3. Pretty Boys Lead To Murder Scenes

Rayna~

My father’s words rang like a death sentence.

Get married to Alpha William.

I stared at him, at the cool detachment in his face, and then at the older man standing beside him like he’d already won the prize. My prize. Me.

“You can’t be serious,” I whispered, but Father didn’t even spare me a second glance.

“Yes, darling,” he said, smooth as silk, cruel as glass. “It’s already been discussed.”

I couldn’t breathe. My throat closed.

Around us I could hear the others whispering, I had gone from the rejected wife and thought this would be my new start.

William stepped forward, bowing his head politely as though that would soften the insult. “It will be a good match,” he said, his voice deep, almost paternal. “You’ll be safe with me.”

Safe. My skin crawled.

Ralph took a step closer to me, fury carved into every line of his face. “Father, she’s not livestock to be bartered.”

“Stay out of this,” Father snapped, his voice booming across the hall. “This is not your decision.”

The humiliation burned hotter than fire. I felt every gaze digging into my skin, waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to bow my head like a good little daughter.

I forced myself to meet William’s eyes, to stare straight into the smug, patient calculation there. My lips curved into something sharp, almost a smile.

“You want a wife?” I said sweetly. “Find someone desperate enough to sell her soul for your title. I’m not interested.”

Gasps rippled through the hall. William’s expression flickered, annoyance breaking through the mask. My father’s jaw tightened, his hand twitching like he wanted to strike me in front of them all.

I turned on my heel and walked away. I had been understanding of his fury for weeks now but this was something I could not forgive.

Punishment or not.

—

The bar was dim, loud, and blessedly anonymous. Nobody here cared that I was Hayden Blacaris’s daughter.

Nobody here cared that my ex-husband had traded me in for his fated. Nobody here cared that my wolf was gone, or that my father wanted to throw me into another man’s bed.

Here, I was just a woman with a glass. And then another. And another.

The burn of the liquor didn’t quiet the storm in my chest, but it dulled the edges. It made it easier not to think about the way Dario’s teeth had sunk into Lola’s neck, about my father’s cold announcement, about the weight of every mistake I’d ever made.

My years with Dario did nothing to dull my beauty, and while I never noticed the men approaching me were enough confirmation.

But I waved them off, I wasn’t here for them. I wasn’t here for anyone. I was here to drown my sorrows in alcohol. Tha was my plan until he walked in.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a jaw you could slice diamonds on and eyes that gleamed with lazy mischief.

His shirt clung to muscles that looked carved, his smile spread across his lips slow and deliberate like he already knew the effect he had on women.

And God help me, he was gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that made your knees second-guess themselves.

I waited patiently for him to approach me but he didn't, he leaned against the bar a few stools down, ordered a drink and offered me a little smirk.

Heat curled low in my stomach before I could stop it.

I hadn't been sexually inactive but this man made me feel as though I was. My pulse quickened at the thought of his hands roaming across my body.

Oh goddess.

He stared me down like I was desirable and fucking hot.

I took another sip, daring him with my silence.

He moved closer, smooth as smoke. “Rough night?” His voice was velvet, deep enough to drag against my bones.

I huffed a humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

“Good thing you found the right place, then,” he said, nodding at my glass. “Best cure for heartbreak’s always in a bottle… or in company.”

I arched a brow at him, fighting the smile tugging at my lips.

“Company, huh?” I drawled. “And you think you qualify?”

That smile of his widened, slow and wicked. “Sweetheart, I know I qualify.”

He leaned in, close enough for me to catch the faint scent of leather and something darker, sharper—like smoke.

I snorted into my glass. “Big words for someone who doesn’t even know my name.”

“True,” he said, unfazed. “So… tell me. Or should I just call you Trouble?”

I arched a brow. “Trouble?”

“Yeah.” He tipped his glass at me, eyes glinting with mischief.

“You look ravishing in that black gown and your eyes seem heart broken. A really magnetic combination for men like me.”

Heat licked at my cheeks, part alcohol, part the way he was looking at me like I was the most interesting thing in the room. I set my glass down, swirling the liquid inside.

“Fine,” I said, leaning back in my stool. “Rayna.”

He let the name roll off his tongue like he’d tasted something forbidden. “Rayna.” His eyes held mine for a beat too long. “Beautiful name.”

I laughed, a little bitter, a little reckless. “Beautiful disaster, more like.”

He tilted his head, studying me in that quiet, unnerving way. “Ah. So that’s why you’re here. What did he do? Cheat?”

I froze. My throat went tight. How the hell did he—

“Relax,” he chuckled, holding up a hand. “Not psychic. Just a good guess. A woman like you doesn’t sit alone at a bar, drinking like the world’s ending, unless someone’s stupid enough to break her heart.”

Something in me cracked. Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was the way his voice didn’t pity, just stated. I let out a harsh laugh, shaking my head.

“Yeah. You could say that.”

“Then he’s an idiot.” His tone was flat, certain.

“Because a man doesn’t let someone like you sit in a bar alone. He worships you. Or he doesn’t deserve you at all.”

My chest tightened, breath catching in my throat. I hated how much I wanted to believe him.

“You’re smooth,” I said, forcing a smile, twirling my glass between my fingers.

“I’m honest,” he countered. His smirk softened, his voice lowering into something rougher. “And maybe a little smooth.”

I bit my lip, the smallest smile tugging at me despite myself. “Cocky, too.”

He leaned closer, his arm brushing mine, his words ghosting against my ear. “Only when I’m right.”

A shiver ran through me, hot and cold all at once.

My pulse betrayed me, beating faster, louder, and his grin told me he noticed.

“Careful, Rayna,” he said, voice smooth, teasing.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

I smirked, though my cheeks burned. “What if I do?”

He stilled, then grinned slow, wicked. “Then I’d say this night just got a whole lot more interesting.”

The more we drank, the more the edges of my worries softened. His laugh was infectious, his smile dangerous, and every time his hand brushed mine on the bar counter, sparks raced up my arm.

Somewhere between my second and third whiskey, I realized I hadn’t thought of Dario for a full five minutes straight. That was a goddamn miracle.

“You know,” he drawled, swirling the ice in his glass, “you’re different when you laugh. You seem lighter.”

I curved my head to the side, biting my lip to hide the smile creeping up. “And you? What’s your excuse for sitting alone in a bar like some tragic movie character?”

He smirked, leaning closer, his eyes catching mine and holding. “Maybe I was just waiting for you.”

God, I should’ve rolled my eyes. I should’ve laughed it off. But the way he said it—steady, certain—hit something deep inside me.

The bar noise dulled around us. The music blurred.

All I could feel was his warmth radiating closer, closer, as if the universe itself wanted us to collide.

My breath hitched when his fingers brushed against mine, this time deliberately. His gaze dropped to my lips, and I swore my heart stopped.

I leaned in. Just an inch. Maybe two.

And then—

Brrrrzzzzttt!

His phone lit up on the counter, vibrating violently, shattering the moment like glass against concrete.

He cursed under his breath, pulling back, frustration flashing in his eyes.

“Shit. I need to take this.” His voice was low, almost regretful. He grabbed the phone, stood, and with one last glance he slipped out toward the back exit.

Ten minutes, yes I calculated. He was gone for ten minutes and other men had taken my lightened mood as an invitation.

I scoffed, my bad for thinking he was interested in me.

I slid off the stool, steadying myself on the counter.

My heels clicked against the sticky floor as I pushed toward the back door he’d vanished through.

Cold air slapped me in the face the second I stepped outside. The alley smelled of oil, damp stone, and smoke.

“Hello?” My voice came out rough, uncertain. “Handsome stranger? You ditching me already?”

No answer. Just the hum of a streetlamp and the faint drip-drip-drip of water from a busted pipe.

I staggered forward, squinting into the shadows—

Crack!

A gunshot.

I froze, breath caught in my throat, pressing myself against the cold brick wall.

Two men stood in the alley, shadows stretched long under the streetlight. One of them was on his knees, begging, his voice broken and desperate.

The other—taller, broader—lifted his arm, a gun gleaming in his hand. His face was half in shadow, but the scar running from his temple to his jaw caught the light.

“I told you already, no second chances,” the man with the scar said, voice low, merciless. Then—

Bang!

The kneeling man crumpled instantly, lifeless. Blood pooled, glistening black under the light.

I slapped a hand over my mouth, swallowing a scream. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might betray me.

My lungs burned as I forced myself back against the wall, my hands trembling so badly I could barely keep them over my mouth.

Scarface stood over the body, calm, steady, like he’d just swatted a fly instead of ended a life. He glanced around once, sharp eyes sweeping the alley.

I stumbled backward, the ground tilting beneath me. My knees buckled. The edges of my vision blurred.

Not now. Goddess, not now.

The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me whole was the scarred man turning his head—eyes like cold steel locking on me.

Then everything went black.