I thrash, spitting, “Don’t touch me!”
Scott crouches in front of me, his hand sliding across my thigh, fingers digging just enough to remind me of every bruise he ever left.
“You’ve gained weight,” he muses, his eyes cold. “Looks good on you. Softer. Fuller. Better.”
Bile rises in my throat. “Get your hands off me.”
Dalton presses down harder on my shoulders, Trevor pinning my wrists. I’m trapped, breath ragged, rage shaking me harder than fear.
Jeremiah strolls back in, Shepard’s mug still dangling from his hand. He spits again, lets it dribble on the floor beside me.
“Can’t believe you traded us in for them,” he says lazily. “A Beta and a couple of small-town Alphas? You call that a pack?”
Scott’s hand squeezes my thigh. “You stink of them. Their mouths, their cocks. You smell like a fucking brothel.” His lip curls. “We’ll have to scrub you clean.”
I snap my head up, fury spilling over. “I don’t belong to you. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
Levi chuckles from behind Scott. “That’s rich. She really believes it.”
Scott leans closer, his breath hot against my face. “You think Driftwood makes you free? Let me educate you, sweetheart. Geography doesn’t change biology. You’re ours. You always will be.”
My body shakes, not just from fear but from rage so sharp it feels like fire in my veins. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
Scott’s grin widens. “That could be arranged.” His hand drags higher, toward the hem of Shepard’s sweater, and I lurch back hard, slamming against Trevor’s hold.
Jeremiah sighs, bored. He leans against the counter, eyes gleaming.
“You should’ve stayed quiet, Sadie. Could’ve saved yourself the humiliation. But then again…” He tilts his head, smirk sharp. “It’s a pity. You really were talented.”
The words freeze me. “What?”
Scott doesn’t pause. His fingers trace the faint bruises on my neck, pressing down like he owns every mark. “What do you think happened to your pretty little murals? Your health center? Your hardware store?”
The air caves in.
“You…” My voice cracks, raw, horror cutting through me. “You set the fires.”
Jeremiah raises the mug like a toast. “Driftwood burns, Memphis rises. We thought you’d appreciate that, little phoenix.”
My chest seizes, nausea clawing up my throat. All those families, all those lives torn apart—not random, not accidental, butthem. Because of me.
Scott pats my cheek mockingly, then lets his fingers dig into my jaw. “So pack your things, sweetheart. You’re coming home. We’ve wasted enough time already.”
CHAPTER 38
Shepard
Gus doesn’t want to cooperate tonight.
“Come on, buddy,” I mutter, crouching beside his crate. My hand rubs along his ears, scratching that one spot that always makes him grunt, but he only presses his nose stubbornly against my knee and refuses to move.
His tail wags, but his body stays planted.
I sigh, rubbing at my temple. My bag is already half-packed by the door—first aid kit, flashlight, extra water bottles, a change of clothes. Just enough in case things in town spiral further.
The orange glow seeping in through the blinds makes my chest tighten. This isn’t just another brush fire. The air outside smells wrong, like chemicals burning alongside wood, like something planned instead of accidental.
“Gus,” I whisper again, coaxing, pulling out the blanket I keep inside the crate. He noses it, then huffs, and finally, reluctantly, climbs inside.
