Auctioned to the Alpha (Auctioned to the Alpha #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Nora

The farther I drive into Devil’s Peak, the narrower the roads get.

Pine trees crowd both sides of the highway, tall and endless, their branches cutting across the fading spring light like claws.

Snow still clings to the higher ridges of the mountain even though the valley below is muddy and green, and every few miles I pass another handmade sign for the Spring Rescue Festival nailed to telephone poles.

Fish Fry Tonight

Bachelorette Auction Saturday

DEVIL’S PEAK SEARCH & RESCUE FUNDRAISER

Very charming.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and glance at the GPS again even though I already know there’s barely any signal left. Typical. Of course the town I’m investigating for corruption and missing hikers is buried in the mountains like the beginning of a true crime documentary.

The deeper I go, the more exhausted I feel. Not physically. I can drive for hours without blinking. It’s the other kind of tired, the kind that settles into your bones after years of watching your back and pretending stress doesn’t get to you.

Seattle nearly ate me alive the last few months.

The fraud story blew up bigger than anyone expected. Three arrests. One city council resignation. Endless media coverage. Endless threats afterward.

You should watch your back.

You don’t know who you’re messing with.

Pretty girls disappear every day.

I got good at pretending those messages didn’t bother me.

My father practically trained me for it. Growing up with him meant learning early that weakness was something people used against you. Crying annoyed him. Fear disgusted him. Vulnerability was just another word for stupidity.

So I adapted.

Smile. Deflect. Stay sharp.

Never let anyone see the hit land.

Unfortunately for me, Devil’s Peak feels like the kind of place where people notice everything anyway.

The town finally appears around the bend of the mountain about twenty minutes later, tucked between thick forest and rocky cliffs like it’s hiding from the rest of the world.

The main street is crowded with trucks, tourists, and locals setting up festival booths beneath strings of lights stretched overhead.

Mountain men everywhere.

Flannel. Boots. Beards.

A woman carrying a tray of pies walks across the street while two men unload kegs outside a bar called The Devil’s Brew. Somewhere nearby, live country music drifts through the air.

Everyone looks like they belong here.

I don’t.

The realization hits immediately.

I’m too polished. Too city. Too tense.

And judging by the looks I get when I climb out of my Jeep, everyone else notices it too.

I sling my camera bag over my shoulder and head toward the bar anyway because if I’m going to get answers, alcohol usually helps loosen people up.

The Devil’s Brew smells like whiskey, cedar, and testosterone.

A few conversations die the second I walk in.

I make my way to the bar slowly, feeling eyes follow me the entire time. Most aren’t hostile exactly. Curious more than anything.

Like they’re trying to figure out what kind of trouble just walked into town.

A blonde bartender with tattoos winding down both arms strolls over and sets a napkin in front of me. “What’ll it be?”

“Something strong.”

Her mouth twitches. “Tourist?”

“Journalist.”

That earns me a look.

Not warm.

Not welcoming.

Interesting.

“What are you writing about?” she asks casually.

“Missing hikers.”

The reaction is instant.

The man beside me stills halfway through lifting his beer.

Someone farther down the bar mutters, “Jesus Christ.”

The room doesn’t go silent completely, but it gets close enough that I notice.

I lean against the bar, pretending not to notice the shift. “That a sensitive subject around here?”

The bartender sets a whiskey glass in front of me a little harder than necessary. “Depends who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

“That’s your first mistake.”

I almost smile at that.

Almost.

Before I can answer, another voice cuts in behind me.

“You’re wasting your time.”

Low.

Rough.

Male.

The sound slides down my spine before I even turn around.

And when I do?

Oh.

That’s a problem.

He’s leaning against the wall near the back hallway like he owns the damn building. Tall enough to tower over everyone else in the room, broad shoulders stretching beneath a dark thermal Henley rolled to his forearms. Heavy beard. Dark hair. Sharp eyes locked directly on me.

Not just looking.

Assessing.

There’s a difference.

Everything about him feels controlled in a way that immediately puts me on edge.

Not loud.

Not showy.

Dangerous men rarely are.

“And why’s that?” I ask, turning fully toward him.

His gaze drags over me slowly, taking in the camera bag, my boots, my face, like he’s cataloging information whether I want him to or not.

“Because people who go looking for trouble up here usually find it.”

The bartender mutters, “Rhett.”

I take a sip of whiskey, refusing to let him see the way his attention affects me. “That sounds suspiciously like a threat.”

“It’s advice.”

“From a stranger?”

His eyes hold mine steadily. “You won’t stay a stranger long in a town this small.”

Something about the way he says it makes heat creep up my neck, which is deeply irritating.

I straighten slightly. “You always this welcoming?”

“No.”

The answer comes flat and immediate.

A couple guys near the pool table laugh quietly into their beers.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Good to know you’re difficult with everyone.”

“Not everyone.”

There’s something almost playful underneath the words now, which somehow makes him worse.

I shouldn’t notice how attractive he is.

I definitely shouldn’t notice the way he watches me like he already knows exactly how this conversation is going to go.

“You know anything about the missing hikers?” I ask.

His expression shifts instantly. His brow lowers slightly. “What?”

“That look.”

“What look?”

“The one people get when they know more than they’re saying.”

The room feels tighter suddenly.

Rhett pushes off the wall and walks toward me slowly, and every instinct I have sharpens at once. He moves like a man completely aware of his size, his strength, and the effect both have on people.

When he stops beside me, the space feels charged.

“You should stop asking questions tonight,” he says quietly.

“Why?”

“Because half the town’s already noticed you.”

“I can live with attention.”

His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before lifting again. “That’s not the kind I mean.”

My pulse stutters.

I force a smirk instead. “You always flirt this aggressively with women investigating corruption?”

“Who says I’m flirting?”

That one lands harder than it should.

Before I can answer, the bartender slides closer and lowers her voice slightly. “People disappear up here sometimes,” she says carefully. “Most folks stop asking why.”

The air shifts like the entire room just tightened around me.

I glance between her and Rhett. “That’s supposed to reassure me?”

“No,” Rhett says. “It’s supposed to warn you.”

I hate how serious he sounds. I hate more that part of me believes him.

The bartender walks off before I can press further, clearly done with the conversation. Around me, the noise in the bar slowly resumes, but the feeling doesn’t.

I’m being watched now.

Not just by Rhett.

By everyone.

I finish my whiskey, toss cash onto the bar, and slide off the stool. “Well. This has been incredibly comforting.”

Rhett’s gaze follows me immediately. “Where are you staying?”

I pause. Suspicion spikes fast. “Why?”

“Humor me.”

“I don’t think so.”

His jaw tightens slightly. “You’re alone?”

“Why do you care?”

Instead of answering, he reaches past me for his beer, his arm brushing mine in the process. Heat flashes up my skin instantly.

Jesus.

“You should head back before dark,” he says.

I laugh softly. “You really do enjoy sounding ominous, don’t you?”

His eyes lock onto mine again.

“No,” he says quietly. “I just know this mountain better than you do.”

The way he says mountain feels loaded somehow.

Like it belongs to him.

Like he expects it to listen.

I force myself to look away first and head for the door before this conversation gets any stranger.

Cold air slaps my face the second I step outside, and I suck in a steadying breath as I cross toward my Jeep. The street’s quieter now, festival lights glowing softly against the darkening mountain sky.

For the first time all night, I almost relax.

Then I see it.

A dark truck parked across from my rental cabin farther up the road.

Engine off.

Lights out.

Watching.

And even from here, I know someone’s keeping an eye on me.