His Trouble Maker
Chapter 3
Chapter 3
I should run, vanish or pretend I never existed. Because if Gray Westwood tells the Alpha what just happened, I might not
survive the fallout.
The thought alone makes my stomach churn.
I wanted to be part of the warriors in our pack. I still do. More than anything.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted–to stand on my own. To fight. To be more than some girl waiting to be chosen, waiting to be
protected, waiting to be claimed.
I was supposed to be strong.
My fingers curl into fists, nails digging into my palms. Hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to keep me here, in my body, in control.
I trained for years. Harder than the boys who sneered at me. Harder than the instructors who never let me forget that I wasn’t meant for this. That I would never be strong enough, fast enough, brutal enough.
And for what?
To always end up as an embarrassment? To be looked at, not as a warrior, but as something else?
No she–wolf has ever made it to the top ranks. Not one. Not because we can’t–but because they won’t let us. Because in their eyes, we’re not fighters. We’re not equals. We’re just something to claim. Something to knot..
I refuse to be just another she–wolf waiting for someone to decide my worth. I will carve it out myself.
I groan and shove a pillow over my face. A sharp knock on my door yanks me back to reality.
“Jessica! Are you alive in there?”
I groan. “I am not mom! Leave me alone please!”
For one blessed second, I think she’s actually going to listen. “Get up, sweetheart. The Alpha is here. He wants to see you.”
I sit bolt upright.
“Mom,” I say, slowly, carefully. ““When you say ‘the Alpha‘… do you mean… Gray’s father?”
“Of course,” she says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Who else would I mean?”
I exhale.
Long. Slow. Relieved.
Oh, thank the gods.
I was so sure. so sure this was about Gray.
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That he’d decided to track me down, humiliate me further, demand I apologize for embarrassing him in front of the
warriors or some shit.
But no.
This is fine.
This is better.
terrifying, at least he doesn’t actively go out of
Unlike his son.
second!” I call out, already climbing out of bed, dragging my hands
in my sleep
hair so bad it could legally
Do I care?
Nope.
just
fucking Westwood. I stumble
don’t bother
don’t bother grabbing a
bother preparing
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think–**i believe–**that when I step into the living room, I will see a middle–aged,
do not
I do not
the tall, broad–shouldered, ridiculously unfair, infuriatingly broody figure leaning against the wall like he owns
stop dead in
He lifts his head.
Our eyes meet.
And suddenly, I remember.
Westwood ever looked at
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their strength, their precision, the way Gray moved like he had been born to lead. But then… he had turned. As if he had felt me watching.
memory because when I turned fifteen and was finally required to join the pack training. I had been excited–nervous, but excited. I had trained in secret, pushing my body,
been there. He was the one assessing the
warrior–had knocked me to the ground. Hard. The air had been forced from my lungs, the world
And Gray had laughed.
enough for me to
ere rever
was the moment I had decided: I would forever hate Gray Westwood! And now, standing here, staring at him in my living room, that same weight
to set myself on fire. “WHAT ARE
Slowly. Like he’s assessing, deciding. Something in his posture shifts–just slightly–but it’s enough. Enough to make my pulse
realize. My nipples are poking in my thin shirt. My fingers curl into my shirt. My shoulders bunch, heat licking up my throat as
myself whiplash, throwing my arms over my chest, cursing myself, cursing the gods, cursing my
“Don’t look!” I shriek.
Gray… says nothing.
house?!” I demand, still facing away from him, still contemplating running straight out
the barest hint of
without realizing you’re doing it. I straighten, fighting the instinct to shrink
leans in slightly, the heat of him wrapping around me like a second skin. “You were mine
around, forgetting my current disaster situation in favor of processing the new disaster
“I–what?!”
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raises an eyebrow. “I was sent to get you. You wouldn’t wake up.
IN MY
“YOU–YOU JUST–WHAT–HOW LONG HAVE
“Long enough.”
am not sure if I am just imagining
Gray sighs.
“Wilkinson.”
“NO.”
stumble away from the wall, still flustered, still overheating, still actively
Update Chapter 3 of His Trouble Maker
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