Alpha Knight Page 5

  The peace isn’t real, though. I always have that sense of stealing the moment. Like I don’t deserve to enjoy sunsets or mountains or anything about my life in Arizona.

  The meet finally ends, and we filter down to the locker rooms, everyone dragging ass now. I see the large figure leaning up against the building, but he doesn’t set off any flares of warning. He’s not one of the guidos sent to rough me up—I’m expecting them in a couple more days. He looks like a football player.

  It’s not until he starts moving toward me that I realize exactly which football player. Not one from my school.

  Bo. And he’s coming at me like he’s mad.

  I veer to head him off. The last thing I need is him saying something in front of my teammates.

  He stalks up to me—I mean right up to me. Like, in my space, his huge muscled chest almost bumping me before he stops. “What. Happened?” His voice is low and mean. It’s an accusation.

  A chill washes over me. “I don’t know.” I search his face. “You tell me.”

  Tension radiates from his shoulders, a muscle flexes in his jaw. “The cops shot my brother, that’s what happened. When he was trying to sell the car. I’m guessing you weren’t there?”

  More ice rushes through me. “Is he—is he all right? Did he live?”

  Bo shrugs. “He’s gone. He got away. You haven’t heard from him?”

  I shake my head. “Why would I?”

  “You’re partners, right? You stole the car—he got the title?”

  It’s stupid at this point not to confirm what he obviously already knows, but I maintain a blank face.

  He curses and looks away, hands balled into fists. I take a step back. I don’t think he’s dangerous, but the guy is huge, and his anger makes him intimidating.

  When his gaze returns, his eyes look more silver than blue—an odd trick of the light. “I’m on you like glue, Legs. Wherever you go, I go. Until Winslow shows up. Understand?”

  I throw my hands in the air. “I’m not hiding your brother, Bo. He’s not going to come to me. I don’t have any money—he was supposed to get it. So now we’re both fucked.”

  Bo’s scrutiny sharpens. “Why are you fucked, Legs?” His voice is soft and dangerous.

  A hot prickle runs up my neck. For one millisecond, I want to tell him. Everything. I want to tell one other human being, so I’m not alone in this thing.

  But I have to stay alone, or I sink his ship, too.

  He reaches out and cages my arm, his grip coaxing rather than steely.

  I affect a loose shrug. “No car. No money.” I turn to leave before he can pry more, but he holds onto my arm and rubberbands me back to face him, causing me to bounce off his very solid chest. The dog tags he wears jingle with the impact. He wraps his other arm around my back to steady me, and we’re both caught for a second—staring into each other’s eyes. His glint silver again. They’re beautiful. He’s really a spectacular specimen of manhood.

  Samantha and Teri, my friends from the team, choose this compromised moment to walk up.

  “You didn’t tell me Tyler was visiting,” Samantha gushes.

  I shove away from Bo harder than necessary because he chooses that moment to let go. Once more, I’m off-balance. Lightning fast, his hand shoots out to catch my elbow and steady me.

  “Oh, ah—” I stutter.

  “This is Tyler?” Teri asks with delight, sticking her hand out for him to shake. Both my teammates ogle Bo, which is understandable, but they have it all wrong. “It’s so nice to finally meet the long-distance boyfriend! We’ve heard all about you. You flew out to take her to Homecoming?”

  I’m usually quick with lies or coverups, but for some reason, this whole scene throws me off my game. Their assumption that Bo is the boyfriend I made up to keep things simple makes my cheeks get hot and prickly.

  I wait for his firm rejection, but before I even know what’s happening, Bo bands an arm around my waist from behind and pulls me sharply back against his hard body. There’s aggression in the movement. Like he’s pissed about something. That I have a boyfriend?

  “Of course, I flew out for Homecoming,” he purrs in my ear, the mocking in his voice making me blush hotter. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Aw, that’s so sweet,” Teri says, eyeing Bo appreciatively. “You two are going to look great.”

  Samantha looks at me. “Was it a surprise visit? I thought you said you couldn’t go.”

  Bo strokes my side and nuzzles at my neck. “Yep. I surprised her. And I can’t wait to take her to the dance.” His lips brush my ear.

  I hate him. I had one second there to declare he’s not Tyler, and I missed it. Maybe I was distracted by how strong his arm felt around me. Or his clean, masculine scent. Or pretending, just for a moment, that he was my imaginary boyfriend.

  But now I’m screwed.

  Because his hands are all over me, and he’s purposely torturing me. There’s an element of mockery that runs through every word he says. Like the idea of being my boyfriend is so stupid and ridiculous and he’s milking the moment for as long as possible.

  Until he delivers some evil punchline.

  Or shoves me away.

  Or gets me all hot and bothered and laughs about his power over me.

  Because the power is affecting my body like a potent drug. Heat tingles everywhere he touches. My pussy clenches. I elbow him in the ribs to free myself, but he tickles me like this is one of our games.

  “Stop it,” I squirm away from him, pissed he’s making me smile against my will. Tickling should be outlawed in every country.

  “Hey, it was nice to meet you two,” Bo says, lacing his fingers firmly through mine and tugging me toward the parking lot.

  I stop and try to pull my hand away. “My stuff’s still inside,” I say.

  “Oh, okay.” He frees me but crosses his arms over his massive chest. “I’ll wait.”

  “No, really.” I fake a smile. “Go on home. I have my bike here, and I have to ride it.”

  “Okay,” he says in a if-you-say-so tone. “I’ll see you at home, then.” He pumps his eyebrows. It’s damn sexy, even though it makes me want to throat punch him.

  My fake smile gets more brittle. “Bye, then.”

  He lifts his fingers and waves like a little girl. “Bye, sugarpie.”

  I roll my eyes as I turn away. “He’s being an idiot,” I tell Samantha and Teri. “He doesn’t call me sugarpie.”

  He doesn’t call me anything.

  Unless Legs or princess counts, but they are far less terms of endearment than monikers to demean me.

  Sugarpie.

  What an asshole. I seriously could slap him silly.

  * * *

  Bo

  I don’t know who the fuck Tyler is, but the alpha in me wants to rip him apart. After I outperform him in every arena possible.

  As if humans could even compete with our shifter games. It would be dating games, then. The need to prove he’s inferior to me in every way courses through my body as I stride to the Triumph and swing my leg over the seat.

  Fucking human boyfriend.

  I’ll bet he’s a shitty kisser.

  Twenty bucks she’s never even come with him. I don’t know what the stats are, but I think it’s hard to make a human girl orgasm during sex. I forget where I heard that—Coach, maybe. I think he was telling us with the advice to spend time trying to solve that puzzle. Make sure she gets off every time you do.

  I kick my motorcycle to life and ride in the direction of Sloane’s house, stopping at In-N-Out Burger to wolf down three burgers and two orders of french fries. When I get to her townhouse, I park the bike up the street a ways and walk back, sticking to the shadows. Night has fallen, and the full moon of last weekend is waning. At least I’m not fighting that edge with the human.

  No, I’m just here to make her suffer for what happened with Winslow. It should’ve been her who got caught. Sloane’s the damn car thief. This was her s
tupid operation. If she never would’ve shown her beautiful face up in Wolf Ridge, I’d still have a big brother around to be man of the house. Take care of my mom and run the shop for our great uncle.

  Now it all fucking falls on me.

  My mom’s dream of me getting a college scholarship and leaving Wolf Ridge died today.

  Thanks to Sloane.

  I text my mom, Spending the night at Austin’s. We have a big project due and have to work late. My mom won’t like it, not with grieving the Winslow situation, but Austin’s the good kid in the group. His dad is a doctor and a pack elder. My mom won’t worry about me if she thinks I’m with him.

  I text Austin, too, so he can cover for me, if he needs to.

  I swear, sometimes I think my life just ended up fifty times better than Winslow’s because of the friends I fell in with. I got lucky—both Austin and Wilde are pack royalty. Cole used to be before his mom left with our math teacher and his dad started drinking. Slade and I somehow landed with the golden boys, which means we make the right decisions—we protect the females, mentor the younger wolves. We might be dicks, but we’re still the good kids.

  Winslow and his pack of friends? They were always causing trouble. They’re the ones we protect the females from. The ones getting into drunk driving wrecks or knocking up humans while still in high school.

  Winslow didn’t have great role models. Plus, he was older when our dad died—it made him act out as a teen. I don’t know how he’s going to get out of the shitpile he’s got himself into this time, but I feel obligated to help. Even if he doesn’t ask for it.

  I circle the townhouse, observing.

  Sloane’s home—her scent is fresh near the garage. Lights are on in the bedrooms upstairs. One of the bedrooms is right over the porch roof, making it easily accessible to anyone who knows how to climb.

  Like me.

  Not that climbing is my regular gig, but anything physical is a done deal with me. I’m a shifter athlete in my prime. I jump, catching the overhang with my fingertips and swinging one leg up, then the other. The biggest problem is keeping quiet as I pad toward the window. To my right, I can see through the curtains of the other window, not accessible from the roof.

  A small figure sits on the bed—a tween girl. Not Sloane.

  Her little sister, maybe?

  I inch toward the other window and peek through the crack in the curtain.

  Bingo.

  Sloane’s moving around the room—oh, fuck. I lose my breath. She’s peeling off her clothes.

  If I were more of a dick, I’d stay and watch the show. She has magnificent tits under that running bra, I just know it. But she’s about to pull off her shorts, and I don’t feel right about perving anymore.

  I tap the window lightly.

  A dog barks from the other bedroom, full five-alarm barking. She barrels into the room through what appears to be a bathroom—it must connect the two bedrooms—and runs right for the window.

  Smart dog.

  Beautiful, too. A golden retriever.

  I let the wolf in me come to the surface and send a push of dominance through the window. It’s not something you learn. It’s something you either have or don’t. What makes one wolf more alpha than the other. It’s an energy that comes out when you need to establish it’s your will over another’s.

  The dog instantly stops barking and whines.

  Sloane yanks the curtain back, eyes flared wide. To her credit, she doesn’t scream.

  I hold a finger to my lips and point at the window. “Let me in,” I mouth.

  She shakes her head.

  I frown, exaggerating a look of disapproval in my expression. “Now, Legs.”

  The dog whines again. I must’ve sent another push of dominance.

  Apparently, it works on humans, too, because Sloane flips the lock on the window and drags it to the side. “What are you doing here?” she whisper-shouts.

  I step through the window, ducking so I don’t hit my head. “I told you, princess. White on rice.”

  “You told me glue, but whatever. You can’t be here. And what did you do to Sophie?”

  The dog is in full submission, tail tucked, head down, nose on the floor.

  “Good girl, Soph,” I say, and she springs back up, tail wagging. I reward her by stroking her face and ears and thumping her body. She’s a sweet pet.

  Wolves generally don’t keep dogs—or cats for that matter—but I can see the appeal.

  “You can’t be here, Bo. This isn’t even my house. Do you know that?”

  I pause, taking her in. She’s in nothing but her sports bra and running shorts, looking hot as hell. Her bare midriff is flat and sports another dark mole to match the one on her face. Definitely a beauty mark.

  It strikes me now that she’s too thin, though. Or maybe I’m just seeing the effect of stress on her body. Stress I knew had to be there, but she hid from me before.

  “Whose house is it?” I keep my voice down—I have from the beginning.

  “It’s my aunt’s. And I am not going to let you fuck it up with whatever this is.”

  I perch on the edge of her desk and casually cross one ankle over the other. “So what are you going to do?” I challenge.

  I fucking love the blush that crawls up her neck and tinges her cheeks as she probably realizes she sure as hell can’t physically make me move.

  “I’m going to scream.”

  I shake my head. “First of all, we both know that’s not going to happen, Legs. You’re going to keep your mouth shut and tolerate my presence in your life until I decide you’re not worth shadowing. Do you know why?”

  Her lips thin to a straight line.

  “Answer me, Legs.”

  Her nostrils flare. “Why?” she grits.

  “Because I own you now. You ring any warning bells, I will let loose everything I know about you, princess. About the Porsche. And the Mercedes. And your dealings with my brother. I will sing my song like a canary to every fucking cop in this city. And you’ll end up in jail, where you really belong.”

  She has the nerve to cock a hip and toss her hair. “Well, I’m a minor, so jail time is questionable.”

  Wrong move, sweetheart.

  My brother’s life has just been ruined, and she’s gonna throw that shit at me?

  Fuck no.

  I slide off the desk and advance on her.

  I think she realizes immediately that she went too far, but at that moment, a woman’s voice calls out—“Sloane, Rikki! Dinner’s ready.”

  “Coming!” Sloane shouts immediately. She snatches her t-shirt from the floor and yanks it over her head, still maintaining eye contact with me.

  I stop my advance, but tension runs through the space between us, aggression radiating from me to her, a repelling push, like a magnet turned the wrong way, shoved back at me.

  She doesn’t go down easily, I’ll give her that.

  Not a submissive little thing, this one.

  No, she’s bold and strong with a warrior’s heart. Too bad she’s not a wolf. Too bad we’re on opposite sides of the line.

  “You’d better be gone when I get back,” she says, hand on the doorknob.

  “Dream on, Legs. I’ll be right here.” I flick my brows. “Waiting for you.”

  She flips me the bird as she shuts the door.

  Cute. She’s damn cute. Beautiful people get away with so much more than ordinary people. My mother used to tell me that as a warning. You’re going to get away with murder out there because you’re good-looking. Don’t use it to screw people over. Don’t screw girls over, Bo.

  Between her and Coach, I’ve had the respect for women thing drilled into me. Too bad it didn’t stick.

  Because I feel extremely disrespectful toward Sloane right now.

  As soon as she’s gone, I start searching her room. Uncovering her secrets.

  Because I know this girl conceals more secrets than a priest’s confessional. And I want them all.

  Liv
es with her aunt.

  Why?

  Needs money—a lot of it. Again, why?

  Who put her back up against a wall? Why is she afraid of me screwing things up—like she doesn’t think she belongs here or something. Did she run away from home? Was she a troublemaker back there?

  But why leave her precious Tyler?

  Kicked out, then.

  But why the money need?

  Maybe someone’s sick. Dying, even. A parent who can’t take care of her, but she feels like she needs to raise money to take care of them. Maybe huge medical bills.

  I don’t know. It’s all conjecture.

  The room doesn’t hold much, as far as secrets go.

  The bulletin board is blank, except for the cross country meet schedule. The desk only has school-related items—pencils, erasers, pens, textbooks, notebooks. Nothing of interest.

  I search her backpack and open her wallet. She still has a wad of cash in there. I count it—four hundred and fifty. Not a ton, considering what she must’ve made on the Porsche deal. Where did the rest of it go?

  I check her ID. It’s not an Arizona driver’s license. It’s Michigan. Grosse Pointe. And her eighteenth birthday is this Saturday. She may have been underage when she stole the last two cars, but the next one would carry adult felony charges and penalties.

  And that thought puts my teeth on edge.

  Despite everything—despite the fact that she’s trouble, and she fucked my brother’s life over, and my mom and I may never get to see him again, I don’t want her ever going to jail. I don’t want her to suffer any consequence worse than the ones I bring down on her.

  And I do want her safe.

  Which means figuring out why she’s boosting cars.

  Not that I think it’s actually that. No, she’s stealing for a reason, and I intend to find out what it is.

  I check her drawers.

  Slow down.

  Not because I find anything there, just because I sprout a chub thinking about her without them. And with them. I yank open the drawers until I find her panties. Some are boring. Practical cotton bikini brief shit. The panties she runs in.

  But then there’s the pretty ones.

  For Tyler.