Page 17 of Defiant
This is bad.
This is worse than bad.
Frustration and rage swell up inside me and swirl around like dirt devils, biting and stinging. I want to punch something. No, not satisfying enough. I want to punch someone. I’ve got a damned omega in my basement … I found the pot of gold at the end of the goddamned rainbow. And my worst fucking enemy knows. Wants her.
I want her.
Fuck!
Rage colors the edges of my vision a hazy red as I grab the reading chair that’s nearest to me. It’s a leather wingback chair and I heave it up over my shoulders before launching it with a yell across the room. I watch it smash into my computer screen and destroy my tray of food as it slides across my desk before landing with a dead thump on the wooden floor. Even though my chest heaves from the effort, it isn’t enough to vent the fury I feel building inside me, the hot coals hissing and heating me up, the pressure growing stronger.
When Matthew walks back in with a second tray, he stops short at the sight of the chaos I’ve created. One look at me and he knows better than to speak.
I stomp toward him and grab the new tray. “Shield all the windows. Call in the alpha elite and tell them to wait for me in the ballroom,” I bark, giving him not further explanation.
Matthew’s graying eyebrows shoot up, but I don’t explain because how the hell am I supposed to tell him that the little shifter in my basement is about to cause a fucking pack war?
7
Elena
That evil fucking asshole.My blood pumps and rages and I feel like an ancient gladiator, trapped underneath the arena about to face a death match as I tromp back and forth down the dark, narrow hallways of Black Maddox’s basement storage room. He’s been gone for nearly ten minutes and I’ve been wearing down my feet pacing, clutching at the air, and pretending that it’s his throat. But, seeing as my hands are still zip-tied together I doubt that I could get them around that asshole’s thick neck.
He kidnapped me! My own fucking alpha didn’t believe me. He tied me up and shoved me in here—I glance around at my cage for the eightieth time; this fucking storage room is lined with wooden shelves big enough for huge tubs of crap. Surprisingly, it’s empty, though I would have expected Black Maddox to keep his collection of sticks in here … the ones he shoves up his ass—pompous fuck. I search for something, anything that might remove my zip tie.
I don’t give a damn that he found me in disputed territory. As soon as we made it to his friend’s car he could have borrowed a phone, called my mom or someone, and cleared this shit right up. He didn’t—because he’s a psychopath.
A huge, hulking, brawny-as-the-Hulk, alpha mental case…and he’ll be back down here at some point.
What am I going to do when he comes back?
I’ve asked myself this question at least a dozen times and I still don’t know the answer. No lightbulb clicks on inside my head…
I shuffle a few steps forward and reach up for the first of the pull chains on the fluorescent lights and turn it off. Then I make my way around the middle aisle of empty shelves, turning the corner and walking until I come to the second dangling light. I reach up and pull until I hear a click and darkness surrounds me.
It’s not much, but at least it will give me a small advantage,I tell myself as I wait for my eyes to adjust. I glance over at the small window that’s now the only source of light, letting in a dull gray strip that paints a stripe through the air and a rectangle on the floor. Walking toward the window, which perches in the wall above a set of shelves, I tell myself that I can’t count on Black coming back down and being reasonable. That shit’s just the foolish hope of victims. He’s already proven he’s a lock-girls-up-first-and-ask-questions-later kind of fucker.
I need to prepare for the worst, not the best.
Why do the hot guys always have to be crazy?
Make no mistake, Black is “make you wet with a look” hot. I’ve always liked muscles and guys with a bit of a brutish glare, but he’s got this savage Highlander look down pat. He just needs a kilt. He’s already got a sword…
Nope. Erase thought, Elena. You are not thinking about his sword. It’s probably cursed anyway. Maybe it’s the source of his madness.
Fuck. I’m going insane down here,I realize when I see how ludicrous my thoughts have become. I don’t want to picture Black in a kilt with his hair blowing in the wind. I want to picture his eyes closed, those long lashes brushing his cheeks for the final time. Dead.
For some reason, my head rejects that image, probably because I’m not a madwoman who thinks death is just another tantalizing thrill. Unlike a certain alpha.
I stop pacing for a second, leaning against an unfinished two-by-four post that runs up to the ceiling. I take a deep breath and Jonah comes to mind. His bright blue eyes, his blond hair, his easy smile.
My heart gives a longing pang, the kind I didn’t think I’d ever have for him. We’ve always kept things casual. Loose. I mean, I don’t see other people because I’m too damned busy with track and all the applications for nursing school.
But I’ve never asked him if he sees other people. I’ve always assumed he’s seeing multiple girls. He’s just that kind of sweet flirt—who could resist? I certainly wouldn’t begrudge other girls. He’s the only hot guy I’ve ever found who doesn’t have all these dominance hang-ups. A l
ot of beta guys still like to be the dominant ones in bed but my fuck buddy is the softest, sweetest teddy bear I know. He offered to help me earlier when he thought I was sick and now I longingly wish I’d taken him up on that offer.
I’m an arrogant fool.
