SWNOVELS Book2-Chapter 3
Chapter 3
"Look..." he begins but doesn't continue when I continue walking away
However, Vance is quick, faster than any ordinary wolf due to his Beta status. In the blink of an eye, he stands in front of me, blocking my path. His size is intimidating. Each muscle under his leather jacket honed from years of training
Vance's expression hardens, the lines around his mouth tightening. "You don't want my help," he says more softly this time. "That's fine. But let me get your car started at least."
I hesitate for a moment before throwing him the keys without making eye contact. I know it's not
entirely his fault, but my heart is too raw, my wounds too fresh for me to act any different. My mate is dead and Vance's brother played a part 1n it, not that I expected Alpha Zayn to do anything else after what Deacon tried to do
"Fine," I grumble
In the dying light of the day, I watch as Vance leans over the hood and starts checking out the engine. His hands move skillfully over various parts as he mumbles under his breath-things about alternators and spark plugs that sound alien to me. All I can do 1s sit there dumbfounded - watching this man who I want nothing more than to hate assist me in just the way I need right now
After what feels like an eternity, Vance pulls back from the car. He wipes his grease-stained hands on a rag and then turns to face me, his
face uncharacteristically somber. "It's your alternator," he says gently. "I don't have the tools here or a replacement to fix it, but I can give you a lift home and help you fix it tomorrow?" he offers
I groan, knowing that isn't a possibility since I can't afford to fix it, choosing between a hot shower and my car. I'm sorry, car, but the shower wins!
Underneath my disbelief at his kindness, I feel a surge of anger rise up within me. Did he think his little act of chivalry would make me forgive him? Forgive his brother? I quickly push down the burning rage, reminding myself that this wasn't Vance's fault. It's Deacon's
Still, [refuse his help again, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I have time to consider them. "I can manage."
"And how exactly do you plan to get back?" Vance inquires. The realization that I've squandered precious minutes hoping he could rectify the situation sinking in and I press my lips in a line. The chances of reaching home and then the club by 9 p.m. are now slipping through my fingers
Vance, reading my silence as an admission of defeat, offers me his helmet. "What are you going to use?" I ask him and he shrugs
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"I doubt I will get pulled over with Zayn as my brother," he states cockily, and I roll my eyes. Of course not. He throws his leg over his bike before helping me climb on behind him. Once seated I don't know where to put my hands
"Hold on," Vance tells me. But onto what?
"You're bloody stubborn aren't you," he growls,
reaching back and grabbing my wrists. He places them on his waist and takes off. I shriek clutching his jacket. He laughs as I scramble to wrap my arms around him
"Not so hard is it?" He mindlinks. I don't answer and he cuts the mindlink
The wind whips around us as we tear through the city streets, the neon lights blurring into streaks of color against the darkening sky
As he pulls up to my house a huge mansion that stands tall and grand against the starry backdrop - he doesn't say a word. He simply helps me climb off the bike, and I hand him the helmet back
"Thanks," I tell him, rummaging for my keys with shaking hands, that is an experience I could have lived without, my ass is numb and I
am pretty sure I ruined his jacket when my claws slipped out when he took off. He offers a curt nod before roaring off into the distance, leaving me alone with my thoughts
From the outside, my home is nothing short of breathtaking - a show of wealth and a supposed lavish lifestyle. But like many beautiful things in life, it's only skin-deep; peel back that exterior layer and you're left with the raw reality
Stepping inside, I'm greeted by emptiness - not Just physical but emotional, too. The vast rooms echo with hollow sounds as I move toward what can barely be called a living room. All that's there is a mattress lying pathetically on the cold marble floor, next to the fireplace. My father used to be a successful banker, my mother a lawyer. He came from old money and generational wealth, but my mother showed me
how easily she could blow through my inheritance when he died when I was a kid
She lost her job and became a raging alcoholic
She went "missing" when I was fifteen; and I've been on my own ever since. The lie told was she went to rehab, but after a while, everyone forgot she never returned
Over the years, I have sold nearly every item here, and now all that's left is a second-hand mattress I got off a junk pile when I was kicked out of the dorms. I could sell this place, but I can't seem to hand the last piece of my father over. Finding the box of matches on the chipped mantle, I try to light the fire in the fireplace, so I have some light to see and also to warm this place