Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 172 – H-Hour

An hour later, Alvin is buckled into the back seat of the hummer, his hands folded in his lap, his little

backpack tucked between his feet. He watches out the window as his father clears up some final

instructions with Burton, who with stay with the cottage, and shakes Bridgette’s hand before starting to

walk towards the car.

Alvin watches as Rafe gives Bridgette a lingering hug and a small kiss and then, to Alvin’s shock,

follows his dad to the car.

Victor climbs into the driver’s seat and Rafe comes around to the passenger’s side, pulling the door

open and climbing into the car. Alvin’s mouth drops open as he sees Rafe buckle his belt.

“What,” Alvin says quietly, “are you doing here?”

Both men, surprised, turn to look at him in the back seat.

“What?” Rafe asks, his dark brows drawing together.

“I asked,” Alvin says, crossing his arms. “What you are doing here, uncle Rafe.”

Rafe’s eyes go wide but Victor just laughs.

“Rafe is coming with us,” Victor says, turning his attention back to the already-running car and putting it

in drive. At his signal, the convoy pulls out onto the road.

“Why,” Alvin asks, bitterness in his tone.

“You got a problem with me, kid?” Rafe asks sternly, but Alvin can see that he has a smirk on his face,

as if it might be funny if Alvin did have a problem with him.

“You’re a sneaky betrayer,” Alvin says, still angry. Rafe bursts out laughing, which just makes Alvin

madder.

Victor smiles as the convoy starts to pick up pace. “It’s okay, Alvin,” he says. “I commanded him to

follow my every order. I used my Alpha compulsion, so he can’t break it. Right Rafe?”

Rafe rolls his eyes. “Yes, that’s right,” he says, peering out the window. “Not that it was necessary.”

Alvin looks between them, considering. “So, no matter what,” he asks. “Uncle Rafe has to do what you

say? And not do anything to hurt you?”

“That’s right,” Victor says as they pull onto the highway. “Nothing to hurt me, or the campaign, or the

pack.” He smirks at his brother. “He has to be a good little puppy.”

Rafe gives him a dirty look, but says nothing.

“Good,” Alvin says, narrowing his eyes at the back of Rafe’s head. “Because if he betrays you again, I’ll

Alpha command him to jump off a bridge.”

The two men up front burst into laughter at that.

“All right, kid,” Rafe says, grinning back at him. “I take your point – you don’t trust me. Go easy on me,

all right?”

“No,” Alvin says, giving him another little glare. “I don’t have to do anything you say. I outrank you.”

Rafe laughs a little bit at that and then looks curiously at Victor. “Wait, does he outrank me?”

Victor just smirks at him and shrugs. “He’s the heir now. You’re just the spare.”

Rafe scowls in his seat as the convoy drives into the night.

By the time they arrive at the Beta camp, it’s nearly 1:30 in the morning, and Alvin has indeed fallen

asleep in the back. Victor feels sleep pulling at him too, though he knows there’s not quite time for it

yet.

Instead, he tucks Alvin into the little cot at the back of his office and heads out to the fire pit, where his

head Betas are waiting to begin to plan the attack. Seeing Victor take a seat at the head of the circle,

Rafe hesitates at the door.

Victor pauses, though, and turns to him. “Well?” he asks. “Are you coming?”

Smiling a little, Rafe comes out to the circle, where the Betas make room for him.

Victor frowns at him a little. “I’m surprised at you. The Rafe I know would have been brashly inserting

himself in this circle until I yelled at him to go away.”

Rafe looks up at Victor, a little rueful. “Yeah well,” he says. “The Rafe you knew didn’t get very far in

this world, did he? So, I’m trying something new.”

Victor smiles a little but then nods at him. “Well, don’t get too docile on me, Rafe. We need a little of

your wily cleverness on our side.”

Encouraged, Rafe leans forward to join the crew.

About an hour away, Delia finally pulls up to the cabin. It took forever to get home, mostly because she

took back roads, just in case someone knew to look out for her car in the area. She couldn’t be too

careful, not with a powerful Alpha in her trunk.

Cliff had helped her pack the knocked-out man into the trunk of her car. Then, he had also helped her

gag him and then tie his hands and legs together, showing her specific knots he knew would hold for an

hour or two at least.

“Who are you,” Delia had asked, pleased and baffled at Cliff’s very specific, very violent, set of

knowledge.

He had just smirked at her and told her not to ask questions she didn’t want answers to. Then, with a

casual wave, he had headed back into the bar.

The majority of the ride home had been peaceful, silent even. But about fifteen minutes ago, Delia had

started hearing thumps and bangs from the trunk.

“s**t,” she had murmured, looking over her shoulder. “Looks like Prince Charming is awake.”

As she pulls into the driveway, the noises from the trunk go silent. Joyce knows that the trunk will open

soon, and that this will be his time to spring.

Delia grimaces as she climbs out of the car and hurries to the house. Really, it would have been so

much easier if he had just stayed knocked out.

“Emma?” she calls, throwing open the door.

Emma springs off the couch, running towards Delia and wrapping her arms around her. “Oh thank god,”

Emma murmurs. “You were gone so long – I thought the worst –“

Emma’s eyes sweep over Delia, looking for any injuries, and she softly reaches out a hand to brush at

the bruises already forming around her neck.

“It’s okay,” Delia says, brushing her hand gently away. “We’ve got bigger problems.”

Emma looks over Delia’s shoulder and then nods. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

As Emma and Delia head out the door, Emma grabs a shotgun that Delia hadn’t noticed by the door. It

hadn’t been there when she left.

“Where did you get that thing,” Delia murmurs, eyeing the long gun as they walk to the car.

“I ordered it this morning,” Emma says, looking at her with a shrug. “Walmart has same-day delivery.”

Delia just looks at her with wide eyes and then turns her attention to the trunk. “Are you ready?” she

asks. Emma nods.

At a count of three, Delia swings the trunk open and Emma shoots a round into the air.

Joyce flinches at that, falling back onto his ass – he had positioned himself to spring out of the car, to

throw his weight at whoever opened it –

But Emma and Delia had predicted that, and had surprised him first with the sound of the shotgun as

the first thing he confronted in the night air.

As Joyce shakes his head to clear it, Emma swings the shotgun down, leveling it so that the barrel is

about a foot from his face.

“One wrong move, Joyce,” she says, her voice low and even. “And I’ll blow your face to pieces. Please

don’t try me. I’ve been wanting to do this for a long, long time.”

Joyce growls around his gag, but says nothing and doesn’t move.

Delia leans forward with a fresh set of ropes, tying them around Joyce’s ankles, connecting them with

about an eight-inch piece of rope between them so that, once he’s free of the trunk, he can walk in tiny

hobbled steps, but certainly not run without tripping over his own feet. Then, she cuts the ropes that

were pinning his legs together more tightly.

“Very slowly, now,” Emma says quietly. “I want you to climb out of the trunk and come with us to the

house, where we will tie you to a chair in the kitchen.”

Joyce flinches forward, ready to comply, but Emma takes another step forward, pressing the barrel to

the side of his head. Joyce freezes.

“I’m very serious, Joyce,” she says softly. “Our plan goes easier with you alive to ransom later. But

please, do not believe at any moment that you’re indispensable to us.”

His breathing tightens and he nods once, letting her know he believes her.

Then, slowly, he climbs out of the trunk and sets his feet on the ground. Emma nods to Delia, who

starts back towards the house, walking slowly so Joyce can follow her.

He does follow. But then once, just once, Emma sees him glance to the side, flinch slightly to the left as

if he might run, or maybe just testing their resolve –

Emma pulls the gun aside just a few inches and pulls the trigger, shot exploding forward from the gun,

grazing Joyce’s left cheek but falling, mostly, afield. Joyce gasps, stumbling to his right and then

spinning to stare at her.

“That was your last warning shot, my dear,” Emma says evenly, not blinking as she stares at him. “Next

time, I won’t miss.”

A little shaken, Joyce nods and continues up the steps after Delia. Once inside the house, he calmly

sits down in a kitchen chair and, under the pressure of Emma’s gun, allows Delia to tie and duct tape

him to the chair.

Once he’s firmly secured, Delia stands up behind him and leans down to whisper in his ear.

“Welcome to our little vacation resort, Joyce,” she says, smiling over his shoulder at Emma. “We’re

looking forward to having you as our house guest for a long, long time.”