THE ALPHA'S DEADLY ADDICTION

Chapter 6: History Lessons

Angel’s pov

The leather chair in Sasha's office was cold against my bare thighs, even through the thin robe I'd thrown on. My bodysuit was somewhere in the VIP room, torn, ruined, evidence of what I'd let happen.

What I'd wanted to happen.

I swallowed. I wasn’t sure what was happening outside this room. I had been waiting for 3 hours already, mentally preparing for the scolding Sasha was going to have for me.

I pulled the robe tighter around myself and tried not to think about Jason's hands on my skin, his mouth on my throat, the way he'd looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Tried not to think about the violence that had erupted after I left.

The door was open a c***k. I could hear raised voices in Russian—Sasha's deep rumble and Viktor's clipped responses. Someone else too, unfamiliar. The words were sharp, angry, punctuated by what sounded like furniture being moved.

Or thrown.

My stomach churned. This was my fault. I'd let him touch me, let myself come apart on him like some desperate—

The door slammed open.

I jumped, my hands instinctively going to the edges of my robe.

Sasha filled the doorway, his massive frame backlit by the hallway lights. His face was carved from stone, that one good eye blazing with something I couldn't quite read. Fury? Fear?

Both?

He stepped inside and slammed the door shut hard enough to make the walls rattle.

Then he started pacing.

Back and forth in front of his desk, his boots heavy on the worn carpet. Muttering in Russian—a stream of words I didn't understand but could feel the weight of. Curses, probably. Prayers, maybe.

I sat frozen, watching him, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Finally, he stopped. Pinched the bridge of his nose right between his eyes, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath.

"Do you have any idea," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "what you have done?"

My throat was too tight to answer.

"Do you know what could have happened? What will happen if Konstantins find out?" He turned to face me, and I saw something in his expression that made my chest ache.

Disappointment.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "Sasha, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"You did not mean to." He laughed, sharp and humorless. "You did not mean to f**k Beauregard scum in my club?”

Heat flooded my face. "I—"

"No." He held up a hand. "Do not explain. Do not make excuses. Just tell me… do you know who he is? What his family is?"

"I know they're your rivals. I know it's dangerous—"

"You know nothing."

The words hit like a slap.

Sasha moved to his desk, braced his hands on the surface, head bowed. For a moment he looked older. Tired.

"Sit," he said quietly. "I will tell you story. Then you will understand why you must stay away from him."

I was already sitting, but I straightened anyway, pulling my knees up to my chest.

Sasha settled into his chair with a heavy sigh. "You think this rivalry is about territory, dа? About business, about money?"

I nodded.

"It is not." He met my eyes. "Do you know story of why Konstantins hate Beauregards?"

"I assumed it was just... conflict of interest. Territory disputes."

"Nyet." He shook his head. "Conflict did not start too long ago. Fifty years, maybe sixty. Before Beauregards were Beauregards." He leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. "They were called Vanderbilts at the time."

I frowned. "Vanderbilts?"

"Da. Victor Vanderbilt and Cynthia Corrigan, heads of two families that now make up Beauregards. They were looking for way to produce new race of lycans. More powerful than what they already were." His voice took on a darker edge. "Konstantins were heads of last race of pure-blooded dragon shifters."

My breath caught. "Dragon shifters?"

"Very rare. Very powerful. And Vanderbilts wanted that power." His jaw tightened. "So they started k********g younglings. Children, Angel. Babies, sometimes. For experiments."

The air left my lungs.

"At first, they took ones no one would notice right away," he continued, his voice flat now, emotionless in a way that made it worse. "Orphans. Ferals. Those without family to look for them. That is why it went on so long. Years, maybe decades. By the time Konstantins realized what was happening, it was too late. So many children gone. Dead, most of them. The experiments failed more often than they succeeded."

I felt sick.

"They was truce. They keep to perfect little cove down south, and we don’t make them pay with blood of their heirs. This district is in middle but belongs to Konstantin. He should have never come. Those who let him in will be made example of.”

I swallowed, wiping my clammy fingers.

“They may have changed their name," Sasha said, his good eye boring into me. "They may have rebranded, made alliances, pretended to be respectable. But they cannot cover up what they have done. The stain of theirl past will follow them."

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

All I could think about was Jason. His smile. His gentleness. The way he'd held me afterward, cleaned me up, stroked my hair like I was something precious.

"Angel." Sasha's voice was softer now. "I do not ask you for things often, devochka. You know this."

I nodded, unable to speak.

"But I ask this now: stay away from Beauregard boy."

My chest tightened.

"It is just like their kind," he continued, "to prey on weak. On ones nobody will miss. You—" His voice cracked slightly. "You are not weak, Angel. You are strong. But to them? You are nobody. You are nothing. And when they are done with you, they will throw you away like trash."

I tried to imagine it. Tried to see Jason as a monster. As someone who would hurt me, use me, discard me.

But all I could see was the way he'd looked at me in that VIP room. The way he'd said my name like a prayer.

That's what makes him dangerous, I thought. That's how they get you.

"The Konstantins have been informed," Sasha said. "They want to know why I let it happen. If my loyalty is..." He gestured vaguely. "Compromised."

"I'll tell them it was my fault," I said quickly. "I'll—"

"No." The word cracked like a whip. "You will do nothing. You will say nothing. You will stay away from him and hope they decide you are not worth making example of."

"Making an example?"

His expression was grim. "If they are not sure of your loyalty, Angel, they will make you disappear. Debt and all. Entire problem solved."

My blood ran cold.

"I can protect you from most things," Sasha continued. "But not from war between families. Not from Konstantins if they decide you are liability."

He stood, walked around the desk to where I sat. Then, to my surprise, he knelt in front of me, taking my hands in his massive ones.

"You are like daughter to me," he said, his voice rough. "Only person in this godforsaken place who reminds me why I do this. Why I stay. I will not watch you become casualty of war that has nothing to do with you."

Tears burned behind my eyes.

"Promise me," he said. "Promise me you will stay away from him."

I opened my mouth. Tried to say yes.

But the words stuck in my throat.

Because the thought of never seeing Jason again sent a sharp, physical pain through my chest. Like someone had reached in and squeezed my heart in their fist.

I winced.

Sasha saw it. His expression shifted—something sad and knowing in his eyes.

"You care for him," he said quietly.

It wasn't a question.

I couldn't answer.

He stood, releasing my hands. "Go home, devochka. I am giving you week off. Use it to think about what you want from life. Really think."

"Sasha—"

"Go."

I stood on shaking legs, clutching the robe around myself.

At the door, I paused. "Is he okay? Jason—did they hurt him?"

Sasha's jaw tightened. "He is fine. Those wolves always land on their feet. Now go before I change mind about week off."

Viktor drove me home in silence.

He was scary as hell—six-foot-six of solid muscle and bad attitude, the kind of enforcer the Konstantins kept around for when things got really messy. He scared me even though he has never done anything to hurt me… yet.

"What a mess the night has been," he said finally, eyes on the road.

"Yeah…”

“I have to give it to him, the boy’s got spunk. Waltzing into territory considered off limits for his kind."

Despite everything, the thought made me smile. I don’t think the spoiled prince has ever been told ‘no’ in his entire privileged life.

“Nearly gave Sasha a damn heart attack. I swear I’ve never seen him so out of it.”

I bit my lips. “I’m sorry.”

He waved off my apology with a gesture of his hand, “It’s not entirely your fault. The guys that let him in without verifying his identity, the girls that ran the cheque… I should have paid closer attention when they said he was paying in cash, upfront. So you see? Not your fault.”

He was trying to make me feel better, but somehow, I felt worse. All these people will be punished, but I was being let off the hook with a slap on the wrist and a week off.

He glanced at me, something softer in his hard features. "He means it, you know. The week off. Take it. Figure out what you want."

"What if what I want is impossible?"

"Then you decide if it's worth dying for."

We pulled up outside my building—a shitty walk-up in a shitty neighborhood, but it was mine.

"Thanks, Viktor."

He grunted. "Stay out of trouble, malyshka"

"No promises."

I climbed out and headed inside, my legs still unsteady.

My apartment was exactly as I'd left it—small, cramped, the radiator clanking in the corner. Bills, receipts and empty takeout containers on the counter. Textbooks stacked on every surface.

Home.

I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, finally letting myself breathe.

Then I caught my reflection in the mirror by the door.

My hair was a mess. Makeup smudged. The robe gaped open slightly, and I could see the edge of a bruise on my collarbone where Jason's mouth had been.

I touched it gently and felt heat bloom low in my belly.

Stop it.

I needed a shower. Needed to wash away the scent of him—wood smoke and something clean and masculine that had burrowed into my skin.

The hot water felt like heaven. I stood under the spray for way too long, scrubbing at my skin until it was pink and raw. But no matter how hard I tried, I could still feel him.

His hands on my hips.

His breath against my throat.

The way he'd held me after, like I was something breakable and precious.

You have to forget him, I told myself. You have to stay away.

But my chest ached at the thought.

After I dried off and pulled on an old t-shirt and sleep shorts, I made myself a bowl of instant ramen because that's all I had the energy for. Sat cross-legged on my couch, scrolling mindlessly through my phone.

Social media was full of people living their normal lives. Quinn had posted a selfie at some party. Crystal had posted a thirst trap captioned with something obnoxious.

I kept scrolling.

Stopped at my messages.

Jason's name stared up at me.

Don't, I told myself. Don't do it.

But my thumb hovered over his contact.

I just needed to know if he was okay. That's all. After that, I'd leave him alone. I'd keep my promise to Sasha.

Before I could overthink it, I typed: hey

Sent it.

Immediately regretted it.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

My heart lurched into my throat.

Jason: Angel. Thank god. Are you okay?

I stared at the message, my chest tight.

He was worried about me?

Me: yeah

Me: you?

The dots appeared again. Disappeared. Appeared.

Jason: Never better

Then, before I could respond:

Jason: I'd feel a lot better if I had you in my arms right now

The air left my lungs.

I could picture it so clearly—his arms around me, his chest against my back, his breath warm on my neck. The safety I'd felt in that brief moment after everything, before reality crashed back in.

Heat flooded my body.

I remembered the weight of him against me. The way his hands had gripped my hips, guiding my movements. The filthy things he'd whispered in my ear while I came apart on top of him.

The way he'd praised me after. That's my good girl. So perfect.

My phone felt hot in my hands.

My pulse was racing.

This was dangerous. This was exactly what Sasha had warned me about.

But God, I wanted it. Wanted him.

Wanted to feel that alive again.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, a dozen responses forming and dissolving in my mind.

I want that too.

Come over.

I can't stop thinking about you.

Instead, I pressed the power button.

The screen went dark.

I set the phone face-down on the couch beside me and pulled my knees up to my chest, my ramen forgotten and growing cold.

Outside, the city hummed with life. Sirens in the distance. Someone shouting on the street below. The rattle of the radiator in the corner.

Inside, I sat alone in the dark, trying to convince myself I'd made the right choice.

Trying to ignore the ache in my chest that felt suspiciously like heartbreak.