My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 80: Sloppy kiss and a broken ankle ( Tom’s POV )

Chapter 80: Sloppy kiss and a broken ankle ( Tom’s POV )

I grabbed the unconscious omega off the floor and I jumped.

I know what you are thinking: jumping from the third floor? No way I survived that.

You would be right, of course, if the neighbor’s balcony didn’t have laundry hanging out to air on a thick rope.

Pure luck.

Until I looked down. Ten black vans full of people armed up to the teeth are entering the building.

Damian was completely out—head slumped against my shoulder, curls sticking to the sweat on my neck. His face looked unnervingly peaceful, which somehow made it worse. His skin, always pale, had taken on that too-still quality, like the life in him had just stepped out for a moment and hadn’t quite decided whether to return.

I had one arm wrapped tight around him, keeping his limp body from slipping. The other gripped the rope, my fingers screaming. The burn had started minutes ago, but now it was numb—just pressure and instinct, my hand fused to the line like letting go wasn’t even an option.

I couldn’t see the men anymore, not from here, but I knew they were almost beneath us. I could feel it. The sound of boots on concrete, the low murmur of voices. Relaxed. Confident.

They didn’t know we were above them. Not yet.

The rope shifted with the wind. Not much, just a sway, but enough to make my stomach drop. I tightened my grip around Damian. He didn’t stir. His lips were parted slightly, soft with unconscious breath, and his lashes fluttered once like he might wake—but didn’t.

There was blood on his temple. More down his neck, soaking into that ridiculous pink satin robe he’d refused to change out of. It felt like holding a ghost.

My arms were shaking now. Muscles locking up, grip failing one finger at a time. The skin on my palm was starting to split open. I couldn’t wipe my face, couldn’t blink away the sweat burning into my eyes. All I could do was hold on.

Just above us, the edge of the window was barely out of reach. So close, it felt like a joke.

The voices below got louder. Someone laughed.

I held Damian tighter. Conscious or unconscious, this guy was nothing but a headache.

What now?

We were on the second floor. How much until we could reach the ground?

Twenty feet? Six meters?

I don’t think we’ll die if we jump.

All we need to do is get to a car these guys left behind and get out of here. Emiliano has Luther. He’ll manage to protect him.

These armed guys with military training and a thirst for money are nothing against an evil gnome like Emiliano. Especially since he is protecting ’his wife’.

So all I should focus on now is me and this annoying extra weight.

Then the door below slammed open.

The bang echoed up through the alley like a gunshot, and in that split second, I didn’t think. There was no plan left. No move to make.

I let go.

The wind rushed past us in a single, punishing breath, the weight of the fall crushing into my spine before we even hit the ground. I twisted my body midair, wrapping Damian tighter, turning just enough to shield him.

We landed hard.

The impact jolted through my legs with a sickening crunch, pain exploding up through my left ankle like it had shattered in every direction. I didn’t scream, but only because there wasn’t air left in my lungs to do it.

We hit the pavement—me first, back slamming into the ground, arms still locked around him, holding him like glass. His head stayed tucked under my chin, his body untouched, still limp in that awful, peaceful way.

I couldn’t move. Not at first.

The pain in my ankle was white-hot, pulsing with every heartbeat. I knew it was broken. Could feel the way the bones didn’t line up anymore. But Damian hadn’t taken the hit. I’d made sure of that.

The footsteps were rushing now, louder, closer. Voices shouting. Gunmetal and boot soles and the sound of people who thought they had us cornered.

I had to move fast despite the pain.

I threw the blonde twink on my bag as I tried to stabilize my balance using just one foot.

The pain was unbearable as the noise of their steps mingled with the drums of my own heartbeats.

I didn’t even realize when I got to the car.

I threw Damian on the back bench and I got behind the wheel. From there to the forest we ended up in, trying to get rid of those mercenaries—

It felt just like a moment. A long mouth of air held in for a bit too long.

"F-ck.!"

Everything is ruined.

F-ck.

I thought that if I give the Parliament a way to get Luther arrested, I would spend more time with him alone. In a secluded area. Without the evil gnome.

But the Leprechaun with a taxidermy hobby paid the caution like it was pocket money.

Whoever put the bounty on Luther’s head, knew that Emiliano would pay it. It must be someone from the Prime Minister’s auction.

Only the ones there knew what Emiliano looked like. And about his attachment to Luther.

Who?

It could be the Prime Minister’s killer himself. Or herself.

What am I supposed to do now?

My ankle was killing me.

Throbbing like it had its own pissed-off heartbeat, already swelling up like a balloon. Every time I so much as twitched, a bolt of pain shot up my leg like punishment. I could feel the bones grinding—off, misaligned, definitely broken. Hot, sharp, ugly pain that made me want to curse at the pavement itself. I couldn’t stand on it, couldn’t even look at it without my stomach turning. It was useless now. Just one more problem in a day that already felt like a slow-motion disaster.

This couldn’t get worse!

"Oh my God, I am bleeding!"damian shouted, alarmed.

Guess it can get worse after all.

"We jumped from the third floor to escape a grenade.", I tried to explain.

"This is gonna scar!"

He won’t listen to me, will he?

"Drive me to a hospital!", he demanded.

"I would love to, darling, but I broke my ankle trying to get us both from there. I can’t drive anymore."

"You saved me?... Why?"

"Should I’ve just let you die? Quit asking stupid questions. The pain is unbearable as it is."

"You saved me."

"Yeah."

"You saved me."

I turned my head. Does he have a concussion? Why is he repeating himself over and over again?

The wound was small, just above his temple—nothing deep, but enough to leave a dark trail trickling down to his cheek. He didn’t seem to notice.

His blue eyes were wide, unfocused, staring somewhere far past the room—like he was watching clouds, or fireworks only he could see. And on his lips, a grin. Soft. Loose. Almost innocent. The kind of smile you’d expect from a child seeing something magical for the first time.

It didn’t fit. Not with the blood. Not with the mess.

Then his eyes met mine.

Slowly. Calmly. Like he hadn’t just been unconscious, like he wasn’t bleeding.

And he smiled wider. Brighter. Like he knew something I didn’t.

Something I wouldn’t like.

"You fell in love with me!"

"Did you hit your head that hard? What nonsense are you mumbling, dude?"

"You like me so much it makes you look stupid!"

This guy is genuinely insane. What’s wrong with him?

He was grinning too wildly.

Not his usual spaced-out, dazed sort of smile—the kind he wore when bleeding or drugged or pretending not to care. No, this one was sharp. Crooked. Arrogant. Like he knew exactly what he was doing and had decided to enjoy every second of it.

His curls were still a mess, dried blood crusted near his temple, satin robe hanging off one shoulder like it belonged in another scene entirely. He looked like chaos barely held together by thread—and somehow, he made it work.

I was about to say something— when he leaned forward, quick and uninvited, grabbed a fistful of my shirt and yanked me halfway out of the driver’s seat.

His mouth hit mine—messy, uncoordinated, all heat and zero warning. Sloppy. Unapologetic.

I didn’t even have time to react, just wide eyes and frozen hands on the wheel as he kissed me like it was a punchline to some joke only he found funny.

And then he pulled back, still grinning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he was proud of himself.

"You’re welcome!"

I sat there, completely still, hands frozen on the steering wheel like I’d forgotten how driving worked. My lips were still damp—his doing—and my brain hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.

Disgusting. Utterly disgusting.

"Damian, don’t ever do that again."

"Why? Are you shy?"

"No. Because you will die."