Alpha Betrayed: A Dark Shifter Romance

Juliet

The spotlight is in my eyes, but I can see the crowd well enough to notice the scary guy in the black leather jacket and gray hoodie pulled up over his head moments after I step onto the stage. In a room full of creepy, evil, and lecherous men, he stands out like a

sore thumb.

He's a different kind of predator than the rest of them.

From his massive shoulders to the thick thighs braced on either side of his chair, he's a loaded weapon. He doesn't need money or muscle men to back him up, he's an entire infantry in one massive, hair-trigger package. And he doesn't want to be here, doesn't like what he sees.

I can't make out his face in the shadows, but I can read his repulsion in every tense line of his body.

Which begs the question-why is he here? Is he making a purchase for someone else? A client or something? If so, he might be my way out. If he buys me, I'll at least have a shot of appealing to the better angels of his nature.

And there's a chance he's the source of the Zion scent I caught on the breeze earlier even though I don't recognize him. Inside the barn, with so many human bodies pressed close together, I can't smell it anymore, but I trust the wolf is still close and that the smell has something to do with me. What are the chances a shifter from my pack would be up in the Canadian boonies outside Calgary at a circus auction if it didn't have something to do with me?

If it's that man, I might even acquire an ally against my father in the process. Either way, he's clearly my best bet in this room full of human monsters. I'll deal with the fact that the sheer size of him reminds me of all the men who ripped me apart onstage later. I cross my fingers, willing him to raise his hand and call out a number, to give me a sliver of hope that getting out of here will be easier than I assumed. But the only move he makes is a slow turn to glance over his shoulder at the man bidding eight thousand. Shit!

I scan the space as discreetly as possible, looking for a way out, but the barn is packed. Ben, Bill, and Pierre are keeping a close eye on all the women up for sale.

But maybe if I had a hostage...

I'm about to jerk my leash from Pierre's hand and make a run for Gorey, hoping to get the leather lead wrapped around his throat and use his body as a shield, when the mystery man explodes from his chair.

There's no other word for it, he shoots through the audience with dizzying speed, moving so quickly I don't see him pull a gun. I only realize he has one when the weapon leaps in his hand and a loud boom fills the room.

A beat later, Gorey crumples to the floor behind the podium.

The audience erupts into chaos, men shouting and running for the exit, while the handlers behind me call out for everyone to get down and the dogs outside begin to bark. Before I can decide whether to make a run for it with the audience or hit the deck and hope the opposing factions kill each other off, the man in the hoodie leaps onto the stage and turns, aiming his gun at me.

I have a split second to recognize the shadowed face beneath the hoodie as the stepbrother who sold me into slavery-the man I've dreamed of torturing to death more times than I can count, but even bigger, stronger, and more terrifying-looking than he used to be -before he pulls the trigger.

I brace myself for impact, but it doesn't come.

I flinch as the gun fires twice more and Ford curses in a gravelly voice that's also scarier than the one I remember. But I'm still standing center stage-unharmed, ears ringing-when he rushes forward and grabs my wrist.

"Come on," he demands, dragging me forward. "The other guy ran out the back. He'll be going for help and there are more of Gorey's men outside. We need to go."

The words snap me out of my stunned state. I dig my bare heels into the boards beneath me and jerk my hand back to my chest. "We?"

"I'm here to save you."

An incredulous sound bursts from my chest. "You? I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I don't know what your dad told you," he says, reaching for me again and cursing when I dart away. "But it was a lie, okay? I'm on your side, Juliet. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't say the same about every other f*****g man in here. We need to go. Now. Before things get messy." "Too late for that, boy," a deep voice drawls from the foot of the stage.NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

I look over to see the man in the cowboy hat, the one who placed the winning bid for me, with a gun aimed at Ford's head. Behind him, three other men, also armed, are ready to back him up.

"Drop your weapon," the man barks in a louder voice. "Drop it, boy. She's pretty, but she ain't worth dying over. And she's mine, fair 'n square."

"I don't think so," Ford says, lifting his hands, but keeping the gun in his right one. "Gorey's dead and all the people he stole are free. You have no claim to this woman."

The cowboy laughs. "I have four guns aimed at your a*s that say different, son. Now, put the gun down and get out of my way before I lose patience and decide dealing with your body is easier than walking out of here with you still alive."

Jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles twitching and balling beneath his skin, Ford puts the safety on his gun and slowly bends down, setting it on the stage. As he rises again, the cowboy nods to his men, one of whom tucks his gun into the back of his pants and jogs toward the stairs on the right side of the platform. "Good choice," Cowboy drawls. "Now head over to the curtain and stand facing it with your hands behind your back where I can see 'em until we're out of here."

Casting a meaningful look my way, Ford starts to move slowly toward the curtain.

I have no idea what that look meant-I never knew Ford well enough to read his mind and I certainly don't know him now-but I know what I plan to do. It's been two years since I've held a weapon at the shooting range in the Malibu hills, but hopefully it's like riding a bike. And hopefully I'm still as good a shot as I used to be...

The massive man sent to fetch me arrives onstage and grabs my upper arm. I'm so thin, his fingers almost completely encircle the bone. That's my first order of business once I'm out of here-to fatten up and muscle up and ensure I never have to play the trembling waif to some big man with a tiny d**k ever again.

As he grabs me, I let my knees buckle, sagging against him with a soft moan as if I'm about to faint. When he grabs for me with his other hand, I reach around his back, slipping the gun from his waistband with a touch made deft by years of pickpocketing food off anyone who came close enough as I was doing my daily chores.

Before he realizes I've taken his weapon, I have the safety off and the gun pressed to his head.

For a moment, I consider taking him hostage and trying to get out of here without killing anyone. But what would that accomplish? I'd just be leaving one more piece of shit loose in the world to terrorize innocent people and I'm not worried about the stains on my soul.

I intend to send rivers of blood flowing across my pack's land. By the time I'm done, I'm sure my soul will be as black as night. Might as well begin as I mean to continue.

The inner debate lasts a split second before I squeeze the trigger, putting a clean hole through Bad Man Number One's forehead. As he grunts in shock, I fall to the stage, rolling away before he can fall on top of me and taking aim again. I put down two of the other men-Cowboy and the man behind him-but miss the third one.

He gets a shot off at me as I roll across the boards, but misses. I hit the podium-and Gorey's still warm body-but before I can take aim at the final man again, a red spot blossoms on the front of his tan sports jacket and he drops to his knees. The gun falls from his hand as he presses a fist to his chest and slumps over onto his side on the ground, not dead yet, but getting there pretty quick.

Gun clenched tight, I roll onto my back, aiming the barrel at Ford, who has now had two chances to shoot me and hasn't taken either one. But that doesn't mean he isn't a Bad Guy, too. It just means his Bad Guy plans must include getting me to go with him for some

reason.

"You can shoot me," he says, his own weapon falling to his side. "But I've just saved your life twice, and that's all I want to do. Save your life, save my life, and get strong enough to take down your father. Together."

I narrow my eyes on his but can't read anything in the silver-gray depths. He's even more closed off than he used to be. "I don't believe you, and I sure as hell don't trust you."

"You don't have to," he says, tucking the gun into the holster beneath his jacket. He flips his hoodie down, revealing close-cropped brown hair, cut in a military style far more severe than his old style. "You can run away from me the first chance you get, if you want, but let's get out of here first. My chopper's outside, and I brought an extra helmet."

Thoughts flying at the speed of light again, I debate my options. The other handlers could be here any minute and I'm sure the cowboy wasn't the only man willing to steal me in the chaos. I have no friends here and no way of knowing if there's a car outside that I'll be able to steal.

Like it or not-and I sure as hell do not-Ford seems like my best bet.

For now.

Rising to my feet, I put the safety on my new gun, and nod. "Fine, but I might still decide to kill you later."

He exhales and what almost looks like a smile twitches one corner of his lips. "You're tougher than you used to be."

"I'm your worst nightmare waiting to come true," I assure him. "I've been dreaming about killing you for years."

He sobers. "Same. But only because your dad told me you're the one who had me sold to the Blood Pit syndicate. He said you wanted me out of the way so you could rule without getting shit from my supporters."

A frown claws at my forehead. "What?"

A shout from behind the curtain sends us both springing into action.

"Run now, talk later," he says, grabbing me around the waist as he sweeps past me, holding me tucked against him like I weigh nothing as he leaps off the stage. He pushes me in front of him and shouts, "Bike's parked by the portable toilets."

I run, shoulders hunching around my ears as shots fire behind me. At the wide exit to the barn, I turn to offer backup, to find Ford is already closing the distance between us and another handler is dead onstage.

Ford's big hand flattens on my back as he propels me forward. "Come on. If we hurry, we can find somewhere to hole up before the sun rises. We shouldn't travel by day, too many people looking for me. And soon, I'm guessing, for you."

A thousand questions buzzing in my head, I follow him through the rapidly emptying dirt parking lot to an old motorcycle with two dented red helmets strapped to the back. Ford grabs one and tosses it to me.

I eye the dent but plop it on my head anyway.

It held up during impact once. Hopefully, if necessary, it will again. And if not, shifters heal quickly. I haven't made it this far to get taken out by a bike accident.

Or the man driving the bike.

As I slide onto the chopper behind Ford, full-body cringing as my body makes contact with the rippling muscles beneath his clothes, I silently vow never to trust him. If I couldn't trust my own father, I sure as hell can't trust the stepbrother who was raised with his mother and half the pack whispering in his ear that he deserves to be king, to push aside the misfit princess and take what's his.

But the Zion pack isn't his and neither am I.

And if he gives me the slightest reason, I won't hesitate to put a bullet through his brain, too.

"Hold on," he says, gunning the engine to life.

Grudgingly, I tuck my weapon into the front of my bra and wrap my arms around his waist, holding tight as he weaves around the trucks jockeying to get onto the gravel road, then zooming past them and into the night.

As we shoot away, the moonlight is bright enough to grant me one last glimpse of the circus train parked on the tracks. Silently, I hope Paloma and the other prisoners manage to break free before one of Gorey's thugs decides to take over the circus, but I don't ask Ford to make a detour.

If there's one thing my years in captivity taught me, it's that I can only afford to look after myself and the people I know are loyal beyond a shadow of a doubt.

From now on, that's exactly what I'm going to do, no matter who I have to hurt or leave behind in the process.

Starting with this man I still don't trust as far as I could throw him.