Page 9 of The Alpha’s Bounty (Night Grove Falls: The Alphas #2)

EIGHT

Mina

I can’t stop thinking about the money.

It follows me like a shadow, no matter how hard I try to push it away, clinging to me through every breath, every heartbeat.

Cyrus made it sound so simple, so easy. He didn’t even hesitate when Rhodes told him what the court had decided.

Didn’t ask for time to consider or weigh the cost. He said he’d pay like it was nothing. Like I was worth it.

But I’m not.

I’ve never been worth it. Not to the foster families who kept me around to do their chores and sent me back when I was no longer convenient.

Not to the state that shuffled me through its system like a piece of mail no one wanted.

Not to the courts that sided with the people who stole from me, who twisted my life into a mess of rules and accusations I never had the power to fight.

And certainly not to a man like Cyrus.

The thought makes my throat ache. He deserves someone steady, someone who doesn’t come with a list of scars, debts, and failures. Someone who doesn’t leave notes on the kitchen table and run when things get hard.

But that’s what I am. A runner. A girl who leaves. A girl who survives by slipping out the back door before trouble can catch up.

I try to convince myself to stay. That I should let him help me. That maybe this is what mates are supposed to do, carry each other’s burdens, fight side by side. But every time I picture him writing a check big enough to buy my freedom, I feel sick. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair.

He says I’m not a burden. He says I’m worth it. But what does he really know about me? About what I’ve done, about all the ways I’ve already failed?

The only thing that feels fair, the only thing that feels right, is to go back. To stop running. To face it.

If I stole from them, I should own it. If I skipped my court date, I should stand in front of that judge and take whatever’s coming. Maybe it’ll be time behind bars. More fines I’ll never be able to pay. Another scar on a life that already feels covered in them. But it’ll be mine. My choice.

Not Cyrus’s.

He shouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes. Shouldn’t have to empty his accounts to clean up the wreckage of my past. He’s an Alpha with a whole pack to lead. He can’t afford to spend himself dry on a girl who doesn’t even know how to stand still.

The decision settles like a stone in my stomach. Heavy. Cold.

I wait until he’s gone to his meeting. He kissed me before he left, strong and sure, like I was something precious.

Like he trusted me to still be here when he came back.

I wanted to cling to him. I wanted to bury my face in his chest and tell him I loved him, even though the words scare me half to death.

But I couldn’t. Because I already knew what I was about to do.

My hands shake as I dig out paper and a pen. I don’t even know where to start. The first draft is sloppy, short, and barely legible. I crumple it up and try again. And again. By the fifth attempt, I’m crying so hard that I can barely see the page.

In the end, I make it simple.

Cyrus,

I can’t let you do this for me. You deserve someone who doesn’t drag you down with old mistakes. Someone who doesn’t cost you everything. I’m grateful to you, more than I can ever say, but I can’t stay. This is something I need to face on my own. Please don’t follow me.

—Mina

The words blur even as I fold the paper. I leave it on the table where I know he’ll see it, weighted down with a salt shaker so it won’t blow away when he comes through the door.

Then I pack.

There isn’t much to take. A few clothes, worn thin from too many nights on the road.

My toothbrush. The faded backpack that’s been my lifeline for months.

I almost grab the sweater he loaned me last night, soft and warm, but my fingers freeze on the fabric.

It smells like him, like safety and pine and the quiet strength that makes my chest ache.

I can’t take it. I can’t let myself. It belongs here, with him.

So I zip the bag, sling it over my shoulder, and stand in the middle of the room that has been more of a home in a week than anywhere else has in my entire life.

I run my fingers over the quilt on the bed, the one his mother made, and my throat burns.

I want to curl up under it and stay forever.

I want to believe I deserve to. But I don’t.

The cold air hits my face when I step outside. I pull my jacket tighter and keep walking, my boots crunching on the frosted ground. I don’t look back. If I do, I’ll lose my nerve.

The walk into town feels endless. My thoughts circle with every step, tugging at me like barbed wire.

Every tree is a reminder of him walking beside me in the woods.

Every gust of wind makes me think of the way he tucked me closer to his side, shielding me from the chill.

By the time the bus station comes into view, my chest feels hollow, scraped raw.

Inside, the smell of old coffee and too many bodies hits me. The ticket counter is scratched and faded; the woman behind it chews gum as if she couldn’t care less what happens to the people who pass through.

I hand over the last of my cash, my fingers trembling as I slide the bills across the counter. “One to Columbus,” I say, naming the city where the warrant was filed.

She doesn’t even look at me as she prints the stub. “Bus’ll be here in forty-five.”

Forty-five minutes. Not long enough. Too long.

I take the ticket and sit on a hard plastic chair. My backpack rests at my feet, and I clutch the strap like it can hold me together.

The station is noisy, full of lives that don’t touch mine.

A mother wrangles two kids who keep running toward the vending machines.

A group of college kids laughs too loudly, their voices echoing.

An elderly man snores with his hat tilted over his face, his suitcase tucked protectively under his arm.

I sit still, invisible. That’s what I’ve always been best at.

My eyes drift to the schedule board, where the flicker of destinations catches my attention: Denver.

Chicago. Nashville. Places I’ve never been, places I’ll probably never see.

It makes me wonder what might’ve happened if fate had given me a different kind of mate.

Someone ordinary. Someone human. Would I have sat in a bus station like this anyway, clutching a ticket to nowhere, convincing myself I was doing the right thing?

A lump rises in my throat.

I picture Cyrus finding the note. I see his jaw clench, his eyes darken with hurt. He’ll hate that I left. He’ll come after me because that’s who he is. But he shouldn’t. He should let me go, cut his losses before I drag him down with me.

My heart rebels against the thought. It screams at me that I belong with him, that I was never safer than in his arms, and leaving him isn’t strength, it’s cowardice.

But my head argues louder. Cyrus deserves better than a girl who comes with debts she can’t pay and chains she can’t break.

I rest my chin on my knees, hugging them tight to my chest. The chair is hard against my back, and I’ve never felt smaller.

The station clock ticks, each second stretching and snapping like elastic.

Every time the door opens, I jerk my head up, half-hoping, half-dreading to see him storm in, furious and unyielding, ready to drag me back where I belong.

But the door only opens for strangers.

So I sit. I wait. And I try to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing, even as my chest aches with every beat of his name.

Cyrus.

The man who saw me when no one else did. Who kissed me like I was worth something and told me I wasn’t a burden. The man I’m proving wrong with every second I sit here.

The bus isn’t here yet, but the loss is already pressing in. Every mile it carries me away from him will be one I can’t undo.

And still, I wait.

Because leaving hurts less than staying and letting him pay the price for me.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.