2. Storm
Chapter 2
Storm
S ix Weeks earlier.
“Promise me you’ll stay here and watch my bag. Don’t take that hoodie off, Storm.” Rook’s eyes warn me. I can see the tick in his jaw. He probably wishes he could use his alpha bark on me, but it doesn’t work. I’m a beta. I flip the hood over my wild curls, breathing in his strawberry and cream scent, and wink over at him. I watch him roll his eyes as he lets out a deep breath. He knows I’ll do whatever I want.
“I’m serious this time. I need you to not make a scene. Promise me. This is the pay day we have been waiting for. You need to stay here. I can’t concentrate with you close.”
I let out a small huff, but nod and agree. With all the testosterone and pheromones around, it would be dangerous to draw attention to myself. We hadn’t been back here in a month, because last time, I set off an alpha who went into a rut, and saw me as nothing but a hole to fill.
Me and my big mouth get ourselves into trouble sometimes.
I don’t want Rook distracted with trying to save my ass again while he’s fighting. I love to watch him fight and I want to be here to support him. He only has a year left in the system and then he’s out on the street. He needs to make as much money as he can to support himself. He always tells me when it’s time to leave, he is taking me with him. That he has enough money for me, but now he’s working on making some for him. I tell him all the time I could get a job, but beta jobs are low paying. As an alpha, he makes more than I would. But he’s a beta-born alpha—the lowest class of alpha—and it doesn’t pay much more than a beta.
All those purebred elites sit in their mansions and penthouses with all the money in the world. Not having to fight for anything in their life. Just because their bloodlines have no beta blood mixed in—it doesn’t make them special. It makes them assholes.
I feel a tug on my hoodie and see Rook’s fingers have grabbed the front as he tugs me towards him. He cocks a brow and I lean in the short distance to kiss him.
For good luck. For him and me. I hate seeing him hurt. I get a little… upset at times. But no matter what happens, we always have each other.
On the very first day we met, he promised he would always look out for me. He told me that once we had our own home, he'd prepare the most amazing meals for me. On that first day in Mrs. Jennings’s house, I thought he was out of his mind—a handsome, quirky beta who, only two years later, turned out to be an alpha just after his sixteenth birthday.
His alpha and my beta status didn’t change a thing in his future plans. If anything, it gave him more hope. The future we dreamed of having, had just been made easier with his alpha status. He can fight and make more money.
The underground fight rings aren’t pretty. I have seen alphas get knocked out and get real messed up. But it’s not all bad. It’s where a lot of elites come to prove their strength against the beta-borns. Because down here strength isn’t bought, it’s earned in the ring.
At least it’s not The Pit. The Pit is the deepest, darkest fight ring where alphas go to die. Because that’s exactly what it is. A grave waiting to be filled.
It pays out the most, but more alphas leave in body bags than with the riches they were chasing. All the fight clubs are illegal, but The Pit is run by the shady elites who don’t cheer for winners. They cheer for survivors. It’s the one promise Rook made to me. That he’ll never fight there.
Rook towers over me. He’s so tall at 6’7. His broad shoulders and muscular arms envelope me in a protective hug. I feel safe in his arms. He’s the only person in the world who can make me feel this way.
I bury my face in his chest and am greeted with comforting strawberries and cream up close. I can hear his heart beating steadily against my ear, a rhythm that soothes and calms me.
When he pulls away, he gives me a small grin before tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Stay here.”
I watch him as he backs away, lifting his tee over his head throwing it at me and I catch it. His lean alpha body might be smaller than the older alphas here, but I love seeing him without a shirt. I lick my lips and try to think about something other than his abs… ugh.
Jumping on the spot and warming up, Rook turns around and grins at me. He knows I’m checking him out. His dark brown hair falls into his dark eyes before he turns away. Some alphas move in front of me and I itch to leave this spot. Because it makes it hard to see who he’s up against. He said this is the pay day we have been waiting for, and I worry. I hate when he’s not evenly matched. I hear the crowd boo loudly and I whip my head around, trying to see who has entered the ring.
It’s not hard to tell by the crowd that it’s an elite alpha. One thing beta-borns have in common with each other, we all have a universal hate for the elites. Those alphas and omegas have pure lines without the stain of beta blood mixed in. Which apparently makes them better than anyone else. Fuck them.
When I finally catch sight of the alpha, I cringe. “Fuck,” I hiss under my breath.
Reed Howard.
A family name that fell from grace so hard, even the beta-born still whisper about it. But he’s still standing. Still wearing the sharp suits, still carrying himself like his name isn’t tainted. Like he still belongs with them.
Because that’s the thing about elites. Even when they fall, they never hit the ground like the rest of us.
And I hate that I know him.
Hate that I recognize the sharp line of his jaw, the storm in his eyes, the way he looks like he was built to ruin someone in the best way possible.
Disgraced name. Elite blood. Still one of them, I remind myself.
Alongside him is the biggest asshole I’ve ever seen, his fellow pack member, Jonathan Kingsley. At almost twenty, he carried himself with the entitlement that only came from a lifetime of privilege.
I've seen him on television with his family before. They were all smiles while donating to a beta charity, playing the role of world saviors for the camera. What a joke. You don't have to flaunt your generosity on national TV, you can donate privately. But not the Kingsley’s. They had to make a spectacle of their supposed goodness. I wouldn't be surprised if they spent more on their outfits for those photo ops than they actually donated.
My palms are sweating, my heart is racing, and I can’t stop fidgeting. I want to leave this spot so badly, but I can’t. Rook needs me to not interfere. But this time it’s different. This time he’s up against an elite.
I watch as they announce the fight, and I can’t breathe. Reed Howard vs Rook Holloway. The crowd cheers and I feel sick to my stomach.
Rook has gone up against a heap of alphas in the past and both won and lost. But he’s never been up against an elite. I should have known. The pay day is bigger if you're up against an elite. Rook didn’t tell me because he knew I would have told him no. We would find another way to make money.
Reed Howard has never lost a fight. Not once. At nineteen, he was already legendary in these underground fights.
I want Rook to turn it down. Walk away. I’ve seen what Reed does to alphas in the ring. He taunts them, toys with them before delivering a knockout punch that leaves them unconscious on the floor. I can’t let him do that to Rook.
Reed Howard is not just some alpha looking for a challenge in the ring. He’s an elite alpha with pure blood running through his veins and a chip on his shoulder.
Ugh, why does an asshole have to have a face and body like that? To lure in his victims, I suspect.
I try my best to focus on Rook as he enters the ring, but my eyes keep darting back to Reed, who seems calm and collected as always. I’ve never liked him, even before knowing who he was or what family he came from. He just exudes arrogance and entitlement wherever he goes.
But as much as I hate him, a small part of me admires him, too. Because even after everything that happened with his family falling from grace, he still stands tall and confident while carrying himself like royalty amongst us beta-born. Still, he’s a dick.
The referee signals for the beginning of the fight and both men move towards each other slowly, their eyes locked in an intense stare down.
My heart is pounding so loud I'm sure everyone around me can hear it. Rook is good—no, he's great—but Reed is something else entirely. The way he moves, it's like he's calculating every step, every breath. Like the fight is already over in his mind and he's just going through the motions.
I grip Rook's t-shirt in my hands so tightly my knuckles turn white. His scent—strawberries and cream—wraps around me, but it does nothing to calm the panic rising in my chest.
The crowd roars as the two circle each other. Reed's face is expressionless, those stormy blue eyes cold and calculating. Jonathan Kingsley stands at the edge of the ring in his tailored suit, arms crossed over his broad chest and a smirk playing on his lips, like he's already counting his winnings. Like they need the money. The guy’s family owns half the city.
Rook makes the first move—quick and calculated, just like he taught me. I hold my breath as his fist connects with Reed's jaw, a solid hit that would have sent most alphas staggering.
Reed barely flinches.
The crowd goes wild, their cheers pulsing through the underground venue. I push forward, trying to get a better view, ignoring Rook's earlier command to stay put. Some burly alpha shoves me back with a growl, but I bare my teeth at him. Beta or not, I've never been one to back down.
"That all you got, beta trash?" Reed's voice carries over the noise, low and taunting.
Rook's dark eyes flash with something dangerous. I've seen that look before—the look he gets when someone's pushed him too far. My stomach twists with dread.
"Not even close, elite," Rook snarls back, his voice rough with barely contained rage.
He lunges again, this time with a feint that even I didn't see coming. Reed dodges the obvious attack but walks right into Rook's real target—a vicious uppercut that catches Reed under the chin. The elite's head snaps back, and for a split second, I think maybe, just maybe, Rook has a chance.
Then Reed smiles. It's not a nice smile. It's the kind that makes your blood run cold.
"Better," he says, and there's something almost approving in his tone that makes me want to scream.
What happens next is too fast for me to follow. Reed moves like water, flowing around Rook's defenses with a grace that doesn't belong in this grimy underground ring. One moment Rook is standing, the next he's on one knee, blood trickling from a split in his eyebrow.
The crowd's roar becomes a dull hum in my ears. I push forward again, this time elbowing my way through the mass of bodies. I don't care about Rook's warning anymore. I need to be closer.
Reed circles Rook like a predator, giving him time to stand. It's not mercy—it's arrogance. He wants to prolong this, to put on a show for his elite friend watching from the sidelines.
"Please Rook," I whisper, my voice lost in the noise. "Get up and leave."
As if he hears me, Rook rises to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. Blood drips down the side of his face from a cut in his brow, but his eyes find mine in the crowd. For a split second, something passes between us—determination or desperation, maybe both.
Reed notices. His stormy gaze follows Rook's, landing on me with unsettling precision. Something flickers across his face—curiosity, maybe. Or worse, interest.
"That your girl, beta trash?" Reed's taunt carries over the crowd's roar, his eyes still locked on me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. "She’s watching you get your ass handed to you, Holloway."
Something dangerous flashes in Rook's eyes—a protective fury I've seen only a handful of times. Without warning, he launches himself at Reed, landing a solid hit to the elite's ribs that actually makes Reed grunt.
The crowd goes wild, and I find myself shouting with them, my heart hammering against my chest.
"Don't you fucking look at her," Rook growls, his voice dropping to that alpha bark that makes even me shiver despite being immune to its command.
Reed's smile turns predatory. "Hit a nerve, did I?"
What happens next is brutal. Reed stops playing. His movements become sharp, precise—each blow calculated for maximum damage. Rook fights back with everything he has, but it's like watching someone try to hold back a hurricane with their bare hands.
I can't look away, can't breathe, can't think. Each hit Reed lands on Rook feels like it's striking me instead. The crowd's cheers fade to white noise as I watch the boy I love—the only person who's ever truly been mine—getting systematically taken apart.
When Rook goes down again, I don't think. I just move.
"Stay down," I hear Reed say, his voice carrying over the noise. "No shame in knowing when you're beat."
But Rook is struggling to his feet again, blood streaming from his nose, one eye already swelling shut. His gaze finds mine as I push to the front.
“Rook.” I reach out to him.
"Storm, I told you to stay back," Rook manages through gritted teeth, but there's no actual anger in his voice—just worry.
Reed's gaze shifts between us, something calculating in those stormy blue eyes. Behind him, Jonathan Kingsley has straightened from his casual stance, suddenly alert.
"Well, well," Reed drawls, "the beta trash has a death wish."
I ignore him, focusing only on Rook. "It's not worth it," I hiss. "This isn't just a payday. He's trying to kill you. Please Rook, let’s leave."
Reed's gaze locks on me, those stormy blue eyes narrowing with interest. My heart hammers against my ribs, but I keep my chin high, refusing to show fear. Behind him, Jonathan Kingsley moves closer to the edge of the ring, his piercing green eyes drilling into me with unsettling intensity.
"What's this?" Jonathan's voice cuts through the noise, smooth and cold. "Is your beta girl trying to kiss your boo boo’s better?"
I feel the crowd shift around me, attention turning my way. I shouldn't have come forward. Shouldn't have drawn their attention. But it's too late now.
"Get back," Rook growls, pushing himself to his feet. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, his breathing labored. "I've got this." He’s unsteady on his feet.
I know he doesn't. Anyone with eyes can see he's barely standing.
"You're done," I tell him. Fuck Reed. Fuck Jonathan. “I’m taking you home.”
Reed's eyes track my every movement as I step up into the ring. I don't care about the rules anymore—not when Rook's barely standing, not when I can see the pain he's trying to hide.
"The fight's over," I announce to Reed, my voice stronger than I feel. "He's done."
A murmur ripples through the crowd. No one walks into a ring during a fight—especially not a beta woman facing down an elite alpha.
"I don't believe anyone called it," Jonathan says from just outside the ring.
“I called it. It’s over.” I grab Rook’s arm and try to steady him against my small frame.
Reed steps closer and I stand taller. If he wants to fight me. It’s gonna be quick and dirty. Rook tries to push me behind him, but I stand my ground. "You've had your fun," I say, meeting Reed's gaze directly.
Reed's eyes hold mine for an endless moment. I expect anger, maybe even violence—alphas don't like being challenged, especially not by betas. But what flickers across his face is something else entirely. Something that makes my stomach knot.
"You've got fire, Little Beta," he says, his voice low enough that only Rook and I can hear. "Few would step into a ring to face me."
"I'm not facing you," I snap. "I'm getting him out."
A small smile plays at the corner of Reed's mouth. "If that's what you think you're doing."
Behind me, Rook tenses, his arm tightening around my waist. "Back off, Howard."
The crowd has gone oddly quiet, the usual rowdy atmosphere replaced with a tense anticipation. I'm acutely aware of how many alphas are watching us, their eyes tracking every movement like predators sizing up prey.
"The little beta has more courage than you, Holloway," Reed says, his voice carrying just enough for those closest to hear. "Shame about the company she keeps."
I feel Rook's muscles bunch beneath my hand, ready to launch himself at Reed despite his injuries. I dig my fingers into his arm, silently begging him to stand down.
"Let's go," I say to Rook, not taking my eyes off Reed. "He's not worth it."
Jonathan steps closer to the edge of the ring, his green eyes cold and assessing. "You don't make the rules here, beta ," he says, the word 'beta' dripping with disdain.
"I make my own rules," I say, not backing down even as Jonathan's green eyes narrow dangerously. "Always have."
The tension in the air thickens. Alphas and betas alike holding their breath. No one interrupts elite fights. No one challenges men like Reed Howard or Jonathan Kingsley. But they've never met someone like me.
Reed's gaze travels from my face down to where my hand grips Rook's arm, then back up again. Something shifts in his expression—amusement, maybe, or curiosity. It makes my skin crawl.
"Let them go," Reed says suddenly, his voice carrying through the now-silent venue.
Jonathan's head whips toward him. "What?"
"Let them go," Reed repeats, never taking his eyes off me. "The fight's over."
Reed Howard doesn't show mercy. Reed Howard doesn't walk away from a fight unfinished. Everyone knows this.
"The beta girl clearly has more fight in her than her alpha," Reed adds, his voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear. A calculated insult that makes Rook's body tense against mine. "Maybe next time she should be the one in the ring."
I tighten my grip on Rook, feeling his muscles coil with rage. "Don't," I whisper against his ear. "He's baiting you."
Rook doesn’t listen. He lunges towards Reed, who takes a step back as Rook falls to the floor with a loud thump.
The crowd erupts in laughter. The sound cuts through me like glass. Rook struggles to push himself up, his arms trembling with the effort. The humiliation radiating from him is worse than any physical pain.
I drop to my knees beside him, ignoring the jeers and taunts from the crowd. "Let me help you," I whisper, sliding my arm around his waist.
"Storm," he growls, but there's no strength behind it. His dark eyes, usually so full of fire, are glazed with pain, and something else—shame.
Reed stands over us, his shadow falling across Rook's broken form. I look up, expecting mockery, but his expression is unreadable. Those stormy blue eyes seem to see right through me as his scent surrounds me. He smells like saltwater in the wind, like a dark, violent ocean.
I see red. Rolling up the sleeves of the hoodie to my elbows, I’m ready to fight him.
“Fuck you.” I stand up and shove him. My hands pressing against the smooth sweat coated skin of his abs, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, I hurt from that. Mother fucker .
Reed's lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Careful, Little Beta," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "You're in a room full of alphas who'd love to watch me put you in your place."
I feel the weight of dozens of eyes on me, the heavy scent of alpha pheromones thickening the air. But I don't back down.
"I'd like to see you try," I spit, even as my heart hammers against my ribs.
Jonathan Kingsley moves closer to stand beside his pack mate, his tall frame blocking some of the harsh lights overhead. Up close, he's even more intimidating—all sharp angles and cold calculation in those piercing green eyes.
As I take a deep breath, the scent of smoky black pepper fills my nostrils. It's intoxicating yet suffocating. Matches his personality.
"What's your name?" he asks, his gaze sharp and assessing as it sweeps over me.
"None of your fucking business," I snap, turning back to Rook, who's managed to get to his feet, swaying slightly. I wrap my arm around his waist, taking as much of his weight as my small frame can handle.
Jonathan's eyes narrow, and I lift my chin higher, refusing to back down to these alphas.
"Interesting," he murmurs, exchanging a look with Reed that makes my skin prickle with unease. I don’t want to know what that means.
"We're leaving," I announce, already turning toward the exit, practically dragging Rook down out of the ring with me. He's trying to walk on his own, his pride still intact despite everything, but I can feel him leaning heavily against me.
As we get just outside past the spectators, he stumbles. His large alpha build is no match for my tiny beta frame to hold up. I tumble towards the cold concrete floor. Holding my arm out in front to stop myself, I feel someone grab me. I turn to see Reed holding my arm, his grip firm but not painful. The contact sends an unexpected jolt through me—like static electricity, but deeper, more unsettling.
I jerk my arm away from Reed's grasp, the warmth of his touch lingers there. "Don't touch me."
His stormy eyes hold mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. "Just keeping you from falling, Little Beta."
"I can handle myself," I snap, turning back to Rook, who's now slumped against a pillar, his breathing labored. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, and the sight of it reignites my fury.
The crowd has already moved on to the next fight, the next spectacle, and we are long forgotten. Only Reed and Jonathan remain. He’s watching us with those cold green eyes that seem to catalog my every movement, every reaction.
"Your alpha needs medical attention," Reed says, his voice surprisingly neutral now. "There's a doctor that works these fights. In the back room."
I know that, but he costs money. Money we don’t have to spare.
I help Rook, feeling his body trembling with the effort to stay upright. His scent is off—that familiar strawberries and cream now tainted with the metallic edge of blood and the sour notes of pain.
"We don't need your help," I mutter, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know they're a lie. Rook needs a doctor. The cut above his brow won't stop bleeding, and the way he's holding himself, I suspect he might have a cracked rib or worse.
Reed shrugs, his broad shoulders rising and falling with casual indifference. "He won't make it home like that."
My pride wants me to tell them to fuck off. But I know it’s true. I’ve never seen Rook like this after a fight.
Jonathan steps closer. "The doctor owes us," he says, his voice smooth and cold as ice. "No charge." I want to tell them to go to hell, but Rook's labored breathing stops me. His weight against my side is growing heavier, his body trembling with the effort to stay upright. Pride won't fix his injuries.
“I won’t fuck you.” If that’s the kind of payment he expects us to give him.
For a moment, a shocked silence hangs in the air. Then Jonathan lets out a sharp laugh, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife.
"You think highly of yourself, Little Beta," Reed says with a smug smile.
"But I assure you, neither of us is looking for that sort of... compensation ," Jonathan adds, those green eyes simmering with something dark.
My cheeks burn with humiliation. I'm relieved that the dim lighting back here hides it. I hold my head high. "So, what do you want?"
Reed steps closer, his stormy ocean scent wrapping around me like a physical thing. "Consider it professional courtesy," his voice low.
I quirk my brow, surprised by this sudden change of attitude. In the past, Reed has never shown any courtesy to any beta-born alphas. And most don’t walk away from fights against him.
"What do you want?" I repeat, glancing over at Rook, who is leaning against me heavily now.
Reed's expression softens for a moment as he looks at Rook's injured form. "Just let us take care of him," he says, gesturing to the back room where the doctor waits.
I narrow my eyes suspiciously. There has to be some catch to this offer. Jonathan smirks at my hesitation.
"Come on, Little Beta," he says, his tone mocking. "Unless you have some secret medical skills we don't know about, your alpha needs help."
I grit my teeth and reluctantly agree to their offer. But before I can take a step towards the back room, Jonathan steps closer again and reaches out a hand to touch Rook. My protective instincts flare up and I grab Jonathan's wrist in a tight grip before he can make contact.
"Don't touch him," I growl out, tightening my hold on his wrist as his scent invades my senses. But instead of pulling away or retaliating like I expect him to, Jonathan just tilts his head slightly, as if studying me. Then he lets out another sharp chuckle and jerks his arm free from my grasp.
"You're feisty for a little beta," he comments with a smirk before walking towards the back room with Reed. Rook chuckles a little, then groans.
His face is flushed with pain, but his eyes twinkle with amusement. The corners of his lips twitch slightly, a hint of a smile playing on his face. I roll my eyes at him, knowing exactly what he’s gonna say.
"Storm by name, hurricane by nature .”