Page 4

Chapter Four

T he second hand on my watch ticks, moving with sharp clicks that echo around my car. The noise is irritating, but I don’t dare drown it out by filling the space with music. No. I need to focus least I miss her exit.

A small silver sedan pulls up to the curb, parking in front of the building, then puts on hazards so the red lights blink rapidly in the dark night.

Where is she?

Gripping my phone until the metal groans, I use my other hand to frantically pull up my locator app. I’m finally able to breathe when I see the blue dot still blinking inside the building.

“Where are you, Puff? You’re never going to make it for curfew.” My eyes water as they remain trained on the door, waiting to see her come running out with exasperation on her face. That girl hates her 10 p.m. curfew, but she’s so sweet-spirited and kind-hearted that she never misses it. Posie never wants to cause her parents any stress, so she goes along with their manipulation.

Personally, I love it. Knowing she needs to be home at a certain time every night. It helps me keep track of her, keep her safe. Or as safe as she can be until I make her mine.

Only a few minutes late, Posie runs from the building in a whir of long brown hair. She must have taken her braid out after the game, and it flies behind her now in a silky cloud caught by the wind. Without hesitation, she jumps into the sedan, and my heart pounds, roaring in my ears.

“You didn’t even check they were your ride. Gonna get that ass spanked if you ever do it again, baby girl.” Growling, I shift out of park and peel down the street after them, determined not to let that stupid silver car out of my sight.

Adrenaline floods my veins, as it always does, while I stalk my girl. I wish I could be the one driving her, but after I just ‘happened’ to be around to offer her rides too many times, she started getting surly and suspicious. If Posie figures out I’m tracking her, it’ll be game over. And if she tells her parents…

A shudder twists down my spine, but I can’t dwell on what-ifs. My eyes squint, focusing on the road ahead and those red taillights. They better go straight to her house. No detours, and if the driver gets any funny ideas, they’ll find themselves on the other side of my fist.

I may not be able to claim her, but I protect what’s mine.

The vehicle turns down an unfamiliar street, and an angry snarl rips from my throat .

What are they doing?

After ripping the wheel to the left, I follow more closely than I should. The leather on my steering wheel protests against my steely grip. Fortunately, at the next right, the driver turns, bringing us back on course to the Moore family residence.

Sweat trickles down my temples. All this stress will bring me to an early grave.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the car pulls up to the curb outside Posie’s house, and she hops out, bending with a smile to thank the driver.

Stop standing outside in the dark.

My nerves are fucking shot to hell, so I turn off the engine and take a minute to calm the shaking of my hands—my whole damn body, if I’m being honest. Puff prances up the stairs, then stops, peering into the night as if she can feel my presence. Her eyes dart around, and I wait, hoping she’ll see me, but also praying she doesn’t. Trembling slightly, she pulls her house key from her pocket and twists it into the lock. The door hinges open, and with a last glance in my direction, she darts inside.

Home safe.

A harsh ringing suddenly screams through my SUV, the speaker crackling from the noise and causing me to jump. Owen’s name glows on the dashboard to signal an incoming call, so I tap the button on the steering wheel to connect.

“What?” I ask, without preamble.

“Jeez, man, grumpy much?” His laugh filters through the speakers, and I glare at it, not in the mood for his teasing as I come down from the adrenaline rush .

Instead of answering, I wait in silence, knowing he won’t hold out for long.

“Fuck, fine. The team is celebrating our victory at The Wet Hole tonight. Come down.” His words are more demand than request, making my Alpha bristle, but a drink sounds good since my only other option is to head back to my empty apartment. He may not be the Moore I want right now, but he’s the one I’m gonna get. “Those assholes who were hassling Posie just walked in.”

And sold.

“I’ll take another,” I say, tossing down some crumpled bills to get the bartender’s attention. Most of the baseball team is out, drinking, carousing, and having women fawn over them. Yeah, we crushed the Lakeland Lions today—it was a great home opener, but even if we had lost, my mood would be the same.

Ready for violence.

My eyes scan the room for my prey as I snag the beer and slip silently through the crowd toward the booth Owen commandeered at the back.

“Oh, my God! You’re Miller Phillips! You’re the hottest player on the team,” a bottle-blonde squeals, throwing her arms around my neck. The cloying scent of weak raspberry tea fills my nostrils, and it takes everything in me not to rip her off and throw her clear across the room. No woman touches me. Ever. I belong to Posie and Posie alone.

“Let go,” I demand through gritted teeth, glad to see Tyler, one of my teammates, headed this way. Like fucking Superman, he swoops in.

“Hey there, pretty darlin’.” He lays on a thick southern accent, which has Blondie retracting her octopus arms almost instantly when she detects new prey. She uncoils from around me, and a sigh of relief bursts from my lips.

Escaping as quickly as possible, I rush to the booth like my ass is on fire. With a loud groan, I slide in next to Crimson. As soon as I’m safe, I look back at Tyler, who mouths, ‘You owe me,’ and there’s no doubt that I do. The blonde paws at his crotch, and he grimaces, grabbing her hand and giving her a twirl.

“They still here?” I ask, ready to turn my attention to the real reason I’m here—some fucker touched my Puff, and now he needs to learn a lesson.

“Who?” Damien asks, a teasing light in his eyes. Dick. The man lives to needle me. Owen shoulders him good-naturedly before jutting his chin toward the far corner. I follow his line of sight, scanning the crowd.

It takes a moment, but soon enough, my eyes lock with the dirtbag Alpha who dared to mess with my sweet girl. He’s already sizing me up with fury simmering beneath his fake-ass grin. Let the good times roll. He’s a powder keg, ready to blow, and I’m eager to light the match. It won’t take much to get his ass over here.

“He sees us,” I mutter, taking a swig from my beer and using the bottle to salute him before flipping him the bird .

The disrespect is enough to have him rushing over to us like an angry bull, full of bluster and ready for castration. Excitement races through my veins—my Alpha rising to the surface. I’m a lot more dominant than most people realize, usually hiding behind a friendly mask.

But the beast inside me wants blood and won’t be denied.

Wanna dance motherfucker?

I don’t even stand when he and his cronies approach the table, instead bringing the cool bottle to my lips. The hoppy-flavored bubbles burst on my tongue, and I swallow it down, completely unbothered.

“What’s your problem, man?” He stops by the side of the table, pressing his beer belly into my shoulder. The scent of beer and stale popcorn assaults my nostrils, but I don’t answer, pushing him to make the first move. His friends crack their knuckles, trying to look scary. So pathetic. “Why’d you get me kicked out of the game? I paid good money for those tickets.”

Slurred speech? Check.

Already intoxicated and belligerent? Check.

I’m no idiot. There are phones and cameras everywhere. Am I going to pound him into dust? Hell fucking yes. But I need it to at least look justified.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” he says, louder this time. Slamming his stomach into my shoulder again, he leans toward me and then exhales his putrid breath right into my face. “Never expected the great Miller Phillips to be such a douche.”

“Well, you know what they say—never meet your heroes,” I reply dryly, finally looking up into his beady eyes. “Especially if you’re a useless, pathetic excuse for a man. ”

A condescending smirk twists my lips, goading him, practically begging him to take the bait. His packmates glower at me, their eyes flashing with something dangerous. Too bad they don’t realize I have years of pent-up aggression I’m dying to unleash. The words hit their mark, bringing a deep flush to the ringleader’s face. As I watch, his cheeks redden to the ripeness of a tomato before becoming nearly purple. Rage rises within him, turning his scent acrid, and when Owen and the rest of my teammates at the table laugh it further bruises his fragile ego.

The Alpha reaches toward me, grabs my shoulder, and attempts to pull me out of the booth.

“The hell you say to me?” he pants, already out of breath. “You gonna shit all over your fans for fat omega snatch?”

Fuck, yes, here we go.

“Hey! What are you doing?” I shout for the cameras as I launch myself off the seat. Hopefully, it’s enough to keep me out of trouble, but even if it’s not, this man is about to lose most of his goddamn teeth… and I’ll add in some broken fingers. Just for good measure. “Take your hands off me.”

Now on my feet, I straighten my back, gathering myself to my full six-three height. I easily have a few inches on this pissant, and I can’t wait to use every single one of them to put him on the sticky beer-covered floor. His eyes widen, perhaps realizing his mistake, but it’s far too late for him. It was too late when he first touched Posie’s dark-chocolate braid… maybe even too late when he looked at the crescent birthmark on her neck.

Mine.

Behind me, I can hear grunts and moans from the other two as Pack Moore works them over. Knowing they have my back, I turn to the whining little weasel in front of me. The one who dared to put his filthy hands on my omega.

Dead man walking.

Possessiveness roars through my veins, a red haze descending on my vision. With a snarl, I rocket back my fist and send it straight into his nose. Bones crack. Blood drips. And I let loose an animalistic howl—singing my enjoyment at the moon. He comes back, drunk enough to be brave, and I pull him in close to my chest and grab his finger.

“Never touch my omega,” I hiss in his ear so quietly only he can hear me. His eyes widen, and I bend the digit back until it snaps. Tears stream down his ugly face as he screams and blubbers.

“Never look at my omega.” Crack. Another finger. Another pathetic scream. Snot comes to join the party, bubbling from his soon-to-be broken nose.

“Never speak to my omega.” A thrill runs up my spine as I break another. He tries to lurch away, but I hold him tighter.

“And absolutely never, ever fucking insult her.” With that, I twist his wrist painfully, feeling the vibration of the fine bones grinding together until they finally give way with a crunch. He screams loud enough to wake the dead, falling to his knees in the crowded bar.

It’s still not enough.

Although he’s wailing, cradling his arm to his chest, I lift my leg and slam it into his gut. Dry heaving, he doubles over, laying his cheek on the sticky floor.

Die. Die. Die.

My eyes zero in on his exposed neck—it’d be so easy to snap it. End his miserable life. With a snarl, I raise my foot once more, coiling my muscles for the stomp of a lifetime. And as my leg begins its descent, two pairs of hands grab me from behind, knocking me off balance.

Twisting wildly in the air, I lunge toward this new threat. Roaring fills my ears, blood rushing through my veins, and I slam into a solid wall of muscle. One I know well.

“Calm down there, Killer.” The familiar voice and name break through the moment. Crimson laughs, and the haze slowly lifts. “Take a few breaths. You got him.”

Peering around, I notice the disaster zone. Flipped over tables. Smashed bottles.

When did all that happen?

“I think it’s time for you boys to go…” the owner says, making his way over to us with a frown. He carries a broom, ready to clean up our mess, and shame settles in my gut. “They’re pricks of the highest order—always in here harassing the ladies. Go ahead. Get out of here. If the cops want you, they’ll come find you.”

He nods at all the people recording on their phones, and with a sigh, I nod.

“Send me the bill.”

“Already done,” he chuckles, sweeping the shimmering shards on the ground.

Bone-deep exhaustion settles over my body as Owen steers me toward the doors. The cool air swirls around us as we step out into the night and head for our cars.

“Wanna come for breakfast at my parents’ tomorrow?” Owen asks, and I quickly agree. Gotta see my girl every chance I get. Although I’m not an official member of Pack Moore, I’ll always be an honorary son.

And one day—son-in-law.