Page 21 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

Magnolia is near the front, sitting cross-legged on the floor and absolutely surrounded by children. She’s smiling as she talks to an older woman, her expression relaxed. She catches my eye, lifting a hand in a small wave, her smile soft and inviting. I nod back, forcing myself to stay where I am at the edge of the room.

For someone like me, it’s safer to stick to the shadows.

Frankie, of course, is already there, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed–probably having waited for me this whole time. Her gaze sweeps over the crowd, but it doesn’t take long for her eyes to land on me. She scowls at me, eyes narrowed.

Fine. I can live with that. Doesn’t matter to me.

I ignore her, tuning in as Magnolia stands. She smiles around at the room, clasping her hands.

“Alright, everyone,” she says, her voice warm and clear, cutting through the hum of conversation. “Thank you for being here tonight. Story night is one of my favorite traditions, and I think it’s safe to say it’s one of the pack’s too.”

The crowd murmurs in agreement, and Magnolia’s smile widens. She looks so at ease, so at home, that it makes my chest ache. She’s magnetic, effortlessly pulling everyone’s attention, mine included.

“Before we start,” she continues, her tone turning playful, “a quick reminder: no sneaking seconds on dessert until we’re done. Yes, I’m looking at you, Grant.” Laughter ripples through the room as Grant grins and raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright,” Magnolia says, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. “Who wants to go first?”

There’s a brief pause before she nods toward an older man sitting near the center of the room. “Mr. Clayton,” she says, her voice gentle. “You told me earlier you might have a story to share?”

The man—thin and wiry, with weathered hands and a kind face—nods slowly. He stands and the room falls silent as he makes his way to the front. Magnolia steps aside, smiling as she hands him the floor.

“Thank you, Maggie,” he says. “I’ve got a story for you all tonight. It’s not one of those grand tales of bravery or adventure. Just…a memory.”

I recognize this guy–and I realize with a pang of dread that it’s the man whose watch I stole just a couple nights ago. The watch that’s now sitting, unused, in a hidey hole in my workshop.

“This story’s about a watch,” Clayton begins, holding up his wrist to show the bare patch of skin where a watch used to be.

Oh, come on.

“My father gave me that watch when I turned twenty,” Clayton says. “It wasn’t much—not fancy, not expensive. Just a plain old watch with a leather band and a scratched-up face. But it meant something to him. He called it his lucky charm.”

The room falls into reverent silence, and I swear I can feel the heat of Frankie’s eyes boring into the side of my skull. I shift uncomfortably.

Clayton’s voice is steady, but each word is like a punch to the gut. “When the Convergence hit, and the world started falling apart, that watch was one of the only things we had left of him. He didn’t make it, but the watch did. And it kept ticking.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Clayton pauses, looking out at the crowd with a faint, wistful smile. “That watch has been with me through everything. It’s a reminder of him, of where I came from, of what it means to keep going no matter how hard things get.”

Holy hell. He’s practically writing my guilt trip into a screenplay. Who does this? Who just shows up to story night with a perfect little moral lesson tailored for the exact asshole in the room? Any second now, Clayton’s going to turn, point at me, and say, “And now it’s gone. I sure hope it’s in good hands.”

I shift again, leaning back against the wall and folding my arms, trying to look casual. Normal. Like a guy who definitely didn’t swipe an old man’s lucky charm.

As Clayton wraps up, the room erupts into applause. Magnolia claps too, her smile soft and radiant as she looks at Clayton like he’s the wisest man in the world.

Perfect. Just perfect. Now she’s even more of an angel, and I’m an even bigger piece of shit.

When Clayton nods and makes his way back to his seat, I let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the mix of guilt and sheer cosmic irony. But the damn watch won’t let me forget. It’s like the universe saw me rolling into the Austin Den and said, You know what this guy needs? A very specific lesson in not being a dick.

Maggie’s friend Peaches—the redhead she’s always hanging out with—steps up next, her head held high as she walks to the center of the room. I’m still stewing over the fact that I am very, very confident that everyone here knows I stole that watch, but as Peaches takes a deep breath, my attention shifts. She hesitates for just a moment, her hands clasped in front of her, then begins her story.

“This is a story about freedom,” she says. “About finding it, fighting for it, and holding onto it, even when it feels impossible.”

The room goes still, the kind of silence that wraps around you and demands your focus. Her words hang in the air like smoke, curling into every corner of the space. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my chest tightening as she starts weaving her tale.

“It’s about a girl,” she says, her voice soft but unwavering. “A girl who grew up in a gilded cage, ruled by a cruel king who demanded loyalty but gave none in return. A girl who was told she should be grateful for the bars that kept her in, because they also kept others out.”

My stomach drops. I know this story.

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