How to Ruin the Rogue Alpha

The annulment papers hit the wet table with a dull smack. Damien Blackwood didn’t even bother showing up himself. He sent his corporate lawyer to dump the paperwork between two sips of cheap bourbon. Fifteen years of engagement down the drain. Just like that. "Don't sign that trash," Chloe snapped. She slammed her glass down so hard the ice jumped. Cold drizzle drifted under the club awning, blowing right against my bare shoulders. "You’ve been promised to Damien since you were nine years old!" "Promised?" I looked at the black pen on the table. "I wasn’t promised, Chloe. I was collateral." "Your grandfather dug three silver bullets out of the Alpha King’s chest to buy that contract!" Her voice shook with real fury. "The high council handed him a private clinic, a permanent seat, everything! And your useless father threw it all away on a twenty-two-year-old fitness coach in Monaco." "And left me holding the debt," I said flatly. My hands stayed steady. "The Whitmores are broke. Damien’s ditching me for Vivienne Sinclair because she comes with billions in old money, not unpaid malpractice bills." "What did Damien tell you?" "He said: Don't make a scene, Elena." I gave a bitter little smile. Good to know where I landed on his balance sheet. I reached for the pen. Then the screaming started. It blew right through the floorboards above us. Wood splintered. Glass exploded. Then came that hollow, violent c***k everyone in Velmora recognized down to their bones. Guns. Chloe’s brother Leo was turning thirty tonight. He’d booked the private lounge right upstairs. By the time we sprinted up the fire escape, the shouting was already over. The silence was a hundred times worse. The private floor was wrecked and slick with blood. Leo’s private guards were on their knees across the soaked carpet, hands locked behind their heads. The man in charge stood smack in the middle of the mess. Huge. Easily six-foot-six. Dark, messy hair damp from the storm. Rolled-up white sleeves stretched tight over thick, heavily scarred forearms. A missing tip on his left pinky finger. Broad, ruthless hands hanging loose at his sides. My healer brain kicked in before my common sense could stop me. I stepped right past the busted door. "Elena, wait—" Chloe choked out. "Excuse me," I said, my voice ringing clear across the quiet room. Every single gun snapped straight toward my chest. The giant turned. Up close, the heat coming off him felt like an open furnace. He smelled like crushed cedar, cold rain, and dark river water. A sharp, stone jaw with a pale scar through his left brow. Heavy amber-gold eyes that lit up like hot whiskey in the dim light. "My name is Elena Whitmore," I said, planting my boots on the bloody floor. "Leo works for Damien. Whatever crates your guys intercepted at the harbor, he was just following orders." The man looked down at me like I was a stray kitten showing its claws. "I'm not killing anyone, sweetheart," he murmured. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that sent a weird, electric shudder straight into my veins. "Breathe." He hauled Leo up by his jacket collar with one hand. "Tell Damien," the Alpha said softly, "the next time his drivers roll into my docks, I won't just keep his cargo. I'll take his hands off at the wrists." He hit Leo across the face—one clean, brutal c***k. "Tonight, I'm just collecting interest." Three muffled pops came from the corners. Three of Leo’s guards slumped, dropped with clean shots to their shoulders. The Alpha turned to walk out. Then he stopped. Right in front of me. He took up the whole damn doorway. The top of my head barely reached his chest. Pure physical heat rolled off him, warming the cold silk of my dress. He stepped in. Far too close. He sucked the air right out of my lungs. He didn't look at my face. His gaze dropped straight to my bare neck, where wet loose hair clung to my skin. Then he bent down. His hot breath hit my collarbone, making every hair on my arms stand up. He inhaled. Slow. Deep. Like he didn't give a damn who was watching. My breath caught. I should’ve shoved him. I should’ve run. Instead, my boots stayed stuck to the floor while a predator drank the scent straight off my pulse. His lips parted, an inch from my throat. "Rose?" he muttered, the rough rumble vibrating against my ribs. "No." He leaned closer. The bridge of his nose actually grazed the sensitive skin behind my ear. He took another breath, longer this time, his chest pressing right against the thin fabric over my ribs. A helpless shiver ran down my spine. "Lily of the valley," he whispered against my bare skin. Rough. Intimate. "After rain." "It's an eight-dollar pharmacy lotion," I rasped. I cleared my throat, fighting like hell to hold on to my dignity. "And the rain is from the leaky roof." He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with me. His pupils were blown wide, ringed with burning gold. The corner of his hard mouth kicked up into a slow, wicked smirk. "Right," he murmured. His eyes dragged over my lips for one heavy, suffocating beat. Then he turned and walked out, stepping right through the broken glass like the entire room didn't exist. I found out who he was ten minutes later on the rusted fire escape. Lucian Blackwood. The Rogue King. Exiled by his pack at sixteen, he’d fought his way up from the dirty harbor alleys to take over the city's entire shipping network with his bare fists. In Velmora, nobody told him no. Chloe was half-dragging a groaning Leo down the metal stairs. I held the service door. Down in the rain below, Lucian stood next to a black armored sedan, talking to his silver-haired Beta. Rain hammered the car roof. "Find her," Lucian ordered. His rough voice sliced clean through the downpour. "The woman with the braid. The one in the dark dress smelling like lily of the valley and rain." The Beta looked up toward our landing. Our eyes locked through the storm. Charcoal dress. Braided dark hair. Smelling like cheap floral lotion. Panic punched me right in the chest. I jerked back, shoved Chloe and Leo through the service door, and didn't let my breath out until our cab was speeding away into traffic. "You went toe-to-toe with the Rogue King," Chloe whispered, her hands shaking on her knees. "Elena... do you know who that is?" "I'd really rather not think about it," I muttered. My phone buzzed in my bag. A midnight news alert popped up on my cracked screen: SILVER LION CLUB SHUT DOWN FOR WIRING ISSUES — NO INJURIES REPORTED. "No injuries," I told the wet cab window. "Right." I leaned my head against the cool glass, my neck still burning where his mouth had been. Find the woman in the dark dress. Some poor girl who bought the same drugstore lotion was about to have a very bad morning. Sucks to be her, I thought. I unlocked my fourth-floor apartment, threw all three deadbolts, and crashed onto the bed. I went to sleep thinking I was safe behind three locked bolts. I didn't know the predator already had my scent burned into his brain.