Despicable by Rory Miles

DAX

Blonde hair snares my attention as she walks away.

Bellatrix.

I roll her name around in my head a few times, thinking about the interaction and how much I acted like a little boy. I’m forty-seven, so I’m well past my horny teenage years, but for some reason, seeing her and bantering with her had me hard as a rock. She seemed a little thrown when I left her in the store, but I wasn’t about to stand there with my dick growing hard in my pants.

She doesn’t look back like I expected, and a little frown tugs at my lips.

Maybe she wasn’t flirting.

Have I really been here long enough to forget how that sort of thing works?

Am I really fretting over this interaction like a teenage girl?

Shit.

I need a beer.

Checking my watch, I see my shift has already ended. Bellatrix distracted me. Blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, and lightly tanned skin. God, she’s hot. Checking my surroundings, I head toward house number fourteen, which is around the corner from the stores.

“New chick in town,” Ronan says as he walks by. “Creed’s all worked up about her.”

“I saw her. Can’t say I blame him. Watch your back, brother. We still have a killer on the loose,” I say, casting a glance in his direction.

He stops walking and turns. “Should we warn her?”

“She’s already had a shit day. Maybe we can wait until tomorrow?”

“What if she’s next?”

I pinch my eyebrows together, look at the house which is only a few yards away, and groan. “Fuck. I’ll go watch her.”

“Stalk her, you mean?”

“Would you rather do it?” I ask, rolling my eyes. These guys are like family, but sometimes they annoy the shit out of me.

“Hell yeah, I would.”

“No you won’t,” I say, jerking my thumb toward the stores. “Go do your shift, I don’t trust you to keep it in your pants.”

“You should worry about Creed, not me. He’s the one who had a boner for her.”

I grimace because so did I.

“Worry about yourself,” is all I say. “I’ll tell Creed I’ll be back in the morning.”

He flips me off before heading to the guard post, strutting his usual unhurried strut.

Fucker.

* * *

BELLATRIX

Settling on home number twenty, because I like my space and don’t feel like walking any farther, I eye the solar panels on the roof before I walk up the steps. I swing my gaze around the porch. There’s a cute swing, painted white, and a rocking chair next to it. The windows aren’t huge on the front side of the house, but there are enough that I know plenty of natural light will come in.

With the solar panels, provided they work, I’ll be able to keep the place warm in the winter. The door is unlocked, so I let myself in. The layout is similar to Harlow’s house, probably built by the same builder, but the decor is wildly different. A hippie exploded, did some twirls, and left behind a strong stench of patchouli. It overwhelms my heightened sense of smell, and my nose twitches in response before I sneeze.

No wonder no one wanted this house.

While it’s cute, it’s a lot to take in. The small table at the front is covered by a tapestry, dried flowers sit in a vase, and tiny buddhas are lined up in a row at the front. I run my finger over a little belly, hoping for some luck, and eye the bright blue and orange oriental runner.

A purple framed, hexagonal mirror hangs on a wall, and a dead ivy runs the length of the other side, killed by lack of water. Vibrant beads mark the end of the foyer, hanging from ceiling to floor.

Not exactly my style, but with a little fresh air, I can make it work. Parting the beads, I take in the moody eclectic living room, complete with another bright oriental rug and all black elephant statues, and head to the row of windows. I open all three, inhaling the musky scent of earth hanging in the air.

On the plus side, the house is pretty clean, so I do a quick dusting before searching for a vacuum. So far, I haven’t found an issue with the electricity, which means the solar panels must be doing their job.

About an hour later, I’ve vacuumed the house and wiped down all the kitchen counters. I wring out the dish towel and hang it over the sink to dry and head back to the couch, plopping onto it and stretching. It’s six at night, and I should probably figure out what to do about dinner, but I don’t feel like getting up. Now that I’ve found a little comfort, it’s almost like my body is finally shutting down after everything it’s been through. I’m surprised I’ve been able to go on this long.

I’ll worry about food tomorrow.

* * *

A loud crashoutside wakes me. I sit, glancing around the now dark living room. The clock on the wall shows it’s eleven at night. I scrub my eyes then glance around again when I hear shuffling feet.

“Who’s there?” I ask loudly, hoping it’ll scare off whoever it is.

No one answers.

I run to the windows I opened earlier and slam them closed, flipping the locks and shutting the curtains. I wrinkle my nose when I smell patchouli in the air; will the scent never leave? Remembering there’s someone creeping around, I grab a knife from the kitchen. Once I’m wielding the chef’s knife, I turn on the lights in both rooms.

The sound came from outside, and as far as I can tell there are no strangers in the house, so I slowly make my way to the front door, listening for any indication of anyone waiting outside.

Pressing my fingers into the wooden doorframe, I lean my ear against the wall.

Silence.

Maybe this is some sort of island hazing?

Freak out the new reject. I’m sure everyone here is dying for something fun to do, and what better way to do it than torture the newbie?

I turn on the porch light, exhaling when it comes on without issue. Rolling my shoulders a few times, I drag in a deep breath and rip the door open. I may have done my fair share of breaking and entering, but that was college and my ex and his friends had stolen a bunch of my stuff, so they deserved it. At least my sleuthing skills are being put to use. I slink onto the porch, gluing my back to the wall while my heart pounds in my chest. The knife is clutched in my hand at my side and my arm starts to tremble.

I’m freaking out.

Sneaking around to get your things back is one thing, but preparing to potentially stab someone is another. If someone is here to hurt me, they’re going to regret it. The wounds on my wrists still smart, but the extended nap I took refreshed me. I should have shifted a long time ago to heal, but I didn’t want to forget the pain so easily. That and if I heal those wounds, the only ones I have left to acknowledge are internal ones.

No thanks.

My chest is heaving, so I focus my mind. The key to calming down is to take steady breaths, controlling what you can when you feel out of control. Six counts in, six counts out. I do that a few times, pleased to find my heart and breathing slowing down. Now that I’m a little calmer, I side-step my way to the side of the house, hesitating a second with the knife at the ready.

A soft brush of clothes is the only thing I can hear, and they’re not my clothes. Someone is around the corner of the wraparound porch. Motherfuckers. I step around the corner, pointing the blade at Dax, whose mouth drops open when he sees the weapon.

Swinging his arm up, he backs up. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here to protect you.”

“Oh, really? Because it seems like you’re here to be a stalker, old man.” I jab the knife in his direction. “Let me guess, the island has you feeling a little lonely so you decide to try and come take advantage of me?”

Silver Fox stalking me might be flattering if it weren’t for the still stinging rejection from Chad.

“What? No,” he says with an indignant huff. “Did I give you that impression?”

“It’s hard to tell anything about a person off of one conversation.” I eye him, wondering if he’s being honest. “Why are you here?”

“To protect you.”

“Seems like the only thing I need protecting from is you.” I take two quick steps forward, smirking when he scrambles away from the knife.

“Bellatrix, I swear. I’m here on business. Nothing more.”

I narrow my eyes at him, then point the tip of the blade at his junk. “I will hack it off if you do anything stupid, do you understand me?”

The one self-defense class I took may come in handy if he tries to attack me. He probably doesn’t expect me to be able to hurt him since he’s an alpha, but I can. Maybe not enough to incapacitate him, but he won’t take me without a fight.

“Understood,” he says between clenched teeth. “Can you put the knife down?”

A question, not a demand. Interesting. Perhaps he is being honest. Most alphas would command me to drop the weapon. I scan him once more, noticing his clothes from earlier are wrinkled and the faint shadows underneath his eyes. He’s tired.

“Hmm.” I wait another second before lowering it. “Why do I need protection?”

“Straight to the point then?”

I nod. “Seeing as I don’t know you and don’t trust you, yeah. Tell me why you think I need protection so much as to creep around my porch like a weirdo.”

“I wasn’t creeping.”

“Oh, snooping around someone’s porch at midnight isn’t being a creep?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” he trails off and sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to wait to tell you.”

I bring the knife back up, and he groans.

“Speak, now.” I slowly ease forward, clutching the handle.

He still doesn’t overpower me with his words. Letting me get close with the blade isn’t smart, but he obviously doesn’t think I’ll hurt him. Or maybe he’s confident he can disarm me before I can. Either way, he watches me with curiosity rather than wariness. He’s not a bit concerned about me. I bristle at the thought and toughen my scowl. I can be intimidating.

Shaking his head, he glances to the side. “Someone was murdered yesterday.”

Spluttering, I tighten my grip on the handle. “And you didn’t think to tell me this earlier?”

Is this why Harlow kicked me out? Is she the murderer? Or did she just want me to be killed first?

Fucking shifters.

His gaze strays to my arms, which are still covered in the dark marks from the silver chains and handcuffs. “I figured you’d been through enough for one day. Why haven’t you shifted to heal yourself?”

“None of your business,” I say. “What happened to the body?”

“The guard came for it, but we don’t know who killed George. That’s why I’m here, to make sure the killer doesn’t come for you.”

I wave the knife around. “How do I know you’re not the murderer?”

Screwing his face up in frustration, he shrugs. “I guess you’ll have to decide if you can trust me.”

“Fat chance of that.” I don’t know if I’ll ever trust a man again. I take a few steps back. “You should go.”

“Bellatrix, I don’t feel comfortable—”

“Go!”

My shout startles him, and to my surprise, he doesn’t snarl back. He dips his head, face contorted with frustration as he skirts around me with his hands up. I wish he wasn’t being so nice, because I feel a little bad for yelling at him. Then I remember he didn’t tell me about a murder and took it upon himself to sneak around. I follow him to the front of the porch, not lowering the knife until he’s down the stairs and standing on the sidewalk.

“You shouldn’t be left alone.”

“I’m fine.” I glare at him. “Don’t forget what I said. I’ll hack it all the way off.” Swinging the knife down for dramatic effect, I make a thwacking noise.

I think I see his mouth twitch into a smile, but it’s gone before I can check again. “Lock your door.” He turns and heads down the street. I wait until he’s out of sight before slipping inside and doing as he said.

Just my luck, being stranded on an island with a murderer on the loose. I guess there is something worse than being rejected: death.