Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother Chapter 68: Confess Your Crimes

I gestured at the dice. "Go ahead, roll."

Patchy Mustache seed skeptical before scooping up the dice. His hands were shaking. He cast a nervous glance at Luis Miguel, who nodded in approval. The dice clattered against the board.

A two and a four.

So of the boys whooped in excitent, while others groaned. I simply smiled.

Luis Miguel folded his arms, studying carefully. "You sure you wanna play, señor? We usually don’t have, uh... older company."

I shrugged. "I like gas." I leaned forward slightly. "And I like knowing what kind of people I’m playing with."

The way Luis Miguel’s eye twitched told he caught the hidden aning. His friends, however, were still too nervous to breathe properly.

I smirked, leaning back just enough to look relaxed, like I wasn’t about to turn their world upside down. "Oh, I don’t lose." I tossed the die onto the board. It rolled, bounced, and landed on a perfect six.

The boys exchanged glances.

"Oh, he’s lucky," one of them muttered.

Luis Miguel’s jaw tightened. "Beginner’s luck."

I shrugged. "Maybe." Then, I threw another bill onto the pile. "Double or nothing."

The ga continued, and for a few rounds, I let them think I was just another fool at their table, laughing at their trash talk, playing into the easy camaraderie. They got comfortable again, nudging each other and cracking jokes.

"You know, Beta, you’re not so bad," one of them, a lanky kid with a missing front tooth, said with a grin.

Luis Miguel chuckled. "Yeah, man. Thought you’d be all serious and scary, but you’re just like us."

I arched a brow. "Just like you?"

"Yeah! I an... you like a little gamble, don’t you?"

I smiled and shrugged. "I do enjoy a good ga. Speaking of gas..." I tossed the dice absentmindedly, watching as the boys greedily scooped up their winnings. "Where’d you all get the money to play?"

My question was t with an imdiate silenced

It was almost comical how quickly the mood shifted. A second ago, they were cocky little bastards, and now they were shifting in their spots, suddenly fascinated by the dirt under their fingernails.

Luis Miguel forced a laugh. "What do you an, Beta? We just, uh, saved up."

I tilted my head. "Saved up?"

"Yeah, yeah! We, uh, do chores and stuff," another piped up.

"Chores," I repeated, drumming my fingers against my knee. "Interesting. Because from what I hear, you guys aren’t exactly known for your... hard work."

They started to sweat.

Luis Miguel waved a hand. "Co on, man, we don’t have to talk about money. Let’s just play—"

Just play? What did he an just play when he’d pinned María José to the wall just two days ago and was planting his dirty lips on hers?

He’d know what real ’play’ was by the ti I was done with him and his cronies.

I slamd my hand down onto the pile of bills, cutting him off. The atmosphere beca intense instantly.

Every single one of them froze, their bodies going rigid like prey that had just realized the predator was a lot closer than they thought.

"Why are you lying to ?" I asked in a dangerously calm voice.

Luis Miguel swallowed hard. "We’re not..."

I grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward so fast, he wheezed. "Try again."

"Beta, please..."

I turned my glare to the others. "And you lot? You going to keep feeding bullshit, or do I have to drag the truth out of you?"

Patchy Mustache was the first to crack. "W-We found it!"

I laughed. "Oh? Where?"

"Uh..."

"That’s what I thought."

I let go of Luis Miguel just enough for him to stumble backward, then crossed my arms over my chest. "Let make this easy for you. Tell where you got the money, or we can take a walk to the Alpha’s office, and you can explain it to him instead."

That did it.

They all started talking at once.

"It wasn’t our fault!"

"We were just ssing around!"

"He left his stall unattended!"

I raised a hand, and they shut up instantly. "One at a ti."

Luis Miguel, now looking like a kid who just realized he was in serious trouble, mumbled, "We... we took it from a vendor."

"Which vendor?"

A long pause. Then, in an inaudible voice, "The fruit seller in the market."

I smiled. "Great. Let’s go pay him a visit."

Their faces drained of color.

"Now?" Patchy Mustache squeaked.

"Now."

Luis Miguel tried to backpedal. "Beta, co on, he doesn’t even know it was us..."

I grabbed the back of his collar and dragged him forward. "Then let’s make sure he does."

They didn’t want to go. I could see it in the way Luis Miguel and his little pack of jackals dragged their feet, their shoulders hunched like they thought they could make themselves smaller and sohow slip away. But I wasn’t letting them.

"Move," I warned, pushing them forward with a finger.

They flinched but obeyed. Not because they wanted to—oh no, they would’ve run for the hills if they thought they could—but because I was right behind them, and they knew if they tried anything, I’d make them regret it.

The market was still bustling, the scent of ripe tomatoes fresh bread, raw at, and fish traveled in the air. It was loud too—vendors shouting their deals, custors haggling, the unending hum of a hundred conversations overlapping like the noise of city life.

We stopped at the fruit stall. He was an older man, stocky with a barrel chest and thick, enduring hands.

His mustache twitched as he counted his coins, the deep creases in his forehead making him look permanently displeased. And why wouldn’t he be? He’d been cheated, and he didn’t even know it. Yet.

His face brightened the mont he recognized .

I hated being detected openly, but this was inevitable anyway.

"Beta! What a surprise! What brings you—" His gaze landed on the boys.

The brightness disappeared and so did his words.

I clapped a hand on Luis Miguel’s shoulder. "These fine gentlen have sothing to say."