ALPHA BIKER WHO CLAIMED HIS BROTHER'S MATE

26

MAYA’S POV

The air in the room vanished. Even Jalen’s smile faltered, his glass trembling slightly in his hand.

I stood there, frozen, the word fiancée echoing in my brain. It was official. The line had been drawn, and Rafe had just declared war on the entire pack for me. The silence that followed was suffocating, as if the room had been plunged underwater. Jalen was the first to move.

"Is that so?" Jalen asked, his voice deceptively quiet.

But the crowd wasn't as composed. The vacuum of silence was instantly filled by a roar of outrage.

"Fiancée? This is madness!" a high-ranking elder shouted from the front.

"It’s illegal!" another voice joined in, followed by a chorus of agreement. "An Alpha Prince cannot marry his brother's discarded wife! It is abominable—an insult to our traditions! It will attract the Goddess’s curse upon the entire pack!"

I felt the bile rise in my throat. I was being talked about like a plague, a walking omen of disaster. I tried to shrink back, but Rafe’s arm was hard around my waist, holding me firmly in the center of the room. He didn't look at the elders; he looked at the crowd with boredom. Then, he let out a yawn as they continued protesting. Finally, they finished.

"Good thing I’m a rebel now," Rafe said. He leaned back slightly, radiating a terrifying level of nonchalance. "If I can lead a motorcycle club and turn my back on the crown, I’m pretty sure I can handle a curse. If I want her, I take her. Laws are for men who plan on following them. She is mine, and there is nothing anyone can do about it."

“From today onward, she is the wife of Rafe Cross. Not a f*****g mistress. And any man who touches her wants death.” He turned to Jalen. “That includes you, brother.”

The crowd started to murmur again. My eyes fell on Jalen. I had known him before, and I could tell he was boiling over. This was getting to him, but he was trying so hard to conceal it.

"Silence!" Jalen suddenly screamed.

The room went still instantly. Jalen looked at us, his eyes remaining on Rafe’s possessive grip and my trembling frame. Then, he let out a mocking laugh and clapped his hands.

“Congratulations, brother. You have found a wife. My former wife.”

He forced a smile onto his lips as he waved a dismissive hand, as if he were brushing away a bothersome fly.

"Let him have her," he said coldly. "I don't care what Rafe does with his time or his bed. She is old news. A used page in a book I’ve already finished." He turned back to the musicians, gesturing for them to play. "Carry on with the party, everyone. My brother’s taste in charity cases shouldn't ruin a good drink."

Rafe made to move, but I held him back with my other hand. “Please, let him be.”

His body shook as he took a deep breath. “Fine,” he murmured.

The music kicked back in, though the murmurs remained—low and buzzing like a nest of disturbed hornets. People began to turn away, though their judgmental glares still flickered toward us every few seconds.

I felt a slight movement beside me and looked up. Jane was standing only a few feet away, her face pale, her eyes brimming with a mixture of shock and maybe heartbreak. She looked like she wanted to say something, to scream at Rafe for the betrayal of it all.

Rafe saw her, too. I expected him to look away or offer some sign of regret. Instead, he turned his head toward me. Then, he leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against my cheek. The heat of his mouth against my skin felt like a brand—a public claim that left no room for interpretation.

He didn't take his eyes off Jane as he did it. He was marking his territory, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't the one being discarded—I was the one being held. The one that was wanted. This was exactly what I had envisaged when he said he wanted a partnership, and not how he was yelling at me from the club and all.

Throughout the night, I was tethered to Rafe’s side. I felt like a trophy and a target all at once. After a while, as the heavy bass of the music thrummed through the floorboards, I leaned in and whispered, "What about Rourke?"

Rafe didn't even look at me; his eyes were fixed on a wall. "Forget it, Maya. If Jane won't talk, I'll go to her father myself or find Rourke on my own. I don't need anyone’s help."

The dismissal stung, but I stayed quiet.

We left early since Rafe couldn't achieve his goals. As Rafe drove, I stared out the window, thinking of my life now. When Jalen had announced our marriage years ago, the pack had erupted in cheers. There were flowers and congratulations. My mother even threw a party.

Tonight, there was only silence and a sense of impending doom. No one had congratulated us. Not one person. They hated it and probably cursed us. My parents weren't there tonight because that would be worse.

I shook the thought off, glancing at Rafe’s profile in the dim light of the dashboard. He was being good to me—in his own twisted and possessive way. He had stood up for me now and on the deck.

When we finally pulled up to the house, I climbed out of the car feeling a bone-deep exhaustion. I walked toward the front door, needing my bed. Rafe stopped at the base of the porch steps. Then, he slipped a cigar from his pocket, lighting it.

"Goodnight, Maya," he said, his cigarette glowing as he took a drag.

I paused at the door, looking back at him. He looked so solitary standing there in the dark—a prince who had burned his bridges for a woman the world hated.

"Goodnight, Rafe," I said softly. "And... it would be good if you took it easy with the smoke. You’ve had too many in your lifetime."

He didn't answer, just gave a short, grunt-like nod.

I walked into the house and headed straight for my room, taking off the dress. Just as I reached for my nightgown, my phone beeped. I picked it up, frowning at the screen. It was an unknown number. There was no text, just a video file.

I tapped the screen with no thoughts in mind. The video began to play…