Contract With My Ex's Brother

A Game of Trust

Marcus’s POV

She was the last person I expected to see here, and yet, she might be the key to everything. Vivian Hart—Clayton’s mate, or ex-mate now, judging by the mascara-streaked mess she’s made of herself—sits hunched over a whiskey glass in this dive bar like she’s trying to disappear into it. I’d recognize her anywhere, even without the sapphire dress that’s torn at the hem or the wild tangle of dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She’s still beautiful, even wrecked like this, and my wolf paces restlessly inside me, picking up her scent—jasmine and sorrow, sharp and intoxicating.

The last thing I needed tonight was my brother’s stench chasing me out of a bar, but here I am, Vivian’s hand clamped on my arm as we stumbled into the night. Her grip’s tight, desperate, and I can feel her trembling through the thin fabric of my jacket. Clayton’s silhouette lingers in my mind—framed in that doorway, eyes blazing with recognition he couldn’t quite place. Good. Let him stew. Let him wonder. I’ve got bigger plans than a barroom brawl, and the woman beside me might just be the spark to set them ablaze.

“Slow down,” I say, my voice low as we hit the gravel lot outside. The air’s crisp, April biting at my lungs, and her heels wobble on the uneven ground. She doesn’t let go, though, and my wolf hums with something I can’t name—approval, maybe, or curiosity.

“I can’t,” she gasps, her breath fogging in the dim glow of a streetlamp. “He—he saw us. He’ll come after me.”

“Not if I’ve got anything to say about it,” I mutter, steering her toward my truck parked at the lot’s edge. It’s a beat-up thing, black paint chipped, but it runs like a dream. I open the passenger door, and she hesitates, hazel eyes darting back towards the bar like she expects Clayton to burst out any second.

“Why are you helping me?” she asks, voice raw but sharp. She’s not some damsel waiting to be saved—there’s steel under that heartbreak, and it’s pulling me in deeper than I planned.

I lean against the truck, crossing my arms. “Told you, I’ve had rough nights too. Figured you could use a lifeline.”

Her lips press into a thin line, skepticism flickering. “That’s not an answer.”

“Best you’re getting for now,” I say, flashing a grin that’s half charm, half deflection. “Get in. We’re not sticking around for round two.”

She climbs in, dress snagging on the seat, and I shut the door behind her. My wolf’s pacing now, restless, as I round to the driver’s side and slide in. The engine rumbles to life, and I peel out of the lot, tires crunching gravel. Her scent fills the cab—jasmine and whiskey, laced with that bitter edge of hurt—and it’s messing with my head. I’ve spent three years dodging Clayton’s shadow, building alliances to take back what’s mine. I didn’t expect her to crash into my orbit, but damn if she isn’t a perfect piece in this chess game.

“Where are we going?” she asks, twisting her hands in her lap. Her hair’s a mess, dark strands sticking to her damp cheeks, and I fight the urge to brush them away.

“My place,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “It’s off pack land, out of his reach. You need somewhere to crash, and I need you to hear me out.”

“Hear you out?” She turns, staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You mean that contract thing? You were serious?”

“Dead serious,” I replied, flicking on the high beams as we hit a winding back road. Pine trees loom on either side, their shadows dancing in the light. “Three months. You play my mate, I get what I want, you get a shield. Simple.”

“Simple,” she echoes, laughing—a sharp, brittle sound. “Nothing about this is simple. I don’t even know you.”

“Marcus,” I say, tapping the steering wheel. “That’s a start. And you don’t need to know me—just trust me enough to pull this off.”

“Trust you?” Her voice rises, incredulous. “I just got publicly dumped by the guy I trusted most. I’m not exactly handing out faith like candy.”

“Fair,” I concede, glancing at her. Her eyes are fire now, burning through the tears, and it’s a hell of a sight. “Then don’t trust me. Use me. You want to shove it in Clayton’s face? This is how.”

She goes quiet, staring out the window as the forest blurs past. I can almost hear her mind spinning, weighing the mess she’s in against the madness I’m offering. My own mind’s racing too—Clayton’s reaction back there wasn’t just jealousy. There was something else, a flicker of fear. He doesn’t know I’m back, not officially, but he felt something. Three years ago, he staged that coup—framed me, turned the pack against me, stole the alpha title I was born to claim. I’ve been a ghost since, biding my time. Vivian’s his weak spot, and I’m betting she’s mine too, just not the way he thinks.

“Why me?” she asks finally, soft but pointed. “Out of everyone in that bar, why pick me?”

I could lie—say it’s chance, convenience. But she’d see through it. She’s too smart for bullshit. “Because you’re his,” I say, keeping it vague. “And that makes you valuable.”

“His,” she repeats, bitter. “Not anymore.”

“Exactly,” I say, turning onto a dirt path that cuts through the trees. “That’s your power now. He tossed you aside, but you’re not done. Not if you don’t want to be.”

She doesn’t respond, just chews her lip, and I let the silence settle. My cabin comes into view—a rough-hewn thing, all logs and solitude, tucked away where the pack’s prying eyes can’t reach. I park, kill the engine, and turn to her. “Last chance to bail. Say no, I’ll drive you wherever you want. Say yes, and we’re in this together.”

Her gaze locks on mine, searching. My wolf holds its breath, and I realize I’m holding mine too. “What’s in it for you?” she asks again, like she knows there’s more I’m not saying.

“Revenge,” I admit, just enough truth to hook her. “And a shot at something bigger. You’ll see.”

She exhales, long and shaky, then nods. “Okay. Yes.”

A grin spreads across my face, sharp and real. “Good choice.” I hop out, rounding to her side to open the door. She steps down, wincing as her heel catches, and I steady her with a hand on her elbow. Her warmth seeps through my fingers, and my wolf growls low, liking it too much.

“Careful,” I say, voice rougher than I mean it to be. “Wouldn’t want my fake mate breaking an ankle before we start.”

“Fake mate,” she mutters, pulling away but not fast enough to hide the flush on her cheeks. “This is insane.”

“Insane’s my specialty,” I quip, leading her to the porch. The night’s quiet, just crickets and the rustle of leaves, but my senses are on edge. She’s in—step one’s done—but Clayton’s not the type to let this slide. He’ll sniff us out, and I need her ready.

Inside, the cabin’s sparse—wood floors, a worn couch, a fireplace I haven’t lit in weeks. I flick on a lamp, casting a warm glow, and she hovers near the door, arms crossed like she’s still deciding if this is a mistake. “Sit,” I say, nodding to the couch. “I’ll grab us something stronger than bar whiskey.”

“You’re awfully calm about this,” she says, sinking onto the cushions. “Most guys don’t just pick up a stranger and offer a deal like it’s nothing.”

“Most guys aren’t me,” I shoot back, pulling a bottle of bourbon from a cabinet. I pour two glasses, handing her one. “And you’re not just a stranger. You’re Vivian Hart—Clayton’s ex, pack’s pity case, and now my wildcard.”

Her eyes narrow, but she takes the glass. “You know more than you’re letting on.”

“Guilty,” I say, clinking my glass to hers. “But you’ll get the full story when it matters. For now, drink. We’ve got a long night ahead.”

She sips, wincing at the burn, and I settle into a chair across from her, watching her process. She’s a mess—beautiful, fierce, and a little lost—and I’m already in deeper than I planned. This isn’t just about revenge anymore. It’s about her, and that’s a problem I didn’t see coming.

A distant howl cuts through the quiet, sharp and furious, and my wolf snaps to attention. Clayton. He’s out there, hunting, and he’s pissed.

Vivian’s head jerked up, eyes wide. “That’s him,” she whispered, and before I could stop her, she bolted for the door.