Alpha Knight (Wolf Ridge High 2)

“You’re so fucking hot. I don’t see how a human could be this hot.”

I’m absurdly pleased by that praise, even though it’s a backhanded compliment. “You’re the only one,” I tell him.

“The only what?”

“The only one who’s been here.” He knows that already—that he took my virginity—but I’m trying to tell him something else. “The only one I let in. The only one I trusted.”

I meant I can trust, but it came out past tense. Because I already know he’s supposed to wipe my memory, clear the past twenty-four hours from my brain.

His movements stutter, like he heard my slip, and he’s wondering if I know.

He lets out a curse and starts fucking me hard, bringing one hand round to rub my clit. He’s bringing us to a finish already.

The metaphor isn’t lost on me.

It’s what needs to happen.

I close my eyes and surrender to the intensity of his thrusts. A few more seconds, and I come, my body convulsing, my channel tightening and squeezing his cock.

He growls and slams harder, harder, harder until he shoves in deep and stays, his breath holding and catching, then releasing on a low, slow growl.

He’s wearing a condom, but I swear I feel the heat of his release inside me, and my muscles squeeze and twitch around him some more. Bo rubs my clit and gets a few more shudders out of me before he pulls out and pulls up my panties. There’s something hot about him reaching around to zip and button my jeans. Hot and sweet.

He kisses my neck. I don’t look at him. I can’t. It’s time to put walls back up. Re-erect my barriers, say goodbye to this incredible guy I want to keep forever.

“Hang on, I’ll be right back.” He disappears to dispose of his condom and returns with a bottle of water, which he cracks and offers to me.

I drink deeply and hand it back.

“Bo? I have your payout,” Trey calls, clearly giving us space in case he’s interrupting something. “Come on in my office.”

Bo grabs my hand, and we jog out.

“I’m going to run to the ladies room,” I tell him. “Meet you in the bar?”

He squeezes my hand. “Sounds good.”

I go to the restroom, then head out to the bar. It’s emptied of three-quarters of the people, but I instantly recognize the figure sitting at the bar.

Winslow.

And he’s not happy to see me. Not at all.

The guy still scares me, even now that Bo and I are an item, but I square my shoulders and walk over to him. “Hey. I’m glad to see you’re okay. Your family’s been worried.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

“I told you to keep him the fuck out of it.”

“I know. I did. At least, I tried. He’s a hard guy to put off, though.”

I forgot how big a guy he is. Bo seems big, but this guy towers over me, and he’s built like a tank. It’s hard not to flinch when he leans down and gets right in my grill. “I heard there was trouble last night. And I’m one hundred percent sure it was your doing. So I’m only going to tell you this once: get the fuck out of Bo’s life.”

I’m shocked by the sudden urge to cry. Like I have to blink quickly to clear the water from my eyes. “I will,” I warble. Because that’s been my plan all along.

“If you don’t, I will turn you into the cops as my accomplice on the stolen cars.”

He probably won’t because that would mean turning himself in, too, and I doubt he plans to do that, but I experience the threat viscerally, a wash of adrenaline kicking through me.

“It’s already done. I’m leaving,” I say, as Bo appears behind me.

“Winslow.” He looks past Winslow at the guy sitting next to him. “Ben.” Surprise and a little indignation ring in Bo’s voice. It’s not the happy reunion I might have expected. I sense tension radiating from him, and he slips something into the waistband of my jeans in the back—must be the envelope of money—like he doesn’t want Winslow to see it.

“Is this where you’ve been? Mom’s been worried sick about you. For fuck’s sake, you could’ve called.”

Winslow’s face contorts in anger. “That’s pretty ripe coming from the kid who might’ve killed a man last night.”

I take a step back, and Bo steps in front, as if to shield me from Winslow. His friend climbs up from his seat, like he has Winslow’s back. They look about the same age. And IQ. “Hey, go and wait for me at the bike,” he murmurs, patting my leg.

Don’t have to ask me twice.

I leave the building—a warehouse that’s been converted into a hip, industrial bar and stand out in the newly paved parking lot.

It takes me a few moments for my situation to sink in and then everything snaps into place.