Chapter 2

“Who the hell are you?” he yelled in my face, his fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist—it hurt so damn bad. His grip was like a vise, his fingers digging in like claws.

'Yummy…' Selene purred.

“I just asked you a question! Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” he shouted again, his voice rising to a pitch high enough to shatter a normal human eardrum and rattle the silence of the sleeping house.

Doors flew open down the hallway. Lights flickered on. But Brant didn’t budge. He was still pressed against me, hazel eyes locked with mine, his chest heaving with fury.

“Get the hell away from her!” I heard Rhett’s voice thunder behind him.

Brant didn’t move an inch. If anything, his grip tightened, his body caging me against the wall. His breath hit my face in hot bursts. Our eyes held, charged with something volatile, and for a second, everything else—the hallway, the light, Rhett’s voice—faded.

'Oh là là… now would be a perfect time to get naked and wild,' Selene said. 'It'll be even sexier in front of an audience—so much fun.'

If she could just shut the hell up. But I didn’t even know why I wasn’t moving—why I didn’t shove him away with all the strength I had. No. I just stood there, rooted to the floor. It was like our energy matched. Like we were made of the same fire.

Hot. Wild. Dangerous.

I was trapped in his stare, hypnotized by the very thing I hated.

“I said, get the hell away from her, Brant!” Rhett barked again, more forcefully.

A pair of strong hands yanked Brant back. The moment he was pulled away, air rushed into my lungs—I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath. I gasped and stumbled forward slightly, my hand flying to my chest as I coughed and looked up. Brant was shaking himself free from Joss’s hold with a snarl, his eyes still locked on me. A towel was wrapped around his waist now.

“What is going on here?” Joss asked, eyes darting between us.

Brant turned to Rhett, who sat in his wheelchair, his hazel eyes blazing with fury—dark and sharp like a storm barely held at bay. His jaw clenched, veins visible at his temples, and for a moment, I thought he might lunge again.

“Who is she?”

Rhett let out a tired sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. “She’s my personal attendant—for the meantime.”

“You don’t fucking need—” Brant snapped, but then stopped mid-sentence. Something passed between them. Maybe it was the silent command of a higher-ranked Alpha. Or maybe Rhett said something through their shared werewolf connection, something only they could hear. I wouldn’t know. I’m no longer part of them.

Brant’s shoulders rose and fell sharply. He looked at me again, then back at Rhett.

“Then why don’t you fucking tell your damn personal attendant to stay the hell away from me? She has no business with me. Or my bedroom,” he growled, dragging his hands through his thick, dark hair in frustration.

His eyes burned into mine one last time. “Just... stay away.”

He turned and stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door so hard I swear the wall shook.

***

Brant

I went back into my bedroom, quickly changed into a shirt and a pair of pants, grabbing my jacket on the way out. But as I stepped into the hallway, everyone was gone.

Damn it.

Her perfume hit my nose, and I felt myself falling into an abyss.

I needed to get out of the house.

'Don’t you think she’s so delicious? We could have a taste of her virgin pussy… You think she’s a virgin? I couldn’t scent it,' Ghost said to me.

"I don't fucking know!"

'Don’t be mad at me. It’s your fault we’re back here instead of buried in Leslie’s perfect, slick, wet pussy.'

I didn’t understand why my brother would bring a personal attendant—a complete stranger—into our mansion. Isn't being in the hospital enough of a circus show for the fucking humans? Why must we keep hiding ourselves and following their damn rules?

That’s why I prefer spending time with the rogues. They don’t care if humans know they exist. And that’s exactly where I’m heading—back to the club I left just an hour ago because Lucas pissed me off. He’s the leader of the rogues. Thinks he’s above everyone else. But certainly not me.

I arrived, got off my bike, and walked straight inside, ignoring the bodybuilder guards at the entrance.

Inside, I saw Lucas slouched on a sofa, his eyes glassy and glowing blue—like moonlight on ice—as he groaned.

A naked woman was sprawled across the cushions, her mouth wrapped around his dick, taking him deep into her throat. When he saw me, he slapped her ass, and she wiggled it in response. I ignored them and kept walking, passing by drunkards and couples having sex in the corners. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and spilled alcohol.

That’s when I saw Leslie at the gambling table with three other people, sweeping back her maroon hair—even though not a single strand had fallen in her face.

I stepped in front of her just as she was about to toss a pair of dice onto the gambling table—a sleek, green-felt surface scattered with chips, crumpled bills, and half-drunk glasses of whiskey.

Her eyes widened with surprise when she saw me.

“You’re back,” she said, her attention still half on the table.

“My car keys,” I said flatly.

She finally looked me in the eye, her expression blank, like I’d just spoken a language she didn’t understand.

“Leslie,” I said again, more impatient this time.

“You’re still mad about that stupid bet with Lucas? Why don’t you cool off first?” she said calmly.

My eyes dropped to her handbag, wedged between her thighs. I reached down, snatched it, and unzipped it just as she jumped to her feet, trying to stop me.

“Brant… you can’t—”

“You know I really need to clear my head, right?”

“I thought you said you were going home to do that.”

“Yeah, well, turns out I can’t clear my head there. So here I am,” I said, pulling the keys out and tossing the bag back at her. She caught it with a scowl.

I strode away, hearing her footsteps behind me, even as people at the table called out for her to come back and finish the game.

I made my way behind the club, where the real action happened—the underground racing ring. A half-lit stretch of worn asphalt served as the track, the kind where you bet big, and whoever crosses the finish line first walks away with the money. I always race with Lucas.

My car was parked out front, sleek and menacing under the neon lights—then his. I always come in first. Lucas second. I've only lost twice… maybe three times.

I used Rhett’s money—or technically, my money—to cover the bets. The company’s mine too, anyway. I just don’t want to deal with the office side of things. Office life isn’t for me. Betting, gambling—that’s what I do.

Earlier today, I even won a crude bet Lucas set up: whoever fucked Marirose—the new bartender—within a week would win fifty grand. I had her in less than a week.

He’d heard she was a virgin and made it a challenge. He got pissed when he found out I’d snagged her and threw a punch at me. I had to fight him back, and Leslie stepped in to separate us. He looked like he was hurt—maybe he actually liked her. But who the hell cares? She wasn’t even fun to be with. She’s got a lot to learn before she can match my taste.

I slid into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel. The engine roared to life beneath me. Speed bled into my veins as I launched forward down the strip. I slammed the gearshift and took off, tires screeching, smoke curling behind me. Neon streaks blurred past as the wind bit at my face.

Then I floored it—racing against my fucking mind.

Rhett’s personal attendant flashed through my thoughts. I could still smell her perfume—subtle, but unforgettable. And those silver-blue eyes when they locked with mine… I don’t know why, but I still can’t tell if she’s human or a werewolf.

'You know we want her laid out beneath us,' Ghost said.

“No. I don’t want her.”

'Oh, but you do... Can’t you feel it? If she was the one giving that blowjob instead of your own hand, you’d have come in seconds.'

“Well, that’s your damn fault—with all your twisted fantasies,” I muttered.

'You came back home without getting laid. We’ve got the money. We already tasted Marirose’s virgin pussy—'

“I don’t let anyone step on me. You know that.”

'Still... I can’t get the new girl out of my head,' Ghost said, his voice husky in the back of my mind.

“It’s not happening,” I growled.

'Your heart was racing when you had her pinned against the wall. Your cock was aching—desperate to slide into her tight, wet heat—'

“That was you, Ghost. Not me,” I snapped.

I stared out the windshield in silence, lost in thoughts of the past.

'You’re thinking again…'

“She left me,” I said quietly, eyes focusing on the present.

I looked out and saw Leslie rocking back and forth, her arms wrapped tightly around herself against the cool night air. She wore only a short denim skirt and a cropped top—clearly unprepared for the chill.

I stopped the car and got out, striding over to her. I cupped her cheek, locking eyes with her, and pressed my lips hard against hers.

She always knew what I wanted. Her bag slipped to the ground as her hands found my belt, undoing it in seconds. We were on the ground, her back against the cool earth, my cock springing free—hard and ready—as I thrust deep into her slick, dripping heat. She had no panties on. Always ready for me.

She groaned, biting my ear, and I crashed my lips against hers in a rough kiss, her nails clawing at my back as I lost myself in her body—just enough to forget everything else.