Chapter 14

Robbie’s POV

"Are you two already through, or do you just lack stamina?"

The voice cut through the heavy, metallic scent of the room. I didn't look up immediately. I knew the silhouette in the doorway. Ripley stepped inside, his tall, muscular frame draped in a black shirt that fit him like a second skin. He looked immaculate, a sharp contrast to the grit of the basement.

His eyes didn't linger on me, slumped and bare on the sofa. They didn't pause at Rory, who was busy stretching out his limbs, testing the fresh buzz of energy in his rejuvenated skin. Ripley barely even blinked at the girl on the floor. She was pale, still, and very much dead. To him, she was just part of the furniture.

Ripley wandered over to the massive U-shaped couch that wrapped around the walls. He claimed his spot with a casual arrogance, stretching his arms across the backrest and crossing one long leg over the other.

"You're getting weak," Ripley remarked, his gaze flicking between us. "Finishing this early is a bad look."

Rory dropped onto the far end of the cushions, his movements heavy and bored. "The talent tonight is boring. No spark. It’s hard to stay interested when they have nothing to give."

Ripley’s lips curled into a dry smirk. "Well, we have a new plaything arriving at the house soon. You should try her out. See if she has enough life in her to keep you awake. No one will care if you break her or bleed her dry."

Rory made a face, his nose wrinkling in genuine irritation. "That girl? She stinks."

The haze in my brain cleared instantly. I knew exactly who they were talking about. The memory of her brought a bitter taste to the back of my throat. "Good luck with that," I muttered, my voice raspy. "I'd rather take my chances with a horse in the stable. Even a mare wouldn't want to be near her."

Ripley turned his head slowly toward me. "She isn't going to the stables, Robbie. She’s staying in the guest suite. Don't tell me you aren't curious to test your latest toys on her?"

A wave of cold disgust washed over me. I sat up, the leather of the couch sticking to my skin. "That doesn't mean I want her living under our roof. I don't want to see her face every time I walk down the hall. It’ll ruin my day before it even starts. Besides, what happened to the rules? We agreed. No women in the house. Ever."

"If you have a problem with the living arrangements, take it up with Royal," Ripley said. His voice was level, almost robotic. "Personally, I don't care where she sleeps. I just want to see how she reacts to a few new chemical compounds I’ve been working on. Her screams will make her presence a lot easier to tolerate."

"I’m done here," I said, standing up. I started pulling on my clothes, my movements hurried. The air in the room felt stifling. "I want nothing to do with her. Once you lot are finished with your little experiments, let me know. I'll be the one to finally put her out of her misery."

Rory grumbled as he reached for his shirt. "I’m with Robbie. Having that scent lingering in the hallways is going to make me sick."

Ripley leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a strange, clinical curiosity. "You keep mentioning a smell, Rory. Even years ago, you claimed you could track her by her scent from a mile away. It always drove you crazy. What is it, exactly?"

"It’s just a foul, shitty smell," Rory snapped, yanking his boots on.

Ripley arched an eyebrow, his tone turning taunting. "Is that all it is? Or are you just frustrated?"

Rory shot him a dead-eyed stare. "Why don't you go find something to fuck instead of asking stupid questions? I’ll have Robin send in a few of the tougher girls for you. Maybe you won't snap them in half within five minutes."

"That’s the plan," Ripley said, his smirk returning. "I need to wash the thought of that girl out of my head."

The door opened again, and Robin walked in. He was a presence that demanded silence. Tall, dark, and broad-shouldered, he filled the space effortlessly. He wore a brown shirt that looked ready to burst against his chest. As a wolf-human hybrid, he was more formidable than most. He had a way of using his primal side that made even us stay on our toes.

Robin’s dark eyes fell on the body on the floor. He didn't look angry, just inconvenienced. He looked at Rory. "You hit your limit for the month. No more casualties until the books reset next week."

"Whatever," Rory muttered, brushing past him toward the exit. "Just make sure Ripley gets someone who can handle him."

"See you later, Robin," I said, following Rory out. I knew Ripley was about to go down a dark path, and I didn't want to be around for the fallout.

Since the incident, Ripley had changed the most. He didn't have a middle ground anymore. Everything was extreme, and everything was violent. Robin usually let him get away with it because they were close, but it was getting harder to watch.

Rory and I ended up at the bar in the lower lounge. We sat in silence for a long time, the only sound the clink of ice against glass. We didn't need to talk. The alcohol did a better job of numbing the anger than words ever could.

About thirty minutes later, Ripley appeared. He looked energized, a predatory light behind his eyes that suggested he’d found a way to vent his frustrations. He climbed onto a stool next to us and signaled the bartender for something high-proof.

"That was fast," Rory noted, looking at him sideways. "Losing your touch?"

"I had the same problem you did," Ripley replied, watching the liquid swirl in his glass. "None of them were interesting enough to keep me focused today."

He went quiet then, staring into space. When Ripley went silent like that, it usually meant he was plotting something.

Robin approached us again, his expression uncharacteristically grim. "Philip has company," he said, his voice barely audible over the low hum of the bar. "You might want to get in there."

I frowned. "Philip is here? Since when?"

"He’s been drinking alone for an hour," Robin said. "He told me to stay away, so I didn't bother you. But things have changed. You need to go."

When Robin used that tone, you didn't ask questions.

"Who is he with?" Ripley asked, draining his glass in one go.

"Alpha Riley," Robin answered. "Of the Epsilon Pack."

The air between the three of us turned cold. We didn't need to exchange looks. The name was enough to bring every bitter memory screaming back to the surface. He was the villain of our history, the man responsible for the scars we couldn't see.

"Room Six," Robin added.

We were moving before he finished the sentence. We reached the door in seconds. Ripley didn't knock; he slammed it open, the wood hitting the wall with a crack.

Philip was sitting on a black leather sofa, his fingers white around the stem of his glass. He looked calm, but his eyes were pits of shadow. Across from him sat the man we hated most in this world.

Riley Mark.

First that girl shows up, and now this bastard. It felt like the universe was lining up all our enemies in a single row.

"Did you really think you could walk in here and leave in one piece?"