Page 15 of The Alpha's Arrangement

I wince and feel ice rush through my veins. A combination of shame, guilt, and rage. “You helped me, and then I made you very rich men. That slate was cleaned a long time ago.” My voice is as cold as my blood. Chilly. Frigid. Frozen.

“Wait, I’m sorry, Scarlet, wait-“

I hang up on him and put my phone down with a calm I don’t feel.

I look at my keys, hesitating as a reckless need to be near people makes a rare resurgence. I snatch them and my purse up and head to my car. There’s a bar in town. Perhaps being around people will be enough to temper my fury.

The bar is pounding with loud country music. The lights shining on the sign that reads Trail strobe in a way that’s more to do with how decrepit it is than any attempt to be current. I frown at the sign. It’s an odd name for a bar, but whatever. I go in, glance around, and immediately understand why Trail makes sense. There are a lot of men and a few women, few of them are townies. These guys are passing down the highway and stopping for the night. I ignore the inquisitive glances, go straight to the bar, and sit down at a stool with empty seats on either side of me.

The barkeep pauses in front of me. He’s young, with thick brown hair and dimples. “Hey, haven’t seen you here before. What do you drink?”

“Whiskey.” I say shortly, not interested in small talk.

He brings it back a moment later. I turn the glass around and around in my hands, admiring the colour and wondering if I’m wrong. Maybe I should go back to the city. Perhaps I owe it to them to help them transition to a successful pack. Maybe that’s as close to happiness as I’ll ever get.

“Hey, darlin’.”

I snarl and glance at the alpha who squeezes in beside me and the stool. Too close. Far too close. A growl presses against my throat, but I don’t let it out. He’s cute, I guess, in a friendly neighbour next door way. I know better. The mood that I’m in, I’ll tear him apart. “Not interested.”

“In me?”

“In conversation or you.”

“Ouch.” I’m relieved when he gets up and moves away, but he doesn’t go far, and his stare makes my skin crawl, and my nature comes too close to the surface.

Another shape sits down next to me, and I lift my head to snarl at this new threat to my peace, only to find myself almost choking on his coffee liqueur scent. I lift my eyes and find the giant.

“Acton.” It’s a gasp, a sigh full of relief, and a painful awareness all in one.

He grunts and holds up his hand. The barkeep nods and pours three glasses.

“Scarlet.” He finally rumbles and turns to look at me. Pinning me under blue eyes that see into me far easier than I like.

It’s the same feeling I got this morning, that he’s looking inside me and seeing all the parts that hurt, seeing all my vulnerabilities, making a list.

I face the bar and pick up my drink, sipping it. He downs his first.

I always wondered how it would feel to be next to a man of his size. Would I feel intimidated? Would I feel protected? Turns out neither. It’s comforting. I find myself relaxing and turn my head so I can casually look him over.

His arms are thick with muscle, he’s tall, close to seven feet. His face is covered in a coarse thick beard with silver edges but kept trimmed neatly. I wonder what it feels like and hate myself for even wondering.

Blue eyes lock on mine, catching me in my staring. I couldn’t turn away if I wanted to.

“Why are you here alone, Scarlet?”

Although I like the way he says my name, I don’t like the question. “I wanted a drink.”

“Me, too.”

That stumps me. I rock the liquid in my glass and look up at him.

“I didn’t mean to intrude with your omega.”

He closes his eyes for a second and then glances at me. “You didn’t. It’s good for him to have friends.”

I turn away again, mouthing the word that is now on my top ten most hated words in the English language. The music pauses and then some painfully slow song starts, and a woman down the back of the bar sings a beat too slow with the music. Her voice isn’t awful, but the smokey haze of the interior, the beer, the old scratched wood furniture, and the depressed individuals just hit me. I think perhaps this bar is me. Tired, worn out. Depressing.

Right, time to go home.

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