Chapter 30
THIRTY
KNOX
Bella, clearly trying to act as though Ace’s entrance didn’t faze her, had begun the night’s events. When I hosted, I did the bare minimum. I didn’t put on a show—unless you counted what I did to any guest who tried to sneak into the rest of my home. Bella always went over the top.
A projector showed a video across one wall—a live feed from what I knew to be one of her secondary properties.
It showed two feral Alphas in a cage, fighting to the death.
A few of the guests were already taking bets, plucking drinks from trays held by the silent servers who had entered.
All were beautiful, silent Omegas wearing simple, modest white dresses with long sleeves and high necks as they brought over drinks and snacks. This was where Bella pushed the rules.
A nearby Alpha removed the ribbon from his silver case and opened it. From within, he drew out a pen. They all had thick nibs, and each pack had a different colour. I watched as Thistle’s gaze snagged on it. She frowned, then pried open ours.
My attention was dragged from her as Rogue spoke. “So, how are we going to do this tonight?” he asked from where he sat, barely sparing me a glance.
I refrained from rolling my eyes but didn’t answer.
Was this not enough already? He still had my chain in his fist.
“How many nights did you make me sleep in that thing?” Rogue asked, glancing up at the muzzle, eyes sparkling with vengeful satisfaction. “How many events did you drag me to?” He wasn’t bothering to keep his voice all that low. He didn’t need to. This part of the night—it wasn’t an act for him.
“Do you remember what you made me do at the Finches’ party a year back?” he prodded. I went stiff. “Or the one you hosted in January with the steak knives?”
I didn’t reply, mind cycling through memories that had—until this particular second of my life—been rather amusing.
“How about I let you pick?” Rogue asked.
I couldn’t help looking at Thistle, who had uncapped the blood-red pen and was leaning up to whisper something to Ace.
Finally, my response came, barely a breath so no one else could hear. “Make me.”
He took the bait quicker than I imagined, coiling the chain in his fist and dragging it toward him. I was ripped off balance—forced to grab the edge of his chair and readjust my knees on the floor.
My breathing was rough, fury bleeding crimson into the edge of my vision, and I felt all the attention in the room once more, each gaze deathly curious. Thistle was frozen on Ace’s lap, pen now—for some reason—between her teeth. She stared at me like a deer in headlights as Rogue replied.
“They all know you’re fresh in chains, Mutt. Might even be surprised if I didn’t have to discipline you publicly before the night was over, but I wasn’t expecting it to be so soon.”
I caught a growl on its way up my throat.
But we both knew if he pushed it, I had to do what he asked. We needed everyone to believe that I was dealt with. I didn’t want anyone to have incentive to pry further. The best way to do that was to show them something none of them would ever be able to fake: the complete destruction of pride.
Finally, I tugged the chain from him, and he loosened it—but only a little.
“Choose.”
My mind picked through the options, bitterly weighing them. Not really a choice, though, and he knew that.
Very slowly, so I didn’t lose my sanity entirely, I readjusted myself on my knees just like I’d instructed him to last year.
“Hands on your lap. Don’t move an inch unless I tell you to. You’re part of the decor tonight, Mutt.”
Rogue sank back against the chair, relaxed and glowing with delight. “Good boy,” he murmured, flicking the side of my muzzle.
I took a slow breath, fighting the rumble of a growl on the exhale.
Ace seemed thoroughly amused, and Thistle was shooting me side-eyes, her cheeks flushing every time I caught her looking. I could practically see her doing the math on how many welts she would be getting later for doing absolutely nothing to distract Rogue.
That, at least, cooled my blood pressure. I took a breath, taking myself back to the dark closet she’d dragged me into, the way her hand had pressed to my chest as she focused intently on the knife.
That wound she’d left was still raw and aching, still grounding.
This was a fucking performance.
That was all.
I repeated those words over and over in my head, trying not to catch the impish delight perpetually dancing across Rogue’s expression. On his end, it was definitely not an act.
As much as I dared—and never letting Banner out of my periphery, I tried to tune out some of the party.
In particular, I ignored the bloody fight on the screen.
The vicious struggle echoed around the room, however, and white-clad slaves in Bella’s charge, kept reminding me of my own fate had Rogue not saved me the other week.
Fuck.
Not a comforting thought.
I focused my attention on the guests, drowning out the sounds of the dying Alphas.
Years created habits that died hard. Any moment could be a crucial piece of information for Doyle.
I watched every time one of the guests interacted with one of Bella’s servers.
It was subtle, almost playful, had I not known the meaning of it.
A marker would come out, leaving a coloured line on a white gown—a sleeve, a skirt, or a waist.
It was a signal to Bella of what preferences they had for future events or meetings. If she wanted a favour, she had a gift in return.
When I couldn’t watch anymore, I took a break by examining Thistle, who was still all but glowing from the introduction of the night.
I wished I could have as much faith in Ace as she did. Maybe even find something to celebrate, if I believed in Bella’s demise tonight just like I knew she did. But nothing good in life had ever come without a catch, and no part of my being believed I would leave this place free of this bond.
Ace’s goal was to protect Thistle—not me—and I still didn’t know if he had it out for me.
It was possible he believed she would move on if he left me behind. He’d weathered so much worse between them, and that wasn’t something I could forget. He’d survived her hatred, her pain, her destruction, and he was still there, the other half of Bunny.
What was I?
A passing feeling. Not destined to her. Not bonded to her.
I couldn’t trust that Ace cared at all.
“Are you visiting, Maverick, or staking a claim in our part of the woods?” One of the guests asked.
He was a newer participant in the Ring by the name Emery Count, and he was leaning on the table edge before Ace.
I wondered, by the sideways looks we were getting from the few packs nearby, if he’d been shoved over to dig for information.
“I’ve decided to follow my mate into another venture.” Ace shrugged. “But our circles have crossed a few times. I’m sure there are a few in here that noticed when I vanished—perhaps some were even on the edge of their seats with worry when rumour had it I’d died.”
Worried?
I mulled that over, noticing a stiffening spine from Kent Larson, who was clearly hanging onto every word.
“I heard a few others in here bid on her…” Ace mused.
Emery chuckled nervously, eyes darting around for a moment. “Not me.”
“What do you think they would have done if they’d won that bid?” Ace asked, hand drifting along Thistle’s arm where one of his bites lingered, raw and ruby red for the world to see. Thistle was watching Emery curiously.
“I… couldn’t even begin to guess,” Emery said, meeting Thistle’s eyes for a moment, before snapping them back to Ace as if he’d made a mistake.
“Perhaps they wanted her so they could keep her safe,” he said.
There were so many guests hanging onto every word again that the tension in the place was palpable once more.
“ Perhaps they were worried about the fate of the leader of the Brotherhood,” he went on.
“I’ve had a few of yours over, after all.
And you’re such a welcoming group… I can see many in here are pleased, knowing I’m alright. ”
I blinked, working through what he was saying—words clearly not for Emery anymore, who now looked like he wanted to flee, eyes unsure where to settle.
Did Ace have intel on people in here?
I shot a glance at Rogue before I could stop myself, and he returned the look by half, expression set to thoughtful.
Had there been people in here afraid that, upon his death, their secrets might have been released?
How tight of a hold did Ace have on those he had dirt on?
When I gathered intel on the Ring, I didn’t inform them—building a case for something bigger.
But Ace had no reason to hold back. For his secrets to hold value, he would have had to tell them when he knew.
I wasn’t the only one who had noticed the thread of tension in the room becoming taut. Bella’s eyes, even from the other side of the table now, still drifted back to Ace, no matter how hard she was trying to focus on the fight on the screen.
I could feel it, just like everyone else could. Something in the air was different—as if everyone had to look twice at the people around them.
As Emery fumbled an excuse and hurried off, it occurred to me that the people in this room were perfect prey for Ace.
He was used to fighting in the underworld with monsters, but members of the Ring still had everything to lose.
They worshipped at the altar of status and image.
It made them uniquely vulnerable to the unknown thread Ace was weaving around the room.
“Rogue?” Thistle’s voice dragged me from my musings as she stumbled from Ace’s lap and up onto Rogue’s.
“Yes, Kitten?”
“What, uh… what are you doing?” Her voice dropped as she glanced at the chain in his hand, then to me, still kneeling on the marble.
Rogue raised his eyebrows, matching her low, private whisper. “My job. Who was asking for a show tonight?”