Page 98 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

And dammit, I do.

Peaches is my best friend, my sister in all the ways that count, and if she can sit here, knowing Colt came to destroy her life, and still believe that he loves me?—

Then maybe I’m not as far gone as I thought.

I exhale, leaning my head against her shoulder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” I admit.

Peaches hums. “That’s alright.” She rests her cheek against the top of my head, voice soft. “Just don’t let the pack decide for you.”

I close my eyes, letting her words settle deep in my chest.

Because she’s right.

No one gets to make this choice for me.

Not the pack. Not Reyes.

And not Colt.

32

COLT

The den is suffocating.

Not just with judgment, not just with the weight of what’s coming—but with silence. A thick, pressing thing that stretches the walls of my makeshift holding cell too tight around me.

I sit on the edge of the cot, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, waiting.

I don’t know how long I’ve been down here. Long enough that my wolf is restless, pacing beneath my skin. Long enough that I can feel Magnolia in the back of my mind, the mate bond pulling, even when I know she wants nothing to do with me.

Long enough that I start wondering if they’ve already made up their minds.

The door creaks open, and I don’t look up at first, just inhale slow, deep. Grant. I recognize his scent before I recognize his voice.

"Alright, loverboy," he mutters. "Time to go."

I push myself up, muscles stiff from sitting too long, from waiting. “Where?”

Grant shrugs. “Community center.”

That throws me. I expected—hell, I don’t know what I expected. To be shoved out the gates? Hauled in front of Reyes in private for my sentencing? The whole den?

I frown. “We doin’ this in front of an audience?”

Grant doesn’t answer right away. He leads me out into the hall, a lightbulb flickering above us, casting long shadows. He exhales through his nose, like he’s thinking, like he’s trying to find the right words.

Finally—

“We’ve never had to do this before.”

That stops me in my tracks.

I turn my head toward him. “What do you mean?”

Grant leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I mean, we don’t do this. We’ve never had a traitor in the den.” He tilts his head. “Not one who’s still alive to tell the story, anyway.”

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