Chapter 9

It was past midnight when Braydon finally returned to the penthouse.

He was furious. The humiliation of being dressed down like an intern in front of the entire executive board burned in his chest. He had gone straight to a high-end Alpha club after work, drowning his bruised ego in expensive scotch.

He stumbled out of the private elevator, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. The heavy stench of alcohol radiated from his pores.

The penthouse was dark, except for a sliver of light spilling from beneath the guest bedroom door.

Braydon kicked off his shoes and walked heavily down the hallway. He shoved the guest room door open without knocking.

Alston was sitting at the small desk in the corner. He was hunched over a stack of his family's factory financial ledgers, desperately trying to find a way out of the debt.

The sudden crash of the door made Alston jump. He dropped his pen and spun around in his chair.

Because he was in his own home, and because his heat cycle had just ended, Alston's skin was highly sensitive. He wasn't wearing a Scent Patch on his neck.

The pure, unfiltered scent of chamomile flooded the room.

Braydon froze in the doorway.

The alcohol in his bloodstream reacted violently with the sudden hit of Omega pheromones. His S-class Alpha instincts, already agitated and aggressive from the humiliation at work, completely bypassed his rational brain.

His eyes dilated. He stared at the pale, exposed skin of Alston's neck.

He needed to assert dominance. He needed to mark his territory to prove he was still in control.

Braydon let out a low, guttural growl.

He lunged across the room.

Alston didn't even have time to scream. Braydon's massive weight slammed into him, knocking the heavy desk chair backward.

They crashed onto the hardwood floor. Alston's head cracked against the wood, sending a blinding flash of white light through his vision.

"Braydon, stop!" Alston gasped, pushing his hands against his husband's chest.

Braydon didn't listen. His heavy body pinned Alston to the floor. His large, rough hand clamped down on Alston's jaw, forcing his head to the side to expose the scent gland on his neck.

The suffocating smell of bourbon and aggressive Alpha pheromones made Alston gag.

"You're mine," Braydon slurred, his hot breath hitting Alston's skin. "You do what I say."

Braydon opened his mouth. His elongated Alpha canines grazed the delicate skin of Alston's neck.

Pure, primal terror exploded in Alston's chest. If Braydon bit him now, in this state, it would be a permanent, violent bond. It would destroy him.

Alston's hand scrambled blindly across the floorboards.

His fingers brushed against the cold metal of the heavy fountain pen he had dropped.

Alston gripped the pen tightly in his fist.

Just as Braydon drove his teeth down toward the flesh, Alston swung his arm up with every ounce of strength he had left.

He drove the sharp metal nib of the pen directly into the thick muscle of Braydon's bicep.

Braydon roared in pain.

The sudden shock of the puncture wound made Braydon's grip loosen for a fraction of a second.

Alston didn't hesitate. He shoved his knee hard into Braydon's stomach, scrambling out from underneath the heavy body.

He scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving, and sprinted out of the guest room.

He ran down the dark hallway and threw himself into the master bathroom. He slammed the heavy door shut and hit the deadbolt just as Braydon's weight crashed against the other side.

The wood splintered slightly under the impact.

"Open the door!" Braydon bellowed, pounding his fists against the wood. "Open the fucking door, Alston!"

Alston backed away until his legs hit the edge of the porcelain bathtub. He slid down to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. He clamped his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as the violent pounding shook the walls.

He sat there, trembling uncontrollably, as the minutes dragged into hours.

Eventually, the pounding stopped. Braydon's angry shouts turned into slurred curses, and then, finally, silence.

Alston didn't move. He stayed curled in a ball on the cold tile floor until the first gray light of dawn crept through the frosted bathroom window.

He slowly lowered his hands. His body ached. His neck was bruised from Braydon's grip.

He looked up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His clothes were torn. His eyes were hollow and dead.

This wasn't just a bad marriage anymore. This was a cage, and the animal inside it was trying to kill him.

Alston reached into the pocket of his pants.

His fingers pulled out the matte black business card.

He didn't hesitate this time. He didn't think about the consequences. He pulled out his phone and dialed the silver numbers.

The phone rang exactly once.

"Have you finally figured it out?" Easton's low, gravelly voice came through the speaker. The sound of it sent a strange, grounding shiver down Alston's spine.