The Alpha Behind The Mask

Aurora’s POV

​I glared at him, my eyes burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the desire he had just ignited in my body. The pain in my heart was growing, swallowing up every bit of that ridiculous attraction I thought I had for him.

​I remembered why I was here. I remembered the blood on the floor and the silence in my childhood home. I didn’t get close to him to fall in love or to crave his touch; I got close to him to kill him. To make him pay. Hearing him talk so coldly about taking fathers away from their daughters—about how my parents’ lives were just a "paycheck"—snapped me back to reality.

​Fuck whatever feelings I thought I was developing, I screamed internally. The plan is back in motion. Raymond, I will kill you. I will be the last thing you see before you leave this world.

​I didn’t say a word. I reached for my shoes, my fingers trembling with a mix of leftover adrenaline and a new, cold fury.

​"So?" he asked, his voice echoing behind the mask. "What is your decision? Do you sign, or do we say goodbye?"

​I stood up, my legs still heavy, and looked him straight in the eyes. I wanted to say no. I wanted to spit in his face and run back to Oliver’s arms. But I knew the truth: if I walked away now, he would vanish. I’d never get close enough to find his real name, his real face, or the heart I needed to pierce. To kill him, I had to be his. I had to let him think he owned me.

​"I’ll think about it," I said, my voice flat.

​"Thinking doesn’t get you back in this room, Aurora," he countered.

​"I need time," I snapped, pulling my jacket tight to hide the hickey. I turned toward the door, needing to breathe air that didn’t smell like his cigar and my own shame.

​"Let me drive you home," he said. It wasn’t an offer; it was a command. The leather of his jacket creaked as he stood up, looming over me once more.

​"No," I said, my hand reaching for the doorknob. "I can take a cab."

​"It wasn’t a request," he hissed, stepping into my space. The danger was back, but this time, I didn’t want to melt into it. I wanted to fight it. "Don’t be ridiculous, Aurora. You look like you can barely stand. You’re coming with me."

​He grabbed my arm—not hard, but firm enough that I knew I couldn’t fight him. I let him lead me out, playing the part of the exhausted, broken submissive. But inside, I was counting the seconds until I could find his weakness.

​I followed him out of the private room, my head held as high as I could manage, but I felt the weight of every pair of eyes in the club. The air in the main hall was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and sweat. Subs and Doms alike stopped what they were doing to stare.

​I knew how I looked. My hair was a wild mess, my lips were swollen, and I was walking with a slight, tell-tale limp that I couldn’t hide. I knew that within minutes, the news would fly through every dark corner of this place. Aurora—the stubborn bartender who had turned down countless Doms, the one who acted like she was untouchable—had finally been fucked. They’d all be whispering about how the Dom with the green eyes had finally put me in my place.

​I felt a hot wave of shame crawl up my neck. I hated Doms, especially the ones in this club. To them, women were just toys, something to be used and discarded like yesterday’s trash. They changed girls like they changed their underwear, and I had spent months making sure none of them ever got a grip on me.

​But now, look at me. I was walking two steps behind a masked killer, marked and drained, playing the very part I despised.

​Raymond didn’t slow down. He didn’t acknowledge the crowd. He walked through the club like a king walking through a room of peasants, his hand still firm on my arm. The heavy bass of the music thudded in my ears, matching the rhythm of the promise I was making to my dead parents.

​We walked out of the club, the cool evening air hitting my face. It wasn’t even dark yet.

​His bike was parked right at the curb. He climbed on, the leather of his pants stretching against the seat. I hesitated for a second, my skin crawling, then I climbed on behind him. I had to wrap my arms around his waist to stay on, my chest pressing against that tactical vest. I felt sick. Every time the bike jolted, I was reminded of the raw ache between my thighs.

​The drive was quiet and awkward. The wind whipped my hair around my face, but it couldn’t wash away the smell of his cigar or the feel of his hands. I stared at the back of his helmet, my mind a storm of dark thoughts. He didn’t say a word, and neither did I.

​When we finally pulled up to my apartment building, I didn’t wait for him to help me. I slid off the bike, my legs nearly giving out as my feet hit the sidewalk. I didn’t say thank you. I didn’t say goodbye. I just turned and walked away, my back stiff. I waited for him to call my name, to say something about the "contract" or the "submissive" deal, but he didn’t. I heard the roar of his engine as he sped off, leaving me alone in the silence.

​I stumbled up the stairs to my apartment and slammed the door. I ripped off my clothes as if they were covered in poison. I threw the sweater, the undies, everything into the corner of the room. I stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand. I scrubbed my skin until it was raw, trying to wash off the phantom feeling of his gloves and his mouth.

​But the purple mark on my shoulder stayed.

​After the bath, I wrapped myself in a robe and walked over to the small table where I kept the only things I had left. I picked up the framed picture of my family. We were all laughing. Mom was leaning against Dad, and my brother James was making a silly face at the camera. We were so happy. So safe.

​Until the morning the door was kicked in. Until the morning the silence was broken by gunfire. If I hadn’t been in the kitchen, hiding behind the door, Raymond would have killed me, too.

​I traced the glass over my father’s face, a single hot tear falling onto the frame. My grief turned back into that cold, sharp feeling of anger.

​"Mom, Dad, James," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I’m sorry I let him touch me. I’m sorry I let him make me forget for even a second."

​I gripped the frame tight, looking at the dark bruise on my shoulder in the mirror.

​"I will make him pay," I promised the empty room. "I will get close. I will find out who is behind that mask. And then, I will send him to hell."