After Divorce, My Biker Ex-Husband Came Crawling Back

The King’s Cage

Rhett POV

The scent of her was still hanging in the stale air of the visiting booth, a ghost of jasmine and expensive coldness that was currently tearing my f*****g lungs out.

I leaned my head back against the concrete wall of the holding cell, my eyes closed, fighting the urge to howl. The silver in the shackles bit into my wrists, a constant, stinging reminder of my current impotence, but it was nothing compared to the burn of the Bond. For five years, I’d kept it dampened, shoved under layers of whiskey, blood, and the crushing weight of the Iron Vow. But seeing her today? Seeing Alessandra in that sharp suit with that razor-wire tongue?

It had snapped back like a frayed cable, whipping through my insides until I was raw.

She’s mine, my wolf snarled, pacing the dark cages of my mind. Ours. Why did we let her walk? Why is she on the other side of the glass?

"Shut up," I muttered into the empty cell.

I’d been a ghost in her life for eighteen hundred and twenty-six days. I knew the name of every man she’d sat across from at a business dinner in Dallas. I knew she’d bought a penthouse overlooking the city because she hated being on the ground floor where she couldn't see the horizon. I’d paid a small fortune to keep a rotating pair of eyes on her, making sure no one whether human or otherwise, touched what was mine. I was a martyr to a cause she didn't even know existed, and God, I was tired of it.

The door to the cell groaned open.

"Callahan. Back to the booth. Your 'attorney' forgot to sign the digital disclosure," the guard barked.

I didn't move for a second, savoring the surge of adrenaline. She hadn't left the building yet. She was still within reach.

When they led me back into that claustrophobic box, she was already there, standing by the terminal. She looked rattled. Her hair—that perfect, dark silk—was slightly mussed, and her chest was heaving under her blazer. Good. If I was in hell, she was going to burn a little too.

"Forget something, Alie?" I asked as I sat, my voice dropping into that low, predatory rumble that always made her pupils dilate.

"A formality," she snapped, refusing to look at me. She tapped the screen with a trembling finger. "Sign it so I can get the hell out of this cage. I have a sister to find."

I watched her. I watched the way her throat moved when she swallowed. I wanted to reach through the glass and wrap my hand around her neck not to hurt her, never to hurt her but to pull her close enough to feel that frantic heartbeat against my palm.

"You're in such a rush," I leaned forward, the silver chains clinking. "Is there a reason you're so eager to get back to Dallas? Or is there a sanitized, suit-wearing prick waiting for you to come home and tell him about your big, bad ex-husband?"

She looked up then, her hazel eyes flashing with a spark of the fire I’d missed. "His name is Julian, and he’s a Senior Partner. And unlike you, Rhett, he doesn't smell like motor oil and bad decisions."

The lie tasted like ash in the air. I could smell her arousal—that sharp, sweet spike in her pheromones that told me she was lying through her teeth.

"Julian," I repeated, making the name sound like a slur. "Does he know about the mark on your ribs, Alie? Does he know that when you hit your peak, you don't moan… you growl? Or do you keep the wolf locked in a cage for him, just like you’ve locked yourself in that high-rise?"

"Shut your mouth," she hissed, leaning toward the glass.

"Did he give you that necklace?" I asked, nodding toward the thin gold chain around her throat. "Does he touch you and wonder why he can't ever quite get you warm enough? It’s because you’re cold, Alessandra. You’ve been freezing since the night I kicked you out. And no Dallas lawyer is ever going to have enough heat to melt you."

"I am not doing this with you," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I am here to save Elena. I am here as your legal counsel. That is it."

"Is it?" I stood up, the chair screeching against the floor. I felt the Alpha's power rolling off me in waves, filling the small space until she had to gasp for air. "You came the moment the Judge called. You could have fought the appointment. You’re the Ice Queen. You could have buried the paperwork. But you didn't. You wanted to see me. You wanted to see if I still had the power to make your skin itch."

"You’re a narcissist," she spat, but she didn't back away. She was pressed against the glass now, her palms flat against the surface.

"I'm an obsessed man, Alessandra. There's a difference."

I looked at the small, rectangular slot at the bottom of the glass, the one used for passing documents. It was barely wide enough for a hand. I saw her hand resting near it, her fingers twitching.

I acted before I could talk myself out of it.

I dropped to a crouch, sliding my hand through the slot. It was a violation of every protocol in the building, but I didn't give a f**k. My fingers brushed her wrist, and the world f*****g exploded.

The Bond didn't just flare; it detonated. It was a physical shock, a bolt of white-hot electricity that shot up my arm and settled in my gut. I heard her gasp, a strangled sound that was half-sob, half-growl. I wrapped my fingers around her wrist, my thumb pressing into the delicate skin of her inner arm where her pulse was jumping like a trapped rabbit.

Mine.

"Let go," she whispered, but she didn't pull away. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my orange sleeve.

"Tell me you don't feel it," I rasped, my voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel. "Tell me you don't want to rip this glass down and let me claim what’s f*****g mine."

The air in the booth was thick enough to drown in. It tasted of her, of me, of the ancient blood-magic that tied us together. For a second, her eyes bled into that beautiful, wild amber, and I knew—I knew—she was a second away from surrendering.

"Callahan! Hands back!"

The spell shattered.

I didn't let go. Not until I felt the heavy thud of a boot against the door.

I pulled my hand back through the slot just as the door swung open. Standing there was Special Agent Marcus Thorne. He didn't look like a fed; he looked like a vulture in a cheap suit. His hand was resting on the butt of his holster, his eyes raking over Alessandra with a look that made my wolf scream for a throat to tear out.

"Counselor Cruz," Thorne said, his voice oily and thin. "Visiting hours for high-risk inmates are strictly monitored. It looked like the defendant was becoming... aggressive."

Alessandra straightened, her professional mask slamming back into place so fast it was almost dizzying. Only the flush on her neck betrayed her. "Mr. Callahan was merely clarifying a point of the disclosure, Agent Thorne. There's no need for your interference."

Thorne stepped into the room, ignoring me entirely. He walked up to Alessandra, stepping well into her personal space. He was a beta, but he was a beta with a badge and a gun, and he knew how to use them to intimidate. He reached out, his fingers hovering near her shoulder as if to brush off a stray hair.

"We wouldn't want a beautiful woman like you getting hurt by a dog that’s already been kenneled," Thorne whispered, his smile not reaching his eyes.

I slammed my shackled hands against the glass, the sound echoing like thunder. "Get your f*****g hands off her, Thorne."

Thorne turned to me, his smirk widening. "Or what, Callahan? You'll rattle your chains? You're in a cage now. And your 'wife' here? She’s looking like she needs a different kind of protection."

He looked back at Alessandra, his gaze lingering on her chest, his intentions as clear as the silver in my chains. "I'll walk you out, Counselor. It’s a dangerous building for a lady."

Alessandra didn't flinch, but I saw the way her hand moved toward her briefcase, a defensive reflex.

"I can find the door, Agent," she said, her voice like a sheet of ice.

"I insist," Thorne said, his hand dropping to her elbow to guide her out.

I lunged at the glass, the silver chains screaming as they reached their limit. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to paint the walls with his blood for even looking at her that way.

"Thorne!" I roared, my voice shifting into a full, Alpha howl that made the lights in the hallway flicker. "If you touch her again, I will make sure you never walk another beat. I don't care what cage I'm in—I will find you."

Thorne didn't even look back. He just pushed Alessandra through the door, his hand firm on her arm.

The door slammed shut. The lock turned.

I was alone in the dark, the scent of her jasmine fading, replaced by the bitter, metallic tang of my own rage. I sank to the floor, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

She was out there. Thorne was with her. Vane was circling. And I was in a cage.

Get us out, the wolf screamed.

"I'm working on it," I hissed, my claws digging into the palms of my hands until I drew blood. "I'm going to burn this city to the ground to get her back. And I'm going to start with Thorne."

The King was done waiting. It was time for the world to remember why you never put a wolf in a cage you can't hold.