The Traitor Alpha's Daughter

Get Out While You Can

Wren’s POV

This place is really something else.

I don’t even know where to start. With the girl, I guess—Alina. Easily the hottest girl I’ve ever seen—probably the hottest girl who’s ever lived. But what was with the guy gang warning me to leave her alone? And the way the lit teacher closed the door to talk to her?

She did not look like she was excited for that conversation. Had I known her or the situation even a little better, I might have stepped in. Even now, I feel strangely guilty that I didn’t.

It’s lunchtime now. She’s at a round table with about eight other kids—the two boys who gave me a hard time in English, the girl who sat on her other side, and a handful of others I don't recognize, probably from another class. All noticeably good-looking, though also very specific-looking—dark hair; dark eyes; rich, creamy, bronze skin. It’s almost like they’re all related.

She’s the only one with light eyes, I can’t help but notice. Her eyes are pretty remarkable—a blue so intense, it’s hard to look into them, yet even harder to look away.

“Don’t waste your time ogling them,” says a new voice from behind me. I turn to see that someone has joined me at my own round table—a pretty, petite, blond-haired, blue-eyed girl I vaguely recognize from my classes. She doesn’t have any food or drink with her.

“I wasn’t ogling,” I lie.

“Sure, you weren’t.” The girl laughs. “It’s okay—we all do it. I’m Kat.”

I nod politely. She’s not exactly my type, but she seems sweet enough. “Wren. Nice to meet you.”

“What brings you to Winder, Wren?”

Well, that’s probably more of a loaded question than she intended. I certainly don’t plan on sharing the whole, depressing saga of my father’s death with this virtual stranger, so I decide to give her the Cliffnotes version—the same one I gave Alina in English class. “My mom got a job at the museum.”

“Ah, the museum. We sure do love to brag about our history. Did you hear what we specialize in?”

I try to focus on the conversation at hand, but I don’t find it particularly interesting. I find Alina’s table much more interesting. No one’s really even talking. The two thugs from English seem to be bro-ing out a bit, and Alina and her female friend exchange a word or two here and there, but for the most part, it’s almost like they’re all just... with each other because they’re supposed to be.

“Paranormal activity,” Kat says, snapping me out of my trance.

I blink, turning back to look at her. “What?”

“Paranormal activity,” she repeats. She rises to her feet then, leaning down and offering me a wink. “That’s what the museum specializes in. You should check it out sometime. Nice to meet you, Wren—I’ll leave you to your daydreams now.”

- - - - -

That day after school, I figure out what the boys from English class were warning me about—or rather, who.

By coincidence, I ended up exiting the building about thirty strides behind Alina and her pack of “friends”—which puts me in direct view of the shiny, red Camaro parked right in the fire lane, along with the douche bag leaned up against it.

He’s older than the kids around here; that much is obvious. Mid-twenties, if I had to guess—maybe a smidge younger. The same dark hair and dark eyes as the rest of Alina’s group, though, if you ask me, he looks a whole lot scarier.

I do my best not to stare as the group joins up with him, but it’s hard not to notice the over-the-top way he grabs Alina by the ass and sticks his tongue down her throat. Romantic, I think sourly as I keep walking past them.

“Hey!” I hear one of them shout from behind me. “New kid!”

I reluctantly come to a stop, turning to face the voice. It’s one of the boys from class who yelled at me—Brett, I think his name was. But all of them are looking at me.

“This him?” the guy who appears to be Alina’s boyfriend asks Brett.

Brett nods.

The guy removes his hands from Alina’s pockets, but leaves one arm snaked around her waist as he slowly walks toward me, dragging her along with him in the process. She looks... displeased, to say the least. The same way she looked when Mr. Evans closed that classroom door earlier today.

I don’t know why, but I don’t like seeing her that way. I feel strangely protective over her, considering how little I know her.

“I hear you got to know my girlfriend pretty well today,” the guy tells me. He’s even creepier up close—sharp, pointed chin; eyes as black as coals; dark hair slicked back like he’s off to the cigar bar or the casino after this. “That true?”

I glance at Alina, who’s looking straight at me now with those blindingly azure eyes. She seems to be pleading with me, but pleading me to do what? To say no? To be afraid of this chump?

No f*****g way.

“We have half our classes together,” I tell him evenly. “Of course, we talked. That a problem?”

The guy’s eyes glint at that, as if excited by the challenge. He removes his arm from her waist and takes another step toward me, so that he’s less than a foot from me. “I think you know it’s a problem. I think my friends here told you it would be.”

I don’t flinch. I don’t blink. I don’t know what the hell this guy’s problem is, or why this town is so ass-backwards that its men don’t let their girlfriends talk to other guys, but I’m not willing to play into any of it. “I thought they were joking. Where I come from, we let our women make their own decisions.”

I hear a few murmurs of surprise break out at that, but I don’t let my eyes leave his. I’m not afraid of this prick—not even a little.

I think he can tell. And I think he doesn’t like it.

“I’m going to give you a little welcome-to-Winder gift,” he says, crossing his arms. “One week. One week to ask around about me—find out how things work in this town. Find out who’s in charge around here. And if, after that week, I hear that you’re still talking to Alina...” He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Let’s just say your time here with us will come to an end.”

Is this guy for real? Did he just threaten to kill me?

“I’m going to give you a little welcome-to-the-real-world gift,” I retort, crossing my own arms. “Your scare tactics might work on the good-old-boys around here, but where I come from, there are gangs on every corner and gunshots in every alley. And the people are a whole lot scarier than a twenty-something loser dating a high school girl.”

He grabs me by the throat at that—so fast and so sharp, I didn’t even see his arm move.

“No one,” he growls, “is scarier than me.”

“Noah,” Alina says. “Knock it off.”

But he doesn’t let go. He’s squeezing so hard, it feels like my neck might snap.

“Noah!” Alina shouts, grabbing him by the free arm and yanking him away from me with surprising strength. His grip on my throat falters, and I’m able to weasel away from him—but not in time to stop him from decking her right in the eye.

As soon as it happens, I move to pounce on him—hit him, kick him, whatever the hell I can manage to make him pay for hitting her—but his guys are on me in a second, pushing me away from him so hard, I stumble momentarily to the ground.

“You’re out of your league, Bronx,” Noah tells me as he takes Alina by the wrist and drags her to his Camaro. “Get out while you can.”

Get out while you can... the same five words she told me in her haiku.

I try to sneak one, last look at her, but she doesn’t look back.