Chapter 175

Chapter 175:

My grip tightened on the device until the plastic creaked. Even bound and bleeding, her first thought was for him. Not for her own safety, not for the man who should have been her Alpha — but for that Lycan monster.

The video cut to black before Jared could strike her again. I didn’t need to see that part. I needed her afraid, not broken.

I ended the video. The bait was set. Now to cut the loose ends.

I dialed Katherine Parrish. She answered on the first ring, her voice trembling. “Braydon? Where have you been? My father says the accounts are frozen. The bank is seizing the estate p>

“It’s over, Katherine,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. I picked up my crystal tumbler of scotch and swirled the amber liquid.

“What? What about the contract? The mating ceremony p>

“There is no contract. You were a placeholder. A distraction to make Adella jealous,” I said, taking a slow sip. “And frankly, you weren’t even very good at that p>

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“You bastard!” she shrieked.

I hung up mid-scream and hurled the phone into the fireplace. Then I crushed the crystal glass in my hand. Shards bit into my palm, blood mixing with the whiskey. The pain was grounding.

I opened my desk drawer and pulled out my snub-nosed revolver, tucking it into my waistband. Then I took out my personal cell and dialed the number I hated most in this world.

“Speak.” Dallas Marshall’s voice answered — low, vibrating with lethal calm.

“Pier 4. The Old Shipyard,” I said, cutting straight to the point.

“I know who this is,” Dallas growled. I could hear the roar of an engine in the background.

“She is my family, Marshall,” I spat, walking out of the library toward my Porsche. “Stay away. I will handle this p>

“Stay out of my way, pup p>

The command hit me like a physical blow to the chest — the Alpha’s authority, amplified by his Lycan blood. My knees buckled, sweat breaking out across my forehead.

“I take… orders… from… no one,” I gritted out, forcing my body forward through the invisible pressure.

I threw the phone out the window as I sped down the driveway.

Twenty minutes later, I killed the headlights and drifted onto the gravel of the Old Shipyard. The skeleton of the abandoned warehouse loomed against the night sky.

I stepped out into the frigid air. The wind carried the scent of rot, river water, and something sweeter — Moonflower.

Adella.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I was here. I was the hero.

But before I could take a single step toward the warehouse, a sleek, matte black shape roared out of the darkness. An Aston Martin skidded to a halt just yards away.

The door flew open and Dallas Marshall stepped out. He looked like the grim reaper in a bespoke suit, radiating a power so dense it made the air crackle. He held two black duffel bags at his sides.

He saw me, and his lip curled in a snarl that exposed elongated canines.

I froze. This wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to be the savior — not a participant in a joint operation.