by Olivia Arran
“Your real father?”
“Died.” I snorted. “At least, I think he did. That’s what she told me.”
She didn’t say anything or even seem to draw a breath as she waited for me to carry on.
“When they were high they used to beat on me. But it was way worse when they were coming down.” I forced the memories away as they rushed up to greet me, swirling around in my mind like long lost friends. I didn’t want to remember. I swallowed against the thickness in my throat. “They … did things.”
Her sharp gasp had my skin crawling. What if she didn’t want me now, knowing the truth? I should have told her before—
Then she hugged me, her arms squeezing tight enough to crack ribs. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Relief flooded me, making me giddy. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
“What about these?” Her fingers trailed a line of ink.
“Street tats. After I tried to kill myself, a stranger took me in. He trained me to fight. He entered me in underground tournaments and, later, hired me out as a thug.”
Her eyes had grown round, her lips parting in horror. “You tried to kill yourself?”
“Didn’t work. See? I’m still here.”
“Don’t you ever—”
“Like I have any reason to now. My past was shit, my future is … well, it’s looking goddamn perfect.”
“How did you escape?”
I shrugged, trying for nonchalance, and probably failing miserably. “I was never a prisoner, but I wasn’t in any fit state to leave. High most of the time, in withdrawal the rest. Life was a rollercoaster of getting my next hit, knocking someone out, and getting laid.” I chose to not mention that most of the fucking had involved belts and handcuffs. I could barely remember half of it, and chose to forget the rest.
“So, how did you?”
“It was a normal night; I was winning, but I was crashing hard. A man bought an hour of my time.”
“You don’t mean—”
“No! He wanted to talk. He’d watched me fight. He wanted to hire me as protection, though he obviously didn’t need it. A Scandinavian dude, and one mean looking motherfucker at that.”
“Hmmm, sounds familiar. Let me guess, he had white hair? Coyote shifter?”
“Yup, the one and only Jason Sunclaw himself, though this was before he’d met Macey and she’d softened him up.”
She threw me a doubtful smile, and I couldn’t tell if it was the thought of Jason being soft, or Jason caring enough to give a shit that had her frowning.
Finish the story, drive home, bury myself in her body. “He said I reminded him of himself. Angry and pissed off at the world. That, and I was a damn good fighter. So, he kidnapped me, dried me out, and dangled a big, fat, juicy carrot in front of my nose.”
“A job?”
“Yup, but only if I made good first.”
“You did way better than good, M.I.T?”
“Surprising, right, that the brain cells hadn’t been completely knocked lose? It turned out that once I could think clearly, I wasn’t as thick headed as I’d thought.”
“And the technology thing? Computers?”
This one was easy. “Safe. Easier than being around people 24/7. Less chance of losing control and falling down the rabbit hole again.”
She pushed against my chest, leaning back. “Wait a minute, I thought Cole recruited everyone.”
“That’s what Jason let’s him think.”
She snuggled back in, her hands stroking over my pecs in a way that screamed possessive.
A low rumble worked it’s way up through my throat as I relaxed under her hand. It was all out there, no more secrets. It was going to be okay.
“Is the easygoing Greg really an act?”
The rumble turned into a chuckle. “No, I’m only a possessive asshole around you. Turns out when I’m not high or angry, I’m a nice guy.”
She didn’t look like she believed me one bit.
“Let’s just say, around you all bets are off. I’m a possessive asshole. No apologies, you knew what you were getting into.”
“So long as I can touch you, that’s fine with me.”
“Sweetheart, I think I’d go crazy if you didn’t.” The feel of her hands on me thrilled me like a kid discovering ice cream for the first time. No way was I giving that up.
“So, you’re my dark wolf, but you’re fluffy on the inside.”
“Hey! I thought you’d decided on Mr. Talented?”
She didn’t seem surprised, a lazy smile tilting her mouth. “You were listening?”
“Does it bother you?”
“No. I’d name you dark asshole, but it doesn’t sound quite right.” She was already laughing before she’d managed to get the words out, ending on a splutter.
I hugged her tighter. “Careful, or I might come up with a new name for you, sweetheart.”
Epilogue
A few months later…
Scarlett
“That went pretty well.” Greg smoothed a hand over the wheel, directing the little sports car through rush hour traffic with ease. At my silence, his hand squeezed my thigh, letting me know he understood. “Jimmy seems to be settling in well, and Rocky won’t let him go far wrong.”
“But why hasn’t Rocky and Aiden and the guys accepted his offer?”
“Not everyone wants a label, sweetheart. They’ll help Jimmy run the pack, but without all the official nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense!”
He chuckled, the sound liquid and low. “Said by a true pack believer.”
“There’s nothing wrong with pack!”
“As Vin would say, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
“Knickers?”
“He’s British,” he replied, as though that explained it completely. “Panties, sweetheart. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” His hand slid up my thigh, gathering my skirt until he pressed against warm skin.
“What if I don’t happen to be wearing any?”
His hand froze, his throat working as he swallowed hard. The steering wheel protested as he squeezed hard enough to warp metal. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been sans panties all … damn … day?” The last few words came out a strangled growl.
“You’ve been with me all day, what do you think?”
“I think you’re asking for me to pull this car over so I can check for myself.”
“Here?” It came out a squeak. I took in the wide highway, the multitude of cars zipping back and forth.
“You’re the one who removed her panties, asking for trouble.”
“But … here?” Though, nothing should surprise me anymore, not when it came to my mate. Inventive, willing to try anything, and deliciously naughty—he was insatiable. My legs squeezed together at the thought of him yanking my legs around and burrowing his face between my thighs. Despite two showers, I was still a little sticky from last night, when he’d finally come good on the whipped cream promise. Involving silk scarves and a whole lot of licking with his talented tongue. Yeah, the nickname had stuck, but only in private.
“Why not? The team will be back at the house, and as much as I love your screams when you come—don’t mind one fucking bit when they shatter my eardrums—I’m not so keen on the guys getting their rocks off at the same time.”
My cheeks heated. “They don’t…” But now he’d planted the image in my mind, I couldn’t un-see it. Now my face was on fire.
A sly smile spread over his face, his thumb tracing looping circles on my thigh, inching higher and higher. “But do you know for sure?” His thumb grazed my soft curls, playing with that soft fold of skin at the top of my thigh, stroking higher.
“Yes.”
A single eyebrow shot up. “Yes? As in, yes?”
I nodded.
Tires screeched as he yanked the wheel hard.
A shiver of anticipation ran down my spine.
He was devious. Single minded
. Possessive, and hot as hell.
And he was mine.
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From the Author
Thank you for purchasing Watcher: Alpha Protectors. It's your support that allows me to continue doing something that I love every day. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review so more people can find and enjoy my books.
Love,
Olivia
About Olivia Arran
Olivia Arran is a USA Today bestselling author. She has been an avid reader since childhood, forgoing sleep to devour page after page by torchlight. As an adult she still reads voraciously, but also enjoys penning her own tales of romance. Steamy, paranormal, strong alpha heroes, and feisty heroines - Olivia writes what she likes to read and hopes you like it too!
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