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.
actively go out
Unlike his son.
climbing out of bed, dragging my hands through
in my
bed hair so bad
Do I care?
Nope.
it’s just
least it’s not Gray fucking Westwood. I stumble downstairs,
bother checking a
don’t bother grabbing a
don’t bother
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step into the living room, I will see a middle–aged, terrifyingly composed, cold- blooded Alpha standing
do not
I do not prepare
the tall, broad–shouldered, ridiculously unfair, infuriatingly broody figure leaning
stop dead in
He lifts his head.
Our eyes meet.
And suddenly, I remember.
first time Gray Westwood ever looked
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years ago. I had snuck into the training grounds, hiding behind the storage shed, watching the older warriors spar. I had been so fascinated by 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. Our eyes had locked, and for the first time in my life, I had felt truly,
join the pack training. I had been excited–nervous, but excited. I had trained in secret,
had been there. He was the
I even had a chance to move, my opponent–a seasoned warrior–had knocked me to the ground. Hard. The air had been forced from my lungs, the world tilting for a moment as I gasped,
And Gray had laughed.
just enough for me to hear. Just enough to carve itself into
ere rever
was the moment I had decided: I would forever hate Gray Westwood! And now, standing here, staring at him in
to set myself on fire.
drags down my body. Slowly. Like he’s assessing, deciding. Something in his posture shifts–just slightly–but it’s enough. Enough to make my pulse trip. Enough to make something primal inside
nipples are poking in my thin shirt. My fingers curl into my shirt. My shoulders
arms over my chest, cursing myself, cursing the gods, cursing my entire
“Don’t look!” I shriek.
Gray… says nothing.
away from him, still
hint
that makes you lean in without realizing you’re doing it. I straighten, fighting the instinct to shrink
wrapping around me like a second
back around, forgetting my current disaster situation in
“I–what?!”
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to get
WAITED IN
WAITED?!” I choke. “YOU–YOU JUST–WHAT–HOW LONG
“Long enough.”
in that. I am not sure if I am
Gray sighs.
“Wilkinson.”
“NO.”
still overheating, still actively combusting from the
Update Chapter 3 of His Trouble Maker
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