Despicable by Rory Miles
CREED
Dropping the last of the tools into the portable tool box, I lock the gate to the water main. The patch is holding and there are no new leaks, so that’s a good sign. The last thing we need is for our water supply to have issues. I turn to grab my things, but stop halfway when I spot Chad. His face is beat to hell, and he’s holding his nuts like he’s in pain. Without even needing to know the details, I know he’s done something stupid.
Something violent and dark rises within me the closer he gets. The road to the house he’s taken residence in passes by this one. I can’t tell if he’s noticed me because his eyes are swollen. Deciding to make it known that I’m here, I take the ten steps from my road to the middle of his, stopping directly in his path.
He stops, shoulders bunching and fingers fisting at his sides. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Studying the discoloration on his face, I take a step forward. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” he grits between clenched teeth.
He’s an alpha, so by nature, he’s stronger and faster than me, but the rage building within me blinds me to the facts. Whatever natural advantage he has doesn’t surpass the unbridled emotions welling within me.
“If you hurt her—”
“She’s fine. Your alpha friend did this to my face.” He waves his hand in front of himself.
“And you think that’s all you’ll get?” I ask, taking another step to close the distance between us.
“Really? You’re going to kick my ass without even knowing what happened? Your asshole of a friend attacked me practically unprovoked. No wonder they send rejects to these islands. Guys like you give us a bad rap.”
“Here’s the thing,” I say, taking another step, stopping a foot away from him. “Dax is the most level-headed alpha I’ve ever met. He doesn’t do shit unprovoked, so whatever happened, you deserved it.”
Before he can ask me what he deserves, I move, side stepping a fist he throws up on instinct and jamming my palm into his nose, breaking it on impact. Blood gushes from his nostrils, coating his mouth and chin. He shouts in pain and swings for me again, but he really is beat to hell.
The idiot could have shifted and healed himself, but apparently his mind was preoccupied. Knowing who preoccupies his mind makes me all the more angry, so I bring my foot up and slam it into his stomach, knocking him back.
“You’re an idiot if you think we will let you anywhere near Trix.”
“She’s my fated,” he growls, collapsing to the pavement and holding his stomach.
“You rejected her. She’s your nothing.”
A mocking laugh falls from his reddened lips. “And you’re her, what? You’re not mates.”
Heat rushes through me, kindling an already red hot fire. I launch myself at him, but arms wrap around my middle and yank me back.
“Easy, Creed. He’s trying to get a reaction because he knows Trix is ours and it’s killing him.” Ronan takes a few steps back, putting more space between us and the bastard. “If you want to have some semblance of a normal life on this island, I suggest you erase all thoughts of Trix from your mind. Otherwise, I’ll let my brothers kill you for your stupidity.”
We don’t call each other brothers often, because we’re not blood, but the time we’ve spent together on this island has formed an undeniable bond between me, him, and Dax. They’re the family I pick.
And so is Trix.
Chad shoves off the ground, rising to his feet with a groan. “You’re going to regret touching me.” He scowls at us and storms away, finally shifting and shredding his clothes in the process.
Ronan releases me once Chad is racing up the steps of his house. We stare after him, and I imagine Ronan is thinking the same that I am.
Chad doesn’t get to touch her.
He doesn’t get to think about her.
Or he’ll find his stay at Wolfsbane Island cut short.
* * *
BELLATRIX
Sometime during Dax and I hooking up, Creed came home. The downstairs shower is running when I go to grab water after Dax falls asleep, so I decide to sit and wait for Creed to finish to see what his plans for the day are. Dax has to switch shifts with Ronan in a few hours, and since their shifts rotate, the guys always benefit from naps.
I sit in Ronan’s chair, eyeing the game of solitaire he has going on to see if I can help him out. Bringing my eyebrows down, I study the cards like I know what I’m doing. Who the hell am I kidding? I never bothered to learn how to play this game because it takes forever.
Moving my hand over a card, I stop short when the bathroom door opens. I shoot my gaze in that direction, grinning at Creed when he enters the kitchen with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Hey, Creep.” My fingers brush over a card. I think if I move this one on top of the queen of hearts, it’ll make a stack. That’s what they’re called right? Stacks?
Fuck. I suck at this game. Glancing back at Creed, I pick the card up, deciding to try it anyway.
He tries to be mad at the nickname, but his grin reveals that he loves it. “Hey, Trix. Ronan will be pissed if you mess his game up.”
Pausing before I set the card down, I wrinkle my nose. “Like hey, that was my spot mad or that’s my girl you’re flirting with mad?”
“Definitely that’s my girl.”
With a heavy sigh, I return the card to its respective place and lean back in the comfy computer chair, setting my arms on the rests.
“How was your morning? Get your work done?”
He nods, going to a cabinet and grabbing one of the granola bars. I lift my eyebrows and pout my lip, hoping he’ll take mercy.
“You know, you can use your words.” He grabs another one and tosses it to me.
“True, but I like how you understand me without me having to say anything.”
“Damn puppy dog eyes.” He rips the wrapper and takes a bite. “Saw your boyfriend.”
I give him a look. “I think you’re trying to be funny, but I kind of want to dunk your head in the toilet if you’re referring to Chad as my boyfriend.”
Swallowing, he grabs a cup and fills it with water from the tap. “Fine. I ran into the douchebag. He was pretty beat up.”
“Was he?” I ask, drumming my fingers on the arms of the chair.
He nods and tips his head to the side.
“See, I can read you too. You want me to tell you what happened, but you’re dancing around the subject when you could have just asked me directly.”
Rolling his eyes, he drinks his water, waiting for me to break and tell him everything.
It takes about three seconds for me to finally tell him everything that happened.
“Definitely deserved it then.” He sets the cup down and walks around the counter, coming to stand in front of me. “Are you hurt?” His finger touches my cheek which is still red from the slap.
“My face hurts a bit from his backhand, but I’ll survive. What did he deserve?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Creep. Did you defend my honor?”
Placing his hands on the top of the chair, he leans over me. I lift my gaze to meet his and bite my lip, trying to avoid staring at his abs.
“What if I did?” He’s not smiling.
He’s worried about how I’ll react.
“Well,” I say, reaching for him and putting my hand on the back of his neck. “Then I say thank you for kicking his ass.” I kiss him and smile against his lips. “You’re also really sexy when you get serious.”
Finally he laughs, breaking the tension and straightening. My hand may or may not grope him on the way back to my lap.
“I’m going to get dressed. Do you want to play Stratego after?”
“Do cows shit?”
He looks confused for a second.
“The answer is yes,” I stage whisper, giggling when he tries to pinch me. “Go get dressed before I attack you.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” With a saucy wink he leaves the room.
* * *
“No fucking way,”he mutters about two hours later.
I cackle, revealing where I hid my flag. His red pieces are scattered all over the side of the board. My blue pieces are lying around too, but I didn’t lose nearly as many as he lost during our third battle.
“I try not to be cocky, really, I do, but I’m a badass at Stratego.”
“I didn’t think you’d know how to play,” he mumbles, picking up his fallen soldiers.
“You put up a good fight.” I line up my players, studying them and trying to find a new strategy.
My dad taught me how to play, and while I may not have beaten him very often, I picked up a lot of tricks. These guys are going to be disappointed when they learn I’m claiming the title Game Night Master, because every family needs one, and it’s clear none of them are qualified.
“That little grin makes me want to kiss you and choke you all at the same time,” he says, narrowing his eyes as he sets a piece in a square.
“Why not both?” I ask, deciding on my new plan of attack and grabbing my bombs.
The important part about this game is to work your opponent over. Pay attention, like an engrossed level of attention, to the pieces that aren’t your flag when you’re setting them up on the board, making them think that’s the piece they should focus on. Works like a charm every time.
Well, unless I’m playing against my dad. He knows my methods a little too well.
Sighing, I lose focus on bluffing Creed out and my thoughts turn to my family. On autopilot, I set up my pieces, wondering what they’re doing and if they ended up staying with Pack Ozark and if my dad is being treated well. I also worry about my sister. She’s a lot softer than I am, and I’m not there to protect her if she needs it.
“Hey,” Dax says, startling me out of my thoughts. “You okay?”
He’s standing by my chair, searching my face. Creed is staring at me too, a hard line creasing his forehead.
“Yeah. I was thinking about my family.”
Understanding blooms over Creed’s face and Dax nods, like he suspected where my mind was.
“It gets easier with time,” he says. “We’re here if you need to talk.”
“I’m okay,” I say, not wanting to bore them with my feelings. “We loved game night, and it made me think of them. That’s all.”
“You get a pass for lying because you’re beautiful and I’m late for switching shifts with Ronan.” Dax leans down and kisses me. “But at some point, you’re going to want to talk about it, and we’ll be here.”
“Such a smooth talker,” I joke when he pulls back. “I hear you.”
He nods, tweaks my nose, grins at my immediate scowl, and flips Creed off.
“You’ve got the night shift. See you later.” Dax leaves us to our game.
“Okay, Creep. Try not to cry this time.” I make my first move, waggling my eyebrows at him.
“You’re such a shit talker,” he says with a laugh. “Did you get your bad mouth from your dad or your mom?”
“Both,” I say, watching him move his first piece. “But when it comes to games, my dad was the biggest crap talker.”
“He sounds like a lot of fun.”
I hum, agreeing but discouraging further conversation because it hurts too much when I may never see them again. We fall into a companionable silence, playing the game and occasionally throwing a verbal barb.
All the while, I think: this can’t be the rest of my life, can it?