Chapter 1 #2
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you leave the table having won anything,” Darren said.
It was uncharacteristic of him to make any sort of dig, but was it a dig if it were true?
Ashford had been on a losing streak for weeks.
I wasn’t even sure how much he owed. I suspected it was close to seven figures, but now, with the original buy-in and two rebuys, it had to be seven figures.
“Trying to throw me off my game won’t help you,” Ashford replied.
“Sure,” Darren said as the dealer dealt out the new cards. The dealer button moved to Ashford, meaning he was in the advantageous position of playing last.
He called. The flop was placed. Fold, check, check, check. Darren raised. Fold, call, call. Ashford raised, staring down Darren. The turn community card was placed. By the end of the round, only Darren and Ashford remained in the game. The river was placed.
“All in,” Darren said calmly, pushing all his chips forward.
Ashford could fold. I didn’t know what he had, but it was clear he was playing with his ego. I knew he wouldn’t fold. He couldn’t back down to Darren Sandstorm.
“All in,” Ashford said and pushed his chips forward.
Ashford showed his cards—two pair.
Darren smiled. Not calmly, confidently. He showed his cards—a flush.
“Hard luck,” Darren said as the dealer moved the pot to him.
“Fuck you,” Ashford snarled and shoved the table; the liquid in the various drinks sloshed.
“This is a high-class game,” Malik warned.
“You have to come from class to know class,” Andrew snarked.
“I remind you that I run games for gentlemen,” Samar said. I hadn’t even noticed him leave the cash room. “Do I need to remind anyone of the behaviour expected of those who wish to play?” he asked.
Silence.
“Rebuy,” Ashford said.
The dealer glanced at Gael.
Gael shook his head and stood, walking towards the exit.
I couldn’t breathe.
The dealer simply shook his head.
Silence.
“I hope to see you at a future game. Tonight, your game is over,” Samar said.
Ashford pushed himself away from the table angrily.
I stood from my seat, and he grabbed my elbow, painfully dragging me towards the exit. I almost fell, twisting and breaking a heel on my shoe in the process, and stumbled beside him.
The hostess wasn’t at her table.
She was always there, greeting, giving farewells, recommendations for restaurants, bars, nightclubs, and the best place for breakfast at 4 in the morning. Her absence was noticeable.
“Fuck this,” Ashford hissed under his breath as he pulled the door to the corridor open.
The security guards nodded towards the lifts where Gael and three large, obviously werewolf, men stood. Gael was at least half a foot shorter than the men he stood with, blocking the lift.
Ashford stopped and looked down the opposite end of the corridor, to where the stairwell was. Another large man stood blocking the stairwell exit.
“You can’t run away from this,” Gael said as the three men behind him stepped forward and began to walk towards us.
Ashford turned and was immediately punched in the side of his head by the man who had been blocking the stairwell but had silently moved towards us once Ashford had looked back to Gael. He fell to the ground and struggled to lift his head back up. His eyes glazed over and became unfocused.
“I warned you. You’ve been on tilt for a while. I did advise a break. I was willing to give you time. It’s out of my hands now. You’re too much of a risk,” Gael explained.
“What does that mean?” I found myself asking. I hadn’t been given permission to speak, but the question had tumbled anxiously out of me.
Gael turned sad eyes down to me. I was of average human-woman height, and even Gael had a few inches on me.
“It means it’s out of my hands. I sold the debt. I’m sorry, Harriet. I know this likely places you in a vulnerable position. I do wish you well,” he said, patting my shoulder as if offering condolences.
Two of the men picked Ashford up from the ground.
“Let me go,” he argued, trying to shake them off pathetically, but he was ignored as they dragged him towards the lift.
“Are you going to be difficult?” the man who had punched Ashford asked.
“No,” I answered and followed them freely.
In the lift, the fourth man took a keycard from his pocket—gold, metal, it looked heavy. He used it to access the penthouse suite.
“Who do you work for?” Ashford demanded to know. “Do you know who I am? I’m the heir of Pack Blizzard,” he announced, having quickly regained his composure from the sucker punch, like it was going to save him.
The man in front of me laughed.
“That won’t impress her,” he warned.
“Her?” Ashford asked.
The lift opened, and a rough hand on my back pushed me, and I stumbled forward on uneven heels as Ashford was dragged out behind me, into a dimly lit foyer.
The décor was cream and gold, and directly in front of us, a woman leaned against a large glass dining table. It was still black night outside, and the city lights illuminated her from behind, amber-yellow light splashing against the glass tabletop.
She wore a burgundy suit with a black silk shirt; the first few buttons were undone.
Her black hair fell in defined curls, the kind that looked effortlessly perfect.
Her skin was clear, light-brown with warm undertones.
The lack of light framed her as an imposing figure, confident in the dark.
She was beautiful in a way that amplified her dominance.
She didn’t smile; only stared at me with dark eyes.
I instinctively knew I was in the presence of an alpha. Her eyes travelled down to my shoe’s broken heel, and I fought the urge to tug the hem of my dress, feeling vulnerable under her gaze. I wished my dress were longer.
She stepped forward, pausing at my side. I didn’t turn to look at her, but I could feel her eyes on me.
Ashford growled behind me in warning.
She chuckled low in an amused sort of way.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said, her voice sultry and smooth, and it quieted the room. Ashford ceased his growl. I forgot to breathe, like she had called us all to attention.
“I know who you are,” Ashford answered after a beat of silence.
“Then you understand the situation you find yourself in. I’ve purchased your debt. You’ve managed to rack up quite a sum given your means. I was surprised to learn that Gael had continued your line for quite so long,” she said.
“I can pay it back. I just need one win,” he insisted.
“Your debt currently sits just shy of $2.5 million. I doubt you could win it back. I know your stats; I do due diligence on all my purchases,” she told him.
Ashford made a mocking sound at the back of his throat.
“If you do due diligence, then you know who I am and that I’m good for it,” he insisted.
“I know who you are. Son of Julian, Alpha to Pack Blizzard—a once inconsequential pack now attempting to make ripples. I understand Blizzard recently won the tender to build the extension for City General Hospital. A big win for some. It could open many doors. What a shame it would be if it were to become public knowledge that the heir of Pack Blizzard had accumulated such a large gambling debt,” she said.
“You wouldn’t have bought the debt if you didn’t think I was good for it,” he answered, and I could hear the sneer in his voice.
“I believe your father is good for it,” she replied, her words light, teasing.
“You don’t need to involve him,” Ashford responded quickly. Displeasing his father was the only thing that ever seemed to truly scare him. “I’m good for it,” he insisted.
She laughed, that same low-effort, smooth chuckle, and it took everything in me not to look up at her.
“You are a fool, throwing around your newly acquired status like some pubescent, unneutered mutt,” she told him.
“What did you just say to me?” he asked, and I did turn then, to see Ashford step forward menacingly. The woman looked at him like something dirty she had stepped in.
The muscle that had brought us to her stepped forward, too, until she raised her hand calmly to stop them from intervening.
“Don’t,” I said quietly, begging Ashford not to make this worse, just to take the insult, anything, so we could walk out unharmed.
I’d beg Alpha Julian for help myself if he were too proud or scared to face his father.
I had the distinct feeling that the woman beside me was dangerous but not unfair; we could still walk out of here and go home.
“Shut your mouth,” he warned, his furious eyes landing on me.
“You should listen to the girl,” the alpha woman suggested.
“Please, Ashford,” I begged again and flinched as he raised his hand without warning and swung towards me.
I prepared for a vicious slap, but it never landed. I opened my eyes to see his wrist caught by the woman’s hand before she pushed him away, like swatting a fly.
“She’s my omega,” Ashford stammered, and I watched as he retreated, stepping back. “You have no right to interfere with her,” he continued.
“You are going to leave and have your father call me to arrange a mutually beneficial agreement to clear your debt and insult,” she told him, ignoring his protests, his claim on me.
Ashford’s face flashed through so many emotions: anger, fear, relief, his eyebrows knitting together in a deep frown before he nodded.
“I can get you the money,” he insisted again and reached out to grab me, but the woman reached out and gripped my shoulder, pushing me back a step behind her.
“The girl stays with me,” she told him.
I turned to her then, as shocked as Ashford.
“She’s mine,” Ashford told her and tried to reach for me again. “She leaves with me.”
One of the men put his hand on Ashford’s shoulder in warning.
“The claim on an omega is only as strong as the alpha that holds it,” she said before speaking to the muscle, or maybe her personal guards, whatever he was, who had taken hold of Ashford. “Release him,” she ordered, and Ashford was released. “Now do you wish to challenge me?” she asked Ashford.
Challenge her? For me?
I watched as Ashford’s face scrunched in anger and embarrassment, and he looked over his shoulder at the men who had escorted us here.
“I assure you, my men will not interfere; it would be a… well, not fair or equal but an uninhibited fight,” she reassured.
“What do you even want with her?” he demanded, but he made no move to meet her challenge.
Wouldn’t he fight for me?
Was he just going to allow this stranger to take me?
Ashford was vile, but he kept me safe. I was his omega. So long as I belonged to him, I was safe, relatively, infinitely safer than on my own.
“To teach you a lesson and ensure compliance. I’m not unreasonable.
I know that Pack Blizzard plans to attend the National Assembly, and I assume you will accompany your father.
” Ashford nodded in confirmation. “If your father makes some other agreeable arrangement, you can have her back… if I’m feeling generous,” she answered.
“You’re a bitch.” He spat on the polished flooring.
The show of such disrespect made me nauseous.
She laughed and nodded to her men, who promptly dragged Ashford back to the lift.
“I’ll see you at the National Assembly,” she said before the lift door closed.
The silence that followed the closing of the lift doors was somehow loud; it felt like it echoed inside my head, broken only by the pounding of my heart.
“The sun will rise in a few hours,” she said.
I didn’t respond; I could only stare at her shoes—brown leather loafers.
What had just happened?
What was going to happen to me now?
“I’m Cole of Sandstorm,” she introduced herself.
I looked up then, recognising the name but not expecting the woman before me to own it.
She was the Storm of Sandstorm?
And she had allowed Ashford to leave unharmed?
I knew the name; I’d heard it spoken in hushed conversations, uttered like a warning, almost mythical, like the stories of wolf hunters used to warn children to clear their plates and go to bed. She ensured the compliance of all those under the thumb of Pack Sandstorm Credit House.
I didn’t think he—no, she—was, well, a woman, and I didn’t expect someone as admittedly attractive.
I pictured some brute, more wolf than man.
But here was the Storm, Cole, dressed in a clearly tailored suit, immaculately presented from her hair to the jewellery she wore: gold hoop earrings, a signet ring on one hand, and a gold and diamond bracelet on the other wrist.
She smiled, amused.
“So, you know my name but not my face. Let me guess: you expected me to be a man?” she asked.
“Sorry,” I answered.
“No apology necessary; it’s a common error. What is your name, Omega?” she asked.
“Harriet,” I answered.
“I’ll have to think of what to do with you, Harriet.”