Page 90 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
“Oh, hey man—congrats on the engagement, by the way,” Grantadded like an idiot. “Saw your pre-wedding shoot all over the media. You’re marrying a real princess.”
I rolled my eyes. Not the time.
“How soon can you get into the system?”
“Thirty minutes minimum. I’m going in unarmed. No digital backdoors.”
“I need it in fifteen.”
There was a pause, then an incredulous laugh. “Fifteen? Are you high? That’s practically—”
“Can you do it? Or not?”
He huffed, louder this time. “It’s gonna cost you. Double the usual charge.”
“Just do it. Money’s never been the issue.”
I hung up, shoved my phone into my coat pocket, and stepped out of the car. The night air was cold, but not enough to cool the heat under my skin.
I rounded the corner to the back of the building. I figured the main entrance couldn’t possibly be out front—sleazy cowards like the Black Talon never exposed themselves that easily. They were rats. Always hiding in the shadows, breathing smoke and pissing fear.
I found the steel door and slammed my fist against it, hard enough to rattle the hinges. Every ounce of frustration poured into that knock. Frustration from knowing Leila was seeing Victor. Frustration at the way she kept punishing me, locking me out with walls that were getting harder to scale. She was shutting me out on purpose. And I was tired of knocking gently.
The metal slot scraped open, revealing bloodshot eyes that squinted at me through the dark. “And you are—” The words froze on his tongue. Recognition dawned on him.
“Alpha Vaughn…?” His voice cracked.
“Is Cassius inside?” I asked, my tone in a controlled rage.
“Y–yes,” he stammered.
“I want to see him.”
The locks clicked open in rapid succession. I brushed past him and stepped inside.
The scent hit me first—smoke, whiskey, and sweat. The place was built like a backroom casino: neon lights casting sickly glows, low ceilings stained with tar, rows of card tables with grizzled men and scantily dressed women.
I didn’t need to speak. The moment I stepped in, silence cut through the room. Heads turned. Conversation died. Eyes tracked me with a mix of fear and disbelief. They knew exactly who I was.
My gaze swept across the room, locking onto a steel door guarded by two men flanking it like statues.
Cassius Kane’s office. It had to be.
I stalked over. The guards didn’t attempt to stop me. Smart.
I pushed open the door, and when I stepped inside, I was greeted by the most predictable sight imaginable.
Cassius was mid thrust, a half-naked girl crouched between his legs, head bobbing over him. He startled like a rat in the light.
“What the hell!”
The girl let out a shriek, scrambled to snatch her bikini panties and tangled bra off the floor, and bolted past me, eyes wide with humiliation.
I was already moving, already lowering myself into one of the leather chairs.
Cassius was adjusting his pants, still panting slightly, his face flushed—not with embarrassment, but irritation. He wasn’t the type to be ashamed. He was just annoyed at the interruption.
Cassius Kane was a small man—at most, he was five-foot-eight. He was the kind of man who made up for his size with cruelty and connections. Dark hair, twitchy fingers, a gold chain around his neck. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a sunburst tattoo over his chest.
