Chapter 3

KYRIE.

"What the fuck do you mean, Cole?" I snarled, my fists slamming into the punching bag like it owed me something. My knuckles burned, but I didn’t stop. The fury needed an outlet.

"Deals run outside of the club isn't the club's business. No one seems to have even noticed you in the club, let alone know which of the girls you left with," Cole explained from the other end of the line. "It wasn't flagged."

I hit the bag harder, and it rocked violently on the chain.

"Most girls tend to cheat the club. They secretly leave with clients and keep the whole buck to themselves. I guess that's what she did," He added, and I felt more adrenaline pumping through my body.

Fuck!

That night at the RavenSquare Pack – some rundown, barely-breathing scrap of a territory – changed everything.

Saint and I had just gone there to keep an eye on our latest target, and after the day's job, we decided that having a good fuck won't be a bad idea.

It was meant to be something casual, just to let off steam and stress, like we always do, but somehow, it went way above that.

That mysterious woman did one of the things the people of that pack were good at... Stealing.

She stole my fucking heart. My mind. My goddamn soul.

When I woke up that morning, she was gone. I was disappointed, to say the least. But Saint's anger over his stolen wristwatch hijacked any chance I had to look for her. And we had to return to the pack first thing that morning to attend to an emergency.

That was how I lost her.

At first, I thought it was the sex and how I'd felt when I fucked her. I thought I just craved her some more. I had concluded that, perhaps, I just liked the way she gave in to us, the way her lips parted when I thrust into her, even as Saint stuffed his cock into her mouth...

But as days went by, I found out that it was way more than that. Because something twisted in me that night. And I haven’t been able to cut out since then.

Because while Saint fucked her like a machine, I caught her looking at me.

Through the mask she wore, only her eyes were visible. But God, those eyes. Blue, deep, and endless. Like they could swallow every reason I had to keep it casual.

She looked at me like I was more than a cock and a paycheck.

I shouldn’t feel this way about someone who let two men split her open for cash. But, fuck, I did.

Saint wants her dead. He vowed to slit her throat the second she crossed our path again.

I've watched Saint kill. He never hesitates. And when he says he'd kill someone, he kills them.

The emotionless bastard was born on the day of the Blood Moon. He wasn't just physically different from the rest of us... He also lacked emotions and empathy. The dude gets off by causing people pain and spilling blood.

But I would never let him harm her.

I had already offered countless times to replace the Rolex she stole. I even offered him any model he wanted, even custom pieces, but he was adamantly attached to the stolen one. He could fuck off for all I care.

Saint's anger isn't just about the stolen watch. The problem with Saint is... What belongs to him, he keeps. People. Loyalty. Objects. Name it.

One stolen item, like a Rolex, isn’t about the object. It’s about the power imbalance he cannot tolerate.

I think it's time to visit that town again. But I'll do that just after Alpha Rollins' marriage to his newfound love.

Saint was never interested in knowing who his new stepmother was going to be. He never even made an attempt to research her background or anything about her.

He just concluded that he didn't give a fuck about her because she was from that town.

Typical Saint.

But I did, though. I ran a quick background check on his behalf. And when I returned, he hadn't even let me give him details about her. He waved it off, saying he knew the primary reason I had gone there in the first place was to look for my enchantress.

He wasn't wrong, though. But I had used one stone to kill two birds. Wasn't it worth it?

The only information Saint let me pass to him was the fact that the woman's name was Jovie, and that she had a daughter.

Well, I did my best.

***

As the Beta, it was my job to make sure everything ran smoother than Saint's temper, and this morning, it was already a goddamn mess.

Past 7 a.m., and the ceremony grounds still looked half-dressed, like a bride caught mid-change. The decorators were crawling around like headless ants, and not a single centerpiece looked remotely like the mock-ups. Didn’t Alpha Rollins say he hired one of the best in town?

Bullshit.

If Saint would just put his pride in his fucking pocket for one day... if he could set aside his bitterness and do this for his father, I won't be under this much pressure!

But no. I could bet my balls Saint was buried in some warm cunt right now, probably balls-deep and ignoring his damn responsibilities to his father!

I stormed toward the Alpha’s apartment. At least there, the maids knew what they were doing. The drapes were up, the silverware gleamed, and the bedroom was already made up for the new bride. The scent of lavender and fresh polish filled the place. Everything was in its place.

Perfect.

We had also sent out convoys to go get the bride in a grand style from RavenSide. They should be here in two hours.

Satisfied that everything wouldn’t fall to shambles without me for ten minutes, I quickly excused myself. I had to freshen up in time to join the occasion. It was barely 40mins more, and I wouldn't want to miss even a second of it.

***

*

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

I didn’t mean to yell the moment I walked into his goddamn house, but I couldn’t help it.

The air stank of sex and smoke. Moans filled my ears. A bottle of something expensive rolled off the coffee table, dripping amber on the rug.

I wasn't wrong. He was in the middle of two women who were also fucking each other like the world was ending in five minutes.

Flat on his knees on the oversized bed, head tilted as he blew a slow stream of smoke from his lips with his hips snapping ruthlessly into a blonde on all fours.

His one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip like he was trying to rip her in half, steadying her as he pounded in hard enough to rock the bedframe. Her cheek was mashed into the mattress, smeared lipstick bleeding into the white sheets, and a long string of drool clinging to her chin.

Beneath him, she whimpered, begged, and shook, but he didn’t even blink. He just dragged in a long pull from his cigarette, smoke curling from his lips like a demon exhaling fire.

And beside them? The other one, raven-haired and wrecked in the eyes, was kneeling at their side, stroking her own dripping cunt like she needed Saint to watch. Her mouth crashed into the blonde’s whenever he slammed forward like she was kissing the orgasm right out of her lungs. Her other hand rolled the blonde’s tits, occasionally trailing down Saint’s abs like she wanted to be the next in line.

“Saint!” I snapped, slamming the door shut behind me. I could barely hear myself over the moaning, slapping, panting mess.

He didn't bother to answer. He just gave the blonde’s ass one brutal slap and kept going like I was another piece of furniture in his palace of debauchery.

I stormed over, snatched the joint from his lips, crushed it between my fingers, and flicked it to the floor.

“Having a goddamn threesome on the morning of your father’s wedding?” I bit out, kicking the door shut behind me. “You know some old-school Lycans consider that fucking bad luck?”

That finally earned me a slow, cold look. That same dead-eyed stare that made his soldiers buckle and pack members piss themselves.

But me? I’d seen him bloodied, drunk, broken, and even worse. I wasn’t afraid of his fucking stare.

His pale eyes dragged up to mine, very unimpressed, almost as if I’d interrupted his meditation, not his fuck session.

“That look doesn’t work on me,” I muttered. “Save it for the rest of the world.” I signaled for the girls to scurry out immediately.

"What the fuck, Kyrie?" Saint breathed, sitting back on the bed.

“Get dressed. The bride arrives in…” I checked my watch, sighed, and then looked back at his filthy, smug, sex-drunk face. “…Fifteen minutes.”