Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

Chapter 176

#Chapter 176 – All Tied Up

Delia enjoys it a little too much, the sting on her palm when she slaps Joyce across the face.

He growls, his head still snapped to the side, his cheek red with the impact. Delia can see his teeth begin to elongate. God, but he wants to tear her to pieces.

She just grins.

“Tell us,” Emma says, her voice calm. “The passwords to all of the banking systems. The locations of the weapons cache.”

They had spent the past few hours going through Joyce’s phone, through the abundance of emails and records available there on it. They had learned that the Walsh and Willard packs combined had a great deal of military force but, indeed, very little money.

In order to take the pack, they were going to need both. The money was easy – simply transferring it from one account to another. The army, on the other hand…

It was going to be more difficult to get a team of Betas to transfer their allegiance to a trio of women who were clearly working on a coup to take the pack. But Evelyn was confident that, if they could prove that John and Joyce were incompetent that the Betas would be persuaded to turn their allegiance to the next in line for pack control: Ian.

In order to do that, though, they needed control of the weapons. They had to prevent any particularly creative or inventive Betas from taking their allegiance to John or Joyce too far.

“I’m not giving you anything,” Joyce says, gritting his teeth. “You stupid bitches – you’re never going to get away with this. Even with the money and the weapons – you’ll never turn the pack against me.”

“It won’t be hard to turn the pack against you,” Delia says, bringing her face close to his, “if you’re dead.”

Joyce turns sharply and snaps his teeth at her then, but Delia just laughs, pulling her face away in time.

“You’re enjoying this,” Emma says, flicking her eyes over Delia. “Maybe…a little too much.”

“Maybe,” Delia says, laughing and crossing her arms over her chest. “But I just…really hate this guy.”

Just as Emma opens her mouth to speak again, Joyce’s phone beeps and a message pops up.

“What’s this,” Delia murmurs, picking up the phone. “Another one of your hooker clients, wondering why you’re late for your appointment?” She flicks her eyes to Joyce. “Honestly, Joyce, how many do you need…”

Her voice drifts off when she sees what’s on the screen, though.

“Emma,” she says, beckoning her over. “You need to see this.”

Frowning, Emma joins Delia by the table, quickly reading through the message from one of Joyce’s Betas.

Beta Q: Dear Aunt Emma and Delia. This is Ian. How are you? I am fine. I took this Beta’s phone to send you this message. I hope that is okay. I hope that you captured Uncle Joyce and that he is not reading this message. Uncle Joyce, if this is you, can you please give the phone to Aunt Emma? I want to talk to her please.

Emma and Delia look at each other, confused. What the hell?

“Kid’s wordy,” Delia murmurs, crossing her arms across her chest. “And, for a genius…not super savvy.”

“It’s fine,” Emma replies. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“What’s going on? What’s on my phone?” Joyce asks, suspicious. Both women ignore him as Emma types a reply.

Joyce’s Phone: It’s okay, Ian, you found us. What’s up?

In a few moments, the reply comes.

Beta Q: Oh, great! Well, mom wanted me to send you an update. She is downstairs in a prison and asked me to please tell you that plans have changed and that Victor is attacking my grandpop sometime soon. She said you’d want to know. Okay bye I have to go don’t text me back!

Delia and Emma groan and look at each other. Victor, attacking? What the hell was going on?

“A prison?” Delia asks, frowning. “In your basement?”

“Um, yeah,” Emma says, suddenly frantic and distracted. “There’s some old cells in the basement – but Delia, we have to go. If they’ve got her in the basement – they suspect – everything’s different, now, Delia. We have to get her out.”

“But wait,” Delia says, shooting Joyce a glance, careful not to give him any more information than they already have. “Can’t we just let…him handle it? Get her out?”

Emma knows, intuitively, that Delia means Victor.

“No, Delia,” Emma says, grabbing her phone and her coat. “She doesn’t want him to find her – she left for a reason. This is what she would do for us. We have to go.”

The two quickly collect their things, swiftly packing bags and heading out the front door to the car. Before they leave, they check one last time to ensure that Joyce is secure.

“Well be back,” Delia says, her face close to his as she ties his gag back in place. “Do us a favor and don’t die on us when we’re gone. I want to be here for that myself.”

He snarls at her but she just laughs lightly at him, turning off the lights as she heads out the door, locking it.

Joyce listens, hearing the car start, the wheels crunch as they pull out of the driveway and onto the road. Then, he smiles, just a little. The women had done a good job of tying him to the chair, making sure he couldn’t get out of it.

But the one thing they forgot to do was make sure the chair itself couldn’t move.

With great effort, Joyce begins to jolt in his seat, moving the chair across the kitchen until he feels the sharp corner of the granite countertop hit his back. Then, leaning forward, he slowly – so slowly – begins to rub the duct tape binding his wrists together on the square handle of a lower cabinet. This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

It’s grueling, laborious work. But Joyce smiles when he feels the top edge of the tape snap, just a little tiny bit.

Evelyn sighs, resting her head back on the wooden bench that’s her only furniture in the cell. Her eyes flit around the room, focusing on the stone walls on three sides, the iron bars that make up the fourth wall with the door that was the only way in and out.

She sighs, thinking about how she and Emma actually used to play down here as kids – pretending they were the Count of Monte Cristo or Little Dorrit. And now, here the room was finally being used for its intended purpose and Evelyn finds it…

…well, honestly, a little boring.

She sighs, staring again at the ceiling. She had known since her conversation with Ian this morning that she would likely end with her here, had counted on it, really. She wanted Victor to come and attack now, while he had the advantage – while Joyce was away, and her father and Willard’s armies were in chaos without him.

But she herself wanted to be anywhere, anywhere but the front lines. She knew that if her father were clever enough to use her as bait, that he could lure Victor into taking some really stupid steps in order to save her.

No matter the fact that Victor had dismissed her – had marked her as Rogue –

She knew, in her heart, that he wouldn’t be able to see her in actual danger. He wanted her away, apparently, out of his life. But not because he didn’t care about her – because she had betrayed him. Because he couldn’t trust her.

Evelyn bites her lip, wondering…well, perhaps if this would help. If her telling him to attack now, when her father was weak – could it be a way to begin to rebuild that trust? To give him something he desperately wants – destruction of his rival – as a way to show him that she’s on his side? That she always has been?

Evelyn groans, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. The not knowing – the tremendous boredom of waiting to find out. This – she can’t stand.

Always, always in her life Evelyn has been a woman of action – of making a decision, however rash, and following it through.

And how she’s made a decision that’s locked her in a cell in her father’s basement. Where she can’t make any further decisions, can’t make any moves, because there is literal stone and iron holding her back.

God, what she wouldn’t give right now for a little piece of Ian and Alvin’s twin speak. To be able to send Victor a message – even a tiny one – of support.

Having nothing else to do, Evelyn closes her eyes. And tries.