Page 138 of Never Submit

Moaning, I shake my head and take a turn way too fast, the front tires skidding over loose gravel. It doesn’t matter what I want. The alpha’s happiness isn’t important for the growth and safety of his pack.

Only instincts. Only strength, power.

Catarina bolsters both of those things for me. Which automatically makes her the right choice no matter what thoughts are spiraling in my head. No matter what kind of goddamn inconvenient mate bond tries to resurrect itself from the dead.

“No bond,” I remind myself out loud.

It’s cold feet, I assure myself, catching another glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror. Every groom has cold feet right before his wedding.

But not every groom fucks another woman right before his wedding.

Shit, I’ve got to tell Catarina. It’s bad enough we’ve built our relationship on responsibility and allegiance, but she needs to understand what I’m bringing to this marriage. In all regards.

Hopefully she’s still at work at this time of day and hasn’t taken off early. I navigate the back roads and head out toward the main highway, scattered with salt to keep away the snow and ice. Chunks of it ping against the underside of the car as I hit the highway itself.

From there, it’s less than thirty minutes into the city without traffic.

And Ren’s disappointment, her heartbreak, is a constant niggling scratch along my spine. Insistent, annoying. Reminding me of my failures.

Why did I have to give in to her? Why did I have to show my weakness around her?

It didn’t matter how my alpha dominated her before and during sex. We both understand the truth.

There’s a tug on my mind, somewhere in the depths of it, as though thinking about her for even a second has conjured her.

“You’ve no place here, Ms. Wexler.”

I use the name purposely, to drag myself out of the moment and ground in the present. The streets narrow, the traffic congested at this time of day as everyone heads home.

If I go to the law firm, Catarina will know.She’ll smell Ren on me. Too bad. It’s not like I can stop by my building and shower.

There’s no parking near the law firm building, the three-story chrome and glass spear so unlike its neighbors. I headto a side street and back up into a space too small for the SUV. Screw it.

Time ticking down and my pulse racing to match, I head out of the car and slam the door. The reverberation echoes through my teeth.

I can’t storm into the building this way. Disheveled, a mess inside and out. Security will toss me straight out on my ass.

How did I get so far from myself?

Stopping to breathe, I check myself, smoothing back my hair and adjusting it into a neater knot at my neck. There’s nothing I can do to quell the storm in my eyes. I smooth fingers over my goatee, adjust my shirt.

It’s now or never.

I glance at my watch to check the time and stride down the alley toward the front door. The glass wings open silently and the two women manning the front desk refuse to look up at my approach. Security detail protects the elevators and the door to the personal offices from view.

The carpet is plush, clean, gray. Horizontal patterns draw the eye up the walls toward the coffered ceiling, a little touch of old in the new.

“May we help you, sir?” the receptionist asks by rote. Her fingers fly over the keyboard, and I wait in silence for her to look up and acknowledge me personally.

Her throat bobs, and her eyes go wide, her breath catching. “Mr. Steel, I’m so sorry. My apologies. Miss Briar is just finishing up with a client?—”

I tug at my jacket. “Excellent. I know where to find her.”

So much for our once-a-month date, the one we allowed ourselves and wrote ahead into our separate schedules.Duty to pack over personal preferences has changed drastically the closer we get to the wedding.

If there will actuallybea wedding.

The receptionist calls after me on my way to the elevator, and I ignore her, the doors sliding open to the mirrored interior instantly. They snap shut before either of the women has a chance to stop me.

---