as he shrugs into his military coat, wincing. I can tell he's sore from being slammed into the floor during the brawl. His normally overconfident swagger is muted for once. "You're being more of a dick than usual, and that's sayin' something. Bird brain's right, maybe you got somethin' knocked loose."

"As if you're not the biggest dick of them all," Valek snaps, spinning to face him and almost toppling over in the process. "Fucking big boy."

Okay, he really does have a concussion. That is not one of his better insults.

"Idohave a big dick, thanks for noticing," Whiskey shoots back.

"You know that's not what I meant," Valek seethes, going toe-to-toe with him. Fortunately for us all, Whiskey just looks vaguely amused and another brawl doesn't kick off.

"You're crossing the line," I say firmly to Valek, getting between them even though Whiskey isn't escalating. Yet. I take a deep breath, trying not to lash out from sheer frustration. "Look, we need to start treating each other like family. That's what we are now—a family with an omega, not a dysfunctional pack that hates each other."

Whiskey snorts, strapping on his tactical vest. "What, you don't hate your family?"

I grit my teeth. "That isn't the point. Cutting each other down isn't funny anymore, and it hasn't been funny for a long time. We need to have each other's backs. We?—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Whiskey groans, rolling his eyes. "If you wanna get all therapy bro on us, how about remembering we're alphas and talkin' shit is how we show affection? I didn't get offended by his stupid comment until you acted like I should."

"I have no affection for you," Valek scoffs.

Whiskey grins at him. "Love you, too, bro."

Valek's upper lip curls in the beginnings of an irritated snarl.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly. We don't have time for this. We're under fucking alert. "Whiskey, that's not what I meant."

"Well, why's that the one thing that's off limits, then?" Whiskey challenges.

Plague folds his arms over his chest. "Yes, Thane, why is that?" he asks, clear amusement bleeding into his perpetually judgmental tone. He just enjoys stirring the pot even when it doesn't directly benefit him.

"It bothers Ivy when we insult each other," I saypointedly, hoping she'll side with me so we can end the conversation.

"I insult you guys more than anyone else," she says flatly.

Valek smirks menacingly. "Except her favorite, apparently."

Wraith blinks.Me? he signs in clear bewilderment, his brow furrowed. Truthfully, judging from the way Ivy's acting, I wouldn't be surprised. Why am I so jealous?

"Not like anything else is off limits for shit talking," Whiskey goes on, ignoring the rest of us. He starts counting off his fingers. "Your girly hair and emotional constipation, Plague's germophobia, Valek's puttin' people in pies?—"

I frown, suddenly hyper-aware of the way my hair tickles the nape of my neck as I pull on my own coat. Not like I've had time to get it cut.

"That was an accident," Valek interjects, sounding offended.

Whiskey barrels on. "And Wraith?—"

A low growl from Ivy cuts him off. Whiskey holds up his hands defensively. "I ain't talkin' about his face, I'm talkin' about the fact he's a human blender." He turns back to Valek. "Thisfucker lookslike a pod person wearing human skin with his freaky ass grin?—"

Valek's lips curl into that very grin Whiskey just described, picking up a dagger like he might stick it between Whiskey's eyes. "You've already covered me," he says dryly, sheathing the blade at his hip.

"My point is, bro," Whiskey continues, finishing strapping up his vest, "I don't need some twelve-pack ab monster being my knight in shining armor. Anyway, this is classic gladiator bod." He punctuates his statement by smacking his padded gut.

"It is," Ivy agrees, an unmistakable note of approval in her voice as her gaze flickers over the beefy alpha.

"I concur," Plague says in a strangely appreciative tone, his voice muffled behind his mask.

The room falls silent. All eyes turn to Plague, then to Whiskey. The color drains from Whiskey's face and his jaw hangs open as he stares blankly at Plague. "What the fuck are you talkin' about?" he finally mutters, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable for the first time in all the years I've known him.