Alpha
Page 65
“I’m not going to give up just because Malone and the others refuse to acknowledge me. I’ll find another way. I’m not going to let the Pride down.”
Not going to let you down, either…
When I stood, I discovered that covering him up was even harder than folding the sheet back in the first place. It felt a bit like letting him go, and that was one of the scariest things I’d ever done. With my father gone—aside from the very real, very deep ache his absence left inside me—there was truly no one left to protect me if I got in over my head. I still had friends, and supporters, and advisers, but my lifelong safety net was now gone, and one wrong step would send me crashing to the ground, broken.
No amount of support or advice could fix things once I’d fallen.
Numb from the weight that had settled onto my shoulders, cold from standing out on that ledge all alone, I turned from my father to face the mirror, and I almost didn’t recognize the woman who stared back at me.
She had my green eyes and it was my own long black hair I pushed back from her face. But the soul that stared out at me was bruised beyond recognition—even more damaged than the face I now wore, so different from the me in my memory, a perpetual eighteen-year-old, still shiny and excited, and convinced that education and independence were the keys to unlocking the future I’d always dreamed of.
The me in the mirror had scars on her face, fresh bruises all over her body, and serious shadows beneath her eyes. This Faythe was all dressed up in a fitted, pinstriped blouse and dark slacks, her hair a fierce nest of tangles around her face, like a wild black mane. This Faythe was ready to play her father’s game, and this Faythe played for keeps.
I ran my fingers through my hair, taming it just enough to look presentable, then turned away from the mirror, satisfied with what I saw. I slipped back into the hall and stopped in my room to change into my best black boots. The heels were too high for fighting, but if this turned into a physical fight, we were screwed before we even began—Malone still outnumbered us badly, and he still had three guns.
Everyone looked up when I stepped into the living room, and more than a few eyes widened. I could tell from Marc’s expression alone that I looked the part—half stone-cold businesswoman, half badass bitch.
“I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.” I marched toward the door, and the others hurried to follow. On the front lawn, Marc fell in on my right side, Jace on my left. Uncle Rick and his men followed behind and on the right, Di Carlo and his men behind to the left. Taylor’s group brought up the rear, accompanied by the distinctive, thundering tread of the bruin, who seemed determined to stay until he knew there wouldn’t be any more fighting in his territory. For which I was more than grateful.
We walked without speaking, moving briskly, and I barely noticed the cold, though I hadn’t stopped for a jacket. Five minutes later, I stomped up the main lodge’s front steps and pushed open the door. My men fanned out around me on the porch in standard formation.
Calvin Malone stood from the couch, struggling to hide his surprise. I was expected, of course, but apparently I was expected to come crawling on my hands and knees, bleeding and scared, begging for mercy. But that’s not how this game was going to unfold, and the sooner they understood that, the better.
“What is this?” Malone’s eyes narrowed, fists clenched at his sides. Had he truly thought I’d fold beneath the pressure before they’d even had a chance to threaten me?
“This is the new player. And now it’s a whole new game.”
Eighteen
I stepped into the lodge and my supporters filed in after me, and I have to say, we made a pretty impressive front, even with Keller waiting on the front porch, because there just wasn’t room for his bulk.
“What do you want?” Milo Mitchell demanded, standing up next to Malone, so we couldn’t possibly mistake his alliances.
“A cease-fire long enough to bury my father.”
“Well, look at you playing dress-up,” Jerald Pierce said from the kitchen doorway, and I was pleased to see a deep, blood-crusted cut on his temple. “First you start a fight, then you want a time-out so you can lick your wounds. Is this what they mean by ‘a woman’s prerogative to change her mind’?” He turned to Malone and shrugged dramatically. “I guess this is the kind of hormonal impulse behavior you get when you put little girls in charge. Which is exactly why we don’t do that.”
Malone only watched while Pierce stalked closer and I stared at him, determined not to flinch beneath his appraisal. “You don’t have the authority to ask for a cease-fire. That’s an Alpha’s prerogative.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing you’re looking at the new south-central Pride’s Alpha.” My voice came out smooth and calm, in contrast to the inferno of anger raging inside me.
“You’re not an Alpha, you’re a traitorous whore.” Pierce’s furious scowl said he was just waiting for my argument to the contrary, but it was Jace who spoke up, from my left.
“Her enforcers have accepted her and formally sworn loyalty.”
“Yeah, because she’s sleeping with them,” Pierce spat, and I nearly bit my tongue off to keep my mouth shut. Proclaiming my private life to be private wasn’t much of an option for an Alpha.
“She hasn’t been recognized by the council.” At the sound of the new voice, we all glanced up to see Wes Gardner enter the main room from the hall, followed by Paul Blackwell and Nick Davidson. The players had all arrived.
Not going to let you down, either…
When I stood, I discovered that covering him up was even harder than folding the sheet back in the first place. It felt a bit like letting him go, and that was one of the scariest things I’d ever done. With my father gone—aside from the very real, very deep ache his absence left inside me—there was truly no one left to protect me if I got in over my head. I still had friends, and supporters, and advisers, but my lifelong safety net was now gone, and one wrong step would send me crashing to the ground, broken.
No amount of support or advice could fix things once I’d fallen.
Numb from the weight that had settled onto my shoulders, cold from standing out on that ledge all alone, I turned from my father to face the mirror, and I almost didn’t recognize the woman who stared back at me.
She had my green eyes and it was my own long black hair I pushed back from her face. But the soul that stared out at me was bruised beyond recognition—even more damaged than the face I now wore, so different from the me in my memory, a perpetual eighteen-year-old, still shiny and excited, and convinced that education and independence were the keys to unlocking the future I’d always dreamed of.
The me in the mirror had scars on her face, fresh bruises all over her body, and serious shadows beneath her eyes. This Faythe was all dressed up in a fitted, pinstriped blouse and dark slacks, her hair a fierce nest of tangles around her face, like a wild black mane. This Faythe was ready to play her father’s game, and this Faythe played for keeps.
I ran my fingers through my hair, taming it just enough to look presentable, then turned away from the mirror, satisfied with what I saw. I slipped back into the hall and stopped in my room to change into my best black boots. The heels were too high for fighting, but if this turned into a physical fight, we were screwed before we even began—Malone still outnumbered us badly, and he still had three guns.
Everyone looked up when I stepped into the living room, and more than a few eyes widened. I could tell from Marc’s expression alone that I looked the part—half stone-cold businesswoman, half badass bitch.
“I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.” I marched toward the door, and the others hurried to follow. On the front lawn, Marc fell in on my right side, Jace on my left. Uncle Rick and his men followed behind and on the right, Di Carlo and his men behind to the left. Taylor’s group brought up the rear, accompanied by the distinctive, thundering tread of the bruin, who seemed determined to stay until he knew there wouldn’t be any more fighting in his territory. For which I was more than grateful.
We walked without speaking, moving briskly, and I barely noticed the cold, though I hadn’t stopped for a jacket. Five minutes later, I stomped up the main lodge’s front steps and pushed open the door. My men fanned out around me on the porch in standard formation.
Calvin Malone stood from the couch, struggling to hide his surprise. I was expected, of course, but apparently I was expected to come crawling on my hands and knees, bleeding and scared, begging for mercy. But that’s not how this game was going to unfold, and the sooner they understood that, the better.
“What is this?” Malone’s eyes narrowed, fists clenched at his sides. Had he truly thought I’d fold beneath the pressure before they’d even had a chance to threaten me?
“This is the new player. And now it’s a whole new game.”
Eighteen
I stepped into the lodge and my supporters filed in after me, and I have to say, we made a pretty impressive front, even with Keller waiting on the front porch, because there just wasn’t room for his bulk.
“What do you want?” Milo Mitchell demanded, standing up next to Malone, so we couldn’t possibly mistake his alliances.
“A cease-fire long enough to bury my father.”
“Well, look at you playing dress-up,” Jerald Pierce said from the kitchen doorway, and I was pleased to see a deep, blood-crusted cut on his temple. “First you start a fight, then you want a time-out so you can lick your wounds. Is this what they mean by ‘a woman’s prerogative to change her mind’?” He turned to Malone and shrugged dramatically. “I guess this is the kind of hormonal impulse behavior you get when you put little girls in charge. Which is exactly why we don’t do that.”
Malone only watched while Pierce stalked closer and I stared at him, determined not to flinch beneath his appraisal. “You don’t have the authority to ask for a cease-fire. That’s an Alpha’s prerogative.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing you’re looking at the new south-central Pride’s Alpha.” My voice came out smooth and calm, in contrast to the inferno of anger raging inside me.
“You’re not an Alpha, you’re a traitorous whore.” Pierce’s furious scowl said he was just waiting for my argument to the contrary, but it was Jace who spoke up, from my left.
“Her enforcers have accepted her and formally sworn loyalty.”
“Yeah, because she’s sleeping with them,” Pierce spat, and I nearly bit my tongue off to keep my mouth shut. Proclaiming my private life to be private wasn’t much of an option for an Alpha.
“She hasn’t been recognized by the council.” At the sound of the new voice, we all glanced up to see Wes Gardner enter the main room from the hall, followed by Paul Blackwell and Nick Davidson. The players had all arrived.
