Page 149 of Psycho Alphas: Part One

He was the ruthless leader of the Brotherhood, a Las Vegas gang known for its violent brutality, and the Bishops were traffickers, just like my family were.

They were my rivals by blood.

“Something you overlooked, when you declined my offer,” Ace said coolly, “Was that when I invite an Alpha into my family, I’m generous. I ensure the members of my pack have theofferings they deserve. Colt got the gift you would have been offered.”

“Ah.”

The final puzzle piece fell into place. I could guess what he’d asked for by the delighted glint in Ace’s eye as he watched me come to the inevitable conclusion.

“And I have no interest in Colt Bishop’s claim to any trafficking operations.”

I was the last of my family in this state. I had claimed Knox as a sign of good will—collateral, so to speak—and never looked back. I had more money than I would ever know what to do with, and no interest in thrill seeking.

“Colt doesn’t see it that way.”

“I imagine he doesn’t.”

“I respected you, Rogue,” Ace said. “There aren’t many people I can say that for. I tried not to take your rejection personally,” he said. “Until I discovered you weren’t a lone wolf at all.”

“I don’t have a pack. Never will.” If I was going to die today, that was the record I would die with.

It was the only thing I’d ever truly dedicated an effort to.

Escaping the world.

Being alone.

“No. You have a pet.” Ace tilted his head, watching me carefully as he adjusted the placket of his suit. “Was I not good enough?”

I felt the bitter smile tug at the corner of my lips.

“I wasn’t aware the Mavericks were in the business of getting themselves leashed.”

I didn’t let my racing pulse get the better of me as I took my first sip. I paid attention to the way the scotch burned on its way down. I’d chosen the cheapest in the cabinet becausesmooth would be forgettable. If it was my last, I wanted to die with the echo of that burn in my throat.

“If we’re being honest, Colt Bishop has no class,” Ace said, picking up his own glass and inspecting it, fixing me with that piercing, ice-blue gaze.

I barked a laugh, but didn’t reply, taking another sip, grateful that my hand wasn’t shaking anymore.

How long? I wondered. Would the drink buy me another minute?

Did I want another minute?

Not particularly, but I’d started it now, and it felt right to finish the damn thing.

My eyes fell momentarily to the old Monopoly game that was still open on the long coffee table between us.

An ancient game, unfinished by my own mother, untouched for years, but never tidied up. I thought it added character and reminded me of how little movement I preferred in my life.

Right now, it looked ugly, and I wished it was gone.

“But Colt wasn’t stupid enough to decline my offer.”

“I’m sure he’ll make a perfect puppet.”

That’s all Ace Maverick wanted, in the end. We would never have worked out. I wanted to be left alone, and these nut-jobs were forever bored—like my mother and father—who had never been able to stop chasing adrenaline.

All I wanted was a quiet fucking life.

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