Alpha Bully: Wolf Ridge High, Book 1

by Rose, Renee

  We finish as the last bell rings. I sense Bailey’s tension as we head out into the sea of students pushing through the halls.

  “Hey.” I tuck a protective arm around her and pull her against my side. “I got you, babygirl. From now on. Promise.”

  * * *

  Bailey

  Walking through Wolf Ridge High with the homecoming king, star quarterback as my escort is a totally new experience.

  The crowds part for us. People admire. Smile at me. Speak to me.

  “Hi, Bailey.”

  “Hi, Bailey.”

  “Hey, Bailey.”

  “Way to go, Bailey.” I get smiles, and waves and high-fives the whole way. Every single one of them rips down my walls even more. Today, I bared myself to the entire school.

  And they received me.

  I’m shaking by the time we reach my locker. Not out of fear. Just emotion.

  Cole crowds behind me and wraps an arm around my waist, spreading his palm over my belly. “You’re trembling, Pink,” he murmurs. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, a few tears leaking out. “It’s nice to be acknowledged,” I say, turning around to face him. “I guess that’s what happens when I’m escorted around by the king of the alpha-holes.”

  He shakes his head. “No. That was all you. It was the article you wrote. You won their respect, no thanks to me.” He pulls me into his chest and wraps me up tight, pressing his lips to my hair. “Pretty soon, I’m going to be introduced as the journalist’s boyfriend.”

  “Ha.” I laugh into his chest. It feels so good to touch him again. To feel his strength and solidity. To breathe in his scent and know he’s got my back. I bite his pectoral muscle through his shirt.

  “Hey.” He laughs and pulls back. “I must be rubbing off on you. Are you trying to mark me?”

  “I have no idea what that means, but it sounds fun.”

  His eyes flash yellow for a moment and he crowds me back against the lockers. “Careful what you wish for, little human,” he rumbles in my ear right before he attacks me with his mouth.

  Epilogue

  Cole

  Freshly showered and changed, pumped with post-game endorphins, the alpha-holes jog out of the locker room and push through the throng toward the parking lots.

  We just trounced Cave Hills. They’re our biggest rival, not because they’re great ballers—at least not football. Rich humans’ parents don’t let them play the sport because of the concussion thing. No, the rivalry is more due to proximity and the economic disparity between our two communities.

  Bo scans the crowd in the direction of the guest team parking lot.

  “Who are you looking for? Gone in Sixty Seconds?”

  “Shut up. Don’t call her that.”

  “Is she here?” I start scanning, too, wanting to see the human who has Bo’s balls all twisted.

  A moment later, he goes rigid. I follow his line of sight toward a tall, leggy human who stands a head above the other kids around her. She’s stunning just in sheer size, but also gorgeous, with long, caramel-colored hair.

  “Catch you guys later,” Bo mutters, veering off.

  “Sure you will,” I call back.

  My own balls tighten in anticipation of finding Bailey in the crowd.

  I find her standing by her car with Rayne, but the two aren’t alone. A group of girls is gathered around them talking and laughing. Over the last couple of weeks, Bailey’s been integrating more and more into the Wolf Ridge social structure. That means Rayne is, too, because Bailey isn’t the type to abandon a friend when her social status changes.

  “Pinkalicious,” I call out as I approach and then run in to grab her waist and toss her up onto one shoulder.

  She giggles, her thighs squeezing my chest and back as she rocks on her perch three feet above everyone else. “Show off.”

  I bite her inner thigh and she creams her panties. The scent makes me growl. I fucking love handling her like a doll, showing her how much more powerful I am than she is. Giving her a reason to swoon over me.

  I’ve been working my ass off to prove I’m worthy boyfriend material. I publicly stake my claim on her every chance I get: picking her up, carrying her, holding her hand, pulling her into my lap at lunch. She goes soft for all of it. Looks at me with those warm brown eyes and makes me feel like a hero.

  There was one fight with my dad over it. A short one that involved me showing wolf eyes and fang and telling him he’d better goddamn respect her or we’re done and he backed down. It’s a work in progress. He’s been sober for two weeks, going to AA meetings every night and working at the convenience store every day. He’s depressed and defeated, but at least he’s not drunk.

  He’s a smart, capable man. At least he used to be. He’ll figure his shit out.

  “What’s up, Rayne-bow?” I fist-bump the runt, who was trying to fade into the background. “You hanging with us tonight?”

  “Sure.” She shrugs like slumming with our group is normal and she didn’t just shoot from outcast sophomore to hanging with senior royalty.

  “Put me down, Cole.” Bailey’s squirming. Riding my shoulder’s getting her too horny for her own comfort.

  I swing her around and drop her down to straddle my waist, my forearm under her ass. She twines her arms around my neck and kisses me. I want to drag her out of here alone. Take her up to Austin’s cabin and fuck her blind.

  But she’s enjoying the social thing. And I deprived her of it for way too long to deny her even one night of partying and fun.

  I pop Bailey to the side, to ride my hip like a mom holds a toddler. “What’s the plan, Austin? You’re our social director, right?”

  Austin shrugs. “Mesa?”

  Same plan as ever, only now it’s different. Now I see it through Bailey’s eyes and it’s all fresh and new. All tinged with excitement and sexual electricity. I bite Bailey’s neck. “Can’t wait to get with you,” I murmur in her ear.

  She shifts restlessly on my hip, grinding her clit against me.

  I carry her over to the side of my truck and push her ass against it, shifting her to straddle my waist again. I shove the bulge of my cock into the cradle of her legs. “Austin said the cabin’s ours tonight. Unless Bo shows up with his hot car thief and we have to fight him for it.”

  “You’d win,” she purrs. “But there’s more than one bedroom.”

  “I know, Pink, but as much as I love holding you down and covering your mouth when we fuck, I also want to hear you scream.” I ease my hips back and then thrust again. “And tonight you’re going to be screaming my name until you’re hoarse.”

  Her smile stretches a million miles. “Promise?”

  I groan because I don’t know how I’m going to wait until I get her alone. “Wolf’s honor.”

  * * *

  Want to read what happened when Cole sneaked through Bailey’s bedroom window? There is a bonus scene available only to my newsletter subscribers. If you’re not already a member, sign up here: http://owned.gr8.com

  Thank you for reading my first “bully romance.” I hope you loved it. If you did, I would so appreciate your review and recommendations. They make such a difference for indie authors.

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  Acknowledgments

  I’m so incredibly grateful to Lee Savino and Aubrey Cara, who both dived into this book and helped me make it so much better. Also to Mary and Hayley for their beta reads.

  Thank you to the members of Renee’s Romper Room for your support and love (if you’re not a member and you’re in Facebook, please join!). Thanks to our ARC readers and to Ardent Prose PR and the bloggers who support my releases. You are all amazing!

 
Check out the inspiration for the Wolf Ridge High Series - Alpha’s Bane

  Wolf Ridge, Arizona (Northern Phoenix) Sixteen Years Ago

  Sheridan

  The thunk of bone hitting flesh knots my stomach. I grab my little sister Ruby’s hand and tug her back, out of the way. An inhuman snarl comes from the slender, malnourished teen attacking my cousin Garrett Green, a kid twice his size. You’d have to be insane to take on our alpha’s kid.

  But Trey probably has a death wish.

  His drunk of a dad got hauled in by the police today. For murder. Of a human.

  And the reason all the kids are gathered on this field behind the clubhouse is because our alpha called a pack meeting. Word is, they’re discussing whether to let Trey and his mom stay. The pack doesn’t appreciate trouble with humans, especially cops, so any wolf who puts us at risk is subject to banishment.

  So yeah, Trey’s probably got a world of anger and fear pounding through him now. Taking the beating from Garrett might be a welcome distraction.

  To Garrett’s credit, he’s hardly bloodied Trey yet. He maintains the upper hand but lets the fight go on, lets Trey blow off steam this way, punching and kicking, throwing himself into it again and again. Trey picked the fight as soon as the meeting started and we kids clustered up to watch.

  And they aren’t friends. No one’s befriended Trey since his family moved here last year. He’s stony quiet most of the time, barely talks in class, although he seems to be smart. This is the most interaction I’ve seen from him all year.

  It’s not as ugly as it sounds. There’s a beauty to the fight—both boys moving with light-footed grace, like trained boxers instead of freshmen. If my older brother were out here, he’d break it up, but he just turned eighteen, so he’s allowed into meetings now.

  Trey throws his weight and tackles Garrett. They tumble to the dirt. Garrett pins him, but Trey slips out and punches him in the temple, eliciting a surprised grunt.

  Garrett’s four-year-old sister, Sedona, runs forward, crying for him, and I dash in to get her out of the fray. At the same time, Garrett tosses Trey backward, and he knocks me and Sedona to the ground.

  A collective growl snarls through Garrett and the group of kids watching. I fully expect Garrett to finish Trey now, his alpha instinct to protect the females overriding whatever restraint he was showing.

  My friend Pam picks up and soothes Sedona.

  “Sheridan.” Trey ignores Garrett, instantly transforming from out-of-control fury, to… gentleman. The wolf in his eyes fades from silver to pale blue.

  I didn’t know he even knew my name, although why wouldn’t he? I certainly know his.

  He lifts me to my feet at the same time he scrambles up. His knuckles are bruised and bloodied, but he holds me gently, concern etched in the line between his eyes. “I’m sorry—are you hurt?” His tooth has gone through his lip and blood spills down his chin, but he seems unaffected by his own pain.

  Our gazes tangle and something cinches up in my lower belly—some intense new awareness that I’m female, and he’s male.

  I can’t look away. He doesn’t release me, even with Garrett breathing down his neck just behind him.

  “I’m okay.” I finally make my numb lips move. My heart pounds in my ears as I absorb everything I’d missed about this scrappy kid from the lowest pack family. The deepness of his voice. The intensity of his pale blue eyes. The muscle definition on his slender frame. The scents on him—blood, earth and pine.

  “Hey.” The cluster of kids jumps apart at the command of our alpha’s deep voice. “What’s going on down here?” My uncle sniffs the air, no doubt picking up the scent of blood. The back door to the clubhouse is open and parents are coming out to round up their kids. Sedona runs to Alpha Green and he tousles her hair without taking his narrowed gaze off his son. “Were you fighting?”

  A muscle in Garrett’s jaw ticks as his gaze flicks to Trey, who dropped his hands from me like he received an electrical shock. “Nah.” He affects a lazy tone that in no way matches the intensity of the tussle he had. “We were just letting off some steam, right, Trey?” He puts a fist out and Trey bumps it, like they’re best buds. Like Trey somehow earned his respect by taking him on.

  I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  Emmett Green turns his commanding gaze on Trey. “You’re going to have to man up and take care of your mother now, son.”

  Trey keeps his eyes dropped submissively to show respect. “Yes, sir. Are we kicked out?”

  “No,” Mr. Green says. “You’ll be permitted to stay, so long as you keep out of trouble and sever all contacts with your dad.”

  Trey swallows. “No hardship there,” he mutters. Then adds, “Thank you, sir.”

  The alpha walks off and the kids all stay, eyeing Trey with curiosity. I want to punch them all in the face now, even though I am just as much a party to this scene as anyone else. It’s Garrett who shifts things up.

  “Come on.” He smacks Trey’s shoulder like they’re old friends. “Let’s go hang out.”

  And just like that, Trey gets folded in as one of Garrett’s little pack, the bad boy alphas of Wolf Ridge High.

  * * *

  Present

  Sheridan

  Those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.

  The quote from my ‘daily wisdom quote’ calendar rolls through my head as I stride across the pitted parking lot. My heels crunch on broken glass and I grit my teeth. I’m here under duress. If I ruin my favorite pair of Jimmy Choos on this fool’s errand, I am going to be really pissed.

  You can do it, sweetheart. This was just one line from my father’s pep talk. The pack’s counting on you, was another. I hear the unspoken addition: I’m counting on you. If there’s anything thirty years of life have taught me, it was that I’ll do anything to make my dad proud. Including walking back into a scene from my high school days.

  Apparently, I didn’t learn anything from the past, because here I am, repeating it. Come to think of it, my dad gave me that damn ‘daily wisdom quote’ calendar.

  A rundown warehouse looms across the gravel lot, rising from the cracked concrete. A line of motorcycles lean in front of a broken chain link fence. A few beat up pickup trucks break up the endless row of leather and chrome. I pass one mud-spattered Chevy, a rusty replacement door adding a splash of color to the battered blue. A faded bumper sticker features a howling wolf. Another: a dog with its leg cocked, a telltale arc of liquid splashing on a Ford symbol.

  Charming.

  As I approach, the door slams open and a shifter staggers out, his matted mane of hair and sweat stained shirt reeking of beer, piss and pot. At 6 p.m. on a Wednesday.

  Lovely.

  “Excuse me.” I’d touch his arm to get his attention, but I don’t know where he’s been. “Is this the shifter fight club?”

  The shifter dude gapes at me, and I stiffen. I’m dressed in an Anne Klein suit and skirt. The olive tone makes the caramel and chestnut highlights in my hair pop and my green eyes look amazing. Paired with the sheerest of sheer stockings and my lucky Jimmy Choos—I’m business up front, yowza in the back. And sexy as fuck underneath.

  Not that this trifling shifter wolf will ever know it. His gaze roams from my shiny shoes to my elegant skirt to my rather generous hips, detouring around the tailored cut at my waist and stalling right at my girls.

  “Hey,” I snap. “My eyes are up here.”

  The shifter looks higher. “Is it a full moon?” he leers. “‘Cause I got the urge to mate right now.”

  A bad pick up line. Awesome.

  “No,” I bark, no longer willing to waste politeness on this moron. “I’m looking for—”

  Behind the shifter, the door swings open, and rock music blasts into the sunny day. A drunken howl fills the air. “Drink, drink, drink, drink!”

  Just like that, I’m back in high school.

  A keg in the woods, bare-chested shifter boys doing handstand
s. My heart flutters as I walk up to one. The beautiful troubled one with the ice blue eyes. He turns as I approach, a smile lighting his rugged face. It takes my breath away...

  “Lady? Lady…” Beer-soaked breath on my face makes me step back. “I wouldn’t go in there if I was you,” the wolf informs me solemnly. Great advice. Too bad I can’t take it.

  “This is Fight Club?” I ask, and when he nods, I hit the door with my palm, sucking in a breath and holding it as I enter the murky underworld.

  It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Dust motes hang suspended in the smoky air. To the right, a shifter stands behind a makeshift bar, slinging drinks to his rowdy patrons. A group of leather-clad jackals slam shots. A few sway. One stands on a metal stool, singing a drinking song that sounds vaguely Irish. I can’t tell because he’s slurring and cussing every other word.

  The place is cavernous, with a concrete floor and light sifting in from windows near the ceilings. Whoever converted this warehouse didn’t do a bad job. The bar and the backsplash are made of recycled wood. There are a few tall tables, metal topped with more polished wood. Not bad looking, actually. Give this place a good cleaning—maybe a powerwash—and it would look trendy, a hipster brunch spot. Of course, you’d have to change the bathroom signs. Right now they read: Bitches and Studs.

  Enchanting.

  I roll my eyes and step aside as a prowl of jaguars brush by, heading to the bar. They have their dark hair slicked back and collars up like wannabe 50s greasers. A few look back at me with casual interest and I fight not to roll my eyes again.

  I do not fit in here. For one thing, I’m the only one in a suit. For another, I’m a she-wolf. There aren’t many females in this place. A few bitches maybe. Well, I can be a bitch, too. I set my teeth into half smile, half snarl, and stride into the shadows. More shifters stand in clusters, muttering together. One points to a notebook, and his companion pulls out a wallet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see bills change hands. I nearly stop and stare at this blatant proof of gambling.