He had been telling himself for months that he was just too lazy to end it, but the real reason was … he was concerned about the repercussions.
He needed to tie this up in the right way.
Put a pretty bow on it.
“Come here,” he said lowly, snapping his glass back onto the counter.
She moved toward him immediately, stopping between his legs, her hands on his thighs, her tongue running across her lips. She was a pretty woman, sharp-tongued and intelligent. A good decade older than him, but fit and lively. She had a wry smile and eyes that cut through all the bullshit. A thin, stiff upper lip and a full, sensual lower one.
Pity she was disintegrating on the inside.
She could have made some big-shot human director a very terrified man one day.
He coaxed the strap of her dressing gown out of her grip and then yanked it from the loops, tearing one of them and forcing her to stumble forward, eyes wide.
He flicked the silky material up over her eyes, slapping her hands down when they jumped up in protest.
“Do you want this or not?” he growled, ignoring the bile in the back of his throat.
Her hands fell again, and he looped the strap twice, three times, tying it off above her nose.
There, a pretty bow. He could tick that off his to-do list.
He slid off the stool, forcing her back a few steps as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled it up to start a video of her bow-tied face. He deliberately pressed his finger over the microphone, keeping his voice low as he spoke.
“You want this, Tilda? Tell me how much.”
He uncovered the microphone, and she made a low, whining sound in her throat. Part frustration, part annoyance. She wasn’t good at begging.
“Just fuck me already,” she rasped, and he set his phone down for a moment, blinding the camera. He hoisted her up onto the counter, moved the glasses out of the way, and set the half-full wine bottle between her thighs.
“Show me,” he whispered in her ear. “Prove it, and I’ll mark you up nice and good.”
She should have realised that he was onto her then and there, but instead, she thought she was miles ahead. Running laps around him.
She had no idea.
He had been running laps around everyone at Ironside long before he even arrived.
He picked up his phone again, moving back several steps and lifting the camera to focus on her. She shrugged her dressing gown off and shimmied out of the lacy lingerie, kicking the pieces onto the floor, her breaths coming in short pants. As he was recording, a group message notification popped up on his screen, and he clicked on it, leaving the camera to continue recording in the background.
Cian: Any news, Mikki?
Kalen (admin): Mikel is currently ending his arrangement. There won’t be news tonight.
Mikel watched as Cian and Theodore both began typing, before they stopped again. It wasn’t the best timing, but neither of them would question Kalen or him.
Mikel: I’ll be getting the information one way or another, but maybe not tonight.
Kalen started typing, and Mikel rolled his eyes, quickly tapping out a message before Kalen could lose his shit.
Mikel (admin): I still ended it.
Kalen also stopped typing, and then Mikel returned his attention briefly to the woman on the kitchen counter. She was pouring the wine delicately onto her chest, her fingers following the stream down to her hip, where the drips teetered and spilled off to the side of her waist. Her fingers continued down, tunnelling into her pussy. It wasn’t hot, those painted claws disappearing between pink lips. He needed more than that.
He covered the microphone. “Drink the wine, Tilda, don’t play with it. Empty the bottle.”
His phone vibrated again.
Theodore: I’m glad it’s over. We don’t need her.
Moses: Um. I know you’re a kinky bastard and everything, but not even you can tame crazy. Get out while you can.
Mikel (admin): Try me.
Cian: RIP Tilda.
Moses: You will be remembered.
Moses: By someone.
Moses: Oh, who am I kidding, she doesn’t even have a cat.
Gabriel: Try not to make a mess.
Niko: What the hell are you doing to her?
Mikel (admin): I’m not doing anything.
Elijah: I’m afraid to ask.
Niko: No, you aren’t.
Elijah: Okay, I’m not.
Mikel (admin): Everything that is being done to her, she’s doing herself. I’m just standing here on my phone. But the video should keep her on our side for a while.
He lifted his eyes from his phone again, realising Tilda had finished the bottle. Sloppily. There was wine running down the sides of her mouth.
“Put it inside you,” he ordered coldly.
He wasn’t even pretending anymore.
“Noo,” she whined. “Come here and spank me instead. Choke me. Scratch me.”
Predictable.
“What else?” he asked.
“Hurt me!” she demanded, clutching the bottle.
“You know what you have to do,” he returned, tapping back into the group chat as he covered the microphone. “Get yourself off with that bottle and I’ll make sure you’re covered in my mark tomorrow.”
For everyone to see.
For you to file a report.
He hated that he had been right.
He hated that there was no loyalty inside her.
He hated it so much that it was a shock to his system when he scraped a hand down his face in irritation and got a heady whiff of cherry. Isobel had been saturated in her own scent. Contented by Theodore and Kilian’s efforts to comfort her … but it was still a surprise that her scent remained so strong on his skin.
He swallowed as his anger and frustration melted into something else, his hand tightening around the phone. For the briefest, most disturbing second, his sight wavered, and he imagined another body on the counter, dripping in liquid and following his orders. A growl built up in the back of his throat and he dropped his phone down, cutting off the recording.
He walked out, slamming the door, his eyes closing for a brief second as he willed his half-hard cock to deflate.
He stalked into the elevator and texted the group a quick message.
Mikel (admin): We’re set. There won’t be any repercussions from Tilda.
To Tilda, he sent the recording.
Mikel: Nobody has seen it, and nobody has to. Don’t ever try to trap me again, Tilda.
He briefly considered sending another, kinder message. Something like I enjoyed our mutually beneficial arrangement, or maybe to wish her the best for the future, but Tilda wasn’t a sentimental person and she likely wouldn’t appreciate the empty attempts at pleasantries.
It was better to just be honest, and he honestly wasn’t thinking about their arrangement or her future at all by the time his feet hit the pathway leading back to Dorm A.
His focus had always been on the Alphas, and tonight was no different.
8
How About Go Fuck Yourself?
It was difficult for Isobel to drag herself back from the warm, fuzzy depths of sleep, and the closer she got to the surface of consciousness, the more she ached. It was a slow pain, a cinder sparking against a rough, cavernous wall, showing just how cold and empty she was inside.