While She's Down - 2

If I were anyone else, I might have believed him. Might have believed he'd be gentle and let me go after and never bother me again. If I were someone else, I'd be stupid enough to see this as a chance to change my fortunes in River Crest. Maybe get into the future Alpha's good graces.

But I'm not someone else. I'm Makayla Pride.

I know there's nothing I could ever do to be free from this nightmarish hell. I know Wesley, Quinn, Russel, and the other three hiding out in the woods waiting for orders will never let me go unscathed.

Even if I beg like he wants and give him my body.

And because I am me, I know what's coming next. All I can do is relax and wait for it to pass.

"You'll never get another chance like this, Pride." His thumb traces my bottom lip, and that flicker of insanity sparks in his eyes. His composure is cracking. "Beg me, and I'll make you feel like heaven."

"Stop wasting your time on her, Wes. She's not worth it," Quinn snaps, crossing her arms over her chest like an angry child. She'll never admit it, but I can tell she hates the way he's speaking to me, touching me, looking at me.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, bitch!" Wesley shouts, rising to tower over her in a flash.

"You're playing with that thing like she's special." Quin bristles, shrinking in the shadow of her mate. But that silver tongue of hers knows no defeat. "She's not going to beg you because she's too fucking proud. She doesn't deserve you, baby."

"Is that right?" My blood runs cold when his attention focuses on me once more.

Rage dances in Wesley's eyes.

"You really think you're something special, huh?" he snarls. Quinn raises on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear.

She plays him well and always has. There's no knowing what toxic mix of lies and manipulation she's weaving to fuel his anger. Yes, I know this game. I always lose.

By the time Quinn's finished, Wesley's breathing is wild and ragged.

"Too proud to beg? Let's see how much pride you've got left when I'm done."

I swallow hard, my throat dry and my heart pounding like a drumbeat of dread. And still, I'm numb.

A grin twists his lips as he takes a step closer, that predatory aura surrounding him. "You know what, Pride? You're not better than me. You're nothing."

A sudden shove sends me on my back, the impact jarring my bones. I struggle to rise and catch my breath, but another blow knocks me back down. Quinn's voice cheers somewhere in the near distance, urging him on, feeding his aggression.

His kicks land on me like thunder, each one knocking the air from my body. I taste blood on my lips and feel bruises blossoming to life on my skin.

I don't fight back. I can't.

The more I fight, the worse it gets. I hate this game.

My body goes limp, surrendering to the onslaught. It's the only way to survive, to weather this storm until it passes. Russel, that mindless puppet of a future Beta, joins in, his blows just as harsh and unrelenting.

They hit, they kick, they punch. The world becomes a blur of pain and humiliation. And then, the ultimate insult—just as he said, Wesley relieves himself. On me, my mother's grave, whatever his stream can reach.

Finally, the assault eases, their entertainment waning. Quinn's voice, cold and bored, cuts through the haze. "This is getting dull, and now it reeks. I wanna do something fun."

And just like that, they leave me—bruised, battered, and broken—by my crooked little cross.

They're gone, and I'm just there, sprawled in the mess they left behind.

Time jumbles as I float in and out of, well, whatever this state is. Consciousness and unconsciousness blend into a blur until sunlight creeps through the trees.

The pain from my beating is already subsiding. My broken bones are fusing, the bruises lighten, and the blood is already dried and darkening in the light of day. The sun's rays kiss my skin with a golden touch, warm as a mother's love. Or what I think a mother's love would feel like.

My wounds are healing fast, and by lunch, I'll be patched up—physically, at least. But the stink of humiliation, the echo of those punches, the sounds of Quinn and Wesley… they stick like sap.

"I'm sorry, Makayla. I wanted to fight," Milla whines.

"I know, Milla. But it was better for us to stay down." I groan, my body aching and tired.

"We do not deserve this. You do not—"

"I know. Forget it."

With a heavy sigh, I drag myself up, feet shuffling like they're not sure where they're headed. This can't be my spot anymore, not after what Wesley and his crew pulled. A different kind of pain spreads through my chest as I take a final look at the clearing. My little sanctuary, now defiled by piss and blood and the stench of Wesley and Quinn.

"I'm sorry, mom. It's my turn to leave you behind."

I want to shed a tear. I want this final farewell to mean something more. But there's nothing left in me. I'm a golem. A walking ball of soulless, emotionless clay. I trudge down the path, fighting my body to make it forget the familiar route.

I'll have to make a new one and find a new spot.

The clearing fades as I push through the underbrush. There's an idea buzzing around my head, telling me to just bolt, to ditch this fucked-up pack for good. But then comes the cold reminder—going rogue's code for becoming a toy to the Alpha and Beta.

I can leave and get my freedom. They get an excuse to murder me in cold blood.

Or I stay and remain a captive and unwilling participant in my own misery while still giving them what they want.

What a twisted choice.

I make it back to my trailer, which looks just as good as I feel. My dad must have had a field day taking his rage out on it instead of me. Looking back, I should have just stayed and taken his licks. At least I wouldn't have had to endure…

Shaking my head, I step over the broken glass leading up the stairs and past the metal door that now rests off its hinges.

"Kay. We don't have to go in. We don't have to see."

"Yes… yes, I do." Taking a deep breath, I step inside.

My little home is a disaster zone; my dad's anger seeped into every corner. This, right here, is the bitter taste of my life in River Crest. There is nowhere I am safe. No peace. Not a drop of salvation to be found. Even my lights are crushed.

An ugly laugh breaks from my throat, and just as I think I'll fall to my knees, his scent hits my nose again. He's back. And so soon. Of course, the Moon Goddess's blessings abound.

"Get out here." Deadrick Pride's commanding voice once again vibrates the walls of my desolate home.

"Now."