Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 26: The Truth Behind Anonymous

Kianna’s POV:

The room felt heavier after Mordred stormed out, the door slamming like a punctuation mark on our latest disaster.

Lysander sank back against his pillows, wincing as he adjusted his bandaged arm, the IV stand rattling beside him.

I paced the linoleum, my coffee forgotten and cooling on the floor where I’d dropped it. The argument’s echoes still rang in my ears—Mordred’s desperate pleas and my own sharp accusations. The photos from that forum post burned in my mind: him with that brunette, tangled in sheets that looked suspiciously like his.

Fake or not, the betrayal stung, even if doubt nagged at me. But now, with the unknown text hanging over us like a storm cloud, and those horrifying images of Lesley tied to a chair with her eyes wide with fear—Mordred was out there chasing shadows alone.

The volunteer in me wanted to call him back, but the fury? It kept my phone in my pocket for now.

Lesley. God, Lesley—bubbly, hyper Lesley, who didn’t deserve any of this. Tied up like some hostage in a bad movie, hopeless and terrified because of me.

My mess had spilled over onto her, and the panic clawed at my throat. What if they hurt her? What if I didn’t act fast enough? She was probably wondering where I was, why this was happening, and all I could do was pace in this sterile room while Mordred raced toward who-knows-what.

Lysander cleared his throat, pulling me from the spiral. "Kianna... before all that went down, I was trying to tell you something about Anonymous, remember?"

I stopped pacing, turning to him with a frown, my mind still half on Lesley. "What? Oh yeah, I nearly forgot."

"Me too." He responded, then shifted, his good hand fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "The chaos jogged my memory. I didn’t get to finish at the café because of the shot, but... I figured it out. Traced some IPs on the forum posts and cross-checked with weird logins I’d noticed on shared campus networks."

Then he leaned in, as if trying to share a government secret and whispered softly. "Anonymous isn’t a guy, It’s a girl, her name is Kylie. And get this—she’s Trent’s girlfriend."

The name hit like a slap. "Kylie? As in... Kylie sleeping on my dorm floor? Shy, off-vibe Kylie who Lesley dragged in while I was gone?"

Lysander nodded, eyes serious. "One and the same. I didn’t know she was closer to you like that until I saw her walking with Lesley, your roommate."

Oh God help me. So this means all this time, the one who has been digging dirt about me was Kylie? But wait, it doesn’t make any sense why will she do that?

And I never knew she even existed if not for the day I went back to my dorm.

" Lysander, are you sure about this? Because I barely know Kylie, why will she try to hurt me?" I asked him.

"I was asking myself the same question too, why would she want to hurt you? But I have no idea. I’ve seen her with Trent a few times late at nights, whispering in the dorm lounge. Didn’t think much of it until I snooped on his phone last week and saw the messages between them, it was coded but obvious."

Shock rooted me in place, my mind began racing back to the dorm: Kylie’s quiet entrance, that flat tone that had pinged wrong from the start.

The way she’d slipped out to the "library" while Lesley and I chatted. Had she been listening? Reporting back? And now Lesley—innocent and chatty Lesley was paying for it, bound and scared in some unknown hellhole.

My fault, all because Kylie had wormed her way in, using my roommate as leverage.

Panic surged, my hands trembling as I imagined Lesley calling out for help, alone. "But why? What’s her angle? Trent’s her boyfriend, sure, but hacking forums, sending snipers—kidnapping Lesley? That’s insane. Les doesn’t even know about any of this. She’s just... my friend. It still doesn’t make any sense."

Lysander sighed, rubbing his temple. "That’s the part I don’t get. From what I pieced together on Trent’s phone, Kylie’s got some unfinished grudge with Mordred. Old business, maybe from before all this. She’s using Anonymous to settle it—targeting you to get to him, or something twisted like that. Trent’s in on it, but he’s just the muscle. If Mordred confronts her..."

I pulled out my phone instinctively and cut in."We have to warn him. He’s heading to that warehouse—alone. If Kylie’s Anonymous, she could be waiting with God knows what. And Lesley... if Mordred screws this up, what happens to her? I can’t just sit here while she’s suffering because of me."

"No." Lysander’s voice sharpened, his good hand reaching out like he could stop me. "Don’t call him. Not yet. If you tip him off, he might go in guns blazing, and we’ll never know the full story. Why Kylie? What’s her beef with him? Trent’s messages hinted at something personal. If they meet and she spills... we all can get the answers. But if you call now and it blows up, Lesley will pay the price."

I stared at him, unease twisting in my gut like a knot I couldn’t untie, mixed with a fresh wave of terror for Lesley. "You want to use Mordred as bait? After he just tried to punch you? Lysander, that’s insane. Lesley’s life is on the line here. She’s probably terrified, wondering what she did wrong. This is my fault; I dragged her into my drama without even knowing."

" No, that’s smart," he finished, eyes steady. "I don’t like the guy, but he’s tough. And curious as you. He’ll survive a chat. We need the why, Kianna. Without it, this never ends and Lesley stays in danger longer."

He made sense, in that cold, logical way that ignored the pounding in my chest and the guilt choking me.

Kylie in my dorm, steps away while I sleep—and now holds Lesley hostage.

The sniper’s bullet that could’ve been mine. But Mordred’s out there, fueled by rage and hangover, walking into a trap that could get Lesley killed if it went wrong.

Even after the photos, after the grabby jealousy, the thought of him hurt or worse—clawed at me. We weren’t just a deal anymore; we’d crossed into something messier and realer.

And Lesley? She was collateral in a war she didn’t sign up for. I had to do something.

"Fine," I muttered, pocketing my phone. "But if something goes wrong, what if Lesley gets hurt because we waited..."

"It won’t, trust me." He muttered, so sure about himself.

I nodded, but the unease festered, amplified by visions of Lesley struggling against those ropes.

Excusing myself to the bathroom down the hall, I locked the stall door and dialed Mordred’s number. But he didn’t pick up, I called him 5 times but all went straight to voicemail, his gravelly voice prompting me to leave a message.

"Pick up, damn it," I whispered, frustration building. Was he ignoring me? Or already in too deep? And Lesley—every second wasted was a second she suffered.

No answer. I typed a text instead, fingers flying: "Mordred, Anonymous is Kylie. Trent’s girlfriend, the one in my dorm.She’s got a grudge against you so the warehouse is a trap. Don’t go in blind, Call me. And please save Lesley."

I hit send, staring at the screen as the "delivered" tick appeared. Hoping and praying—he’d see it before it was too late. Before whatever "unfinished business" Kylie had turned fatal, and before Lesley paid the ultimate price for my mistakes.

I might never forgive myself for it. Not in this life or another. I hurriedly left the place and went back to Lysander’s area.

But the moment I stepped into the main hallway, a shadowy figure brushed past me, avoiding eye contact as they slipped out the door which leads to Lysander’s room. I don’t think he/ she is a staff or a doctor here.

Oh my God Lysander, my stomach dropped. I need to check up on him. I rushed into his room and froze. He was okay, eyes on his phone but raised his head when he sensed my presence.

" Is everything okay?" He asked, innocently. I exhaled deeply and gave him a fake smile. I really wanted to ask him about who just got out of his room. But it might seem awkward.

"Yeah," I responded, sinking into the chair, But inside, the knot tightened. Answers were coming—but at what cost? And who just got out of his room?

Whatever Lysander got going on it’s better not be what I’m thinking. Something is telling me, this is more than it looks like.

Who’s this boy? And what was he doing in his room? The fact that he’s acting as if nothing had happened, and nobody just went out of his room was so fishy.

I just stared at him in awe. Then whispered under my breath. " God have I made another wrong decision?"