Page 94 of Marking Mia

I clench my jaw, my breathing slow but measured. Every instinct in my body cries out one thing:end Justin.

thirty

. . .

Finn

The apartment reeks of stale beer and disappointment.

I sit motionless in the darkest corner of the living room, my body coiled with anticipation, watching the faint blue light of the PlayStation console pulse like a dying heartbeat. Justin’s scent lingers here—sweat, cheap cologne, and an underlying sourness that makes my wolf bristle beneath my skin. The messages he sent Mia flashes through my mind again, each word feeding the rage simmering in my veins.

Soon. Soon, he’ll walk through that door, and I’ll show him exactly what happens to men who threaten what’s mine.

I’ve been waiting for three hours, perfectly still, perfectly patient.

Wolves know how to hunt. They know how to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

Beer cans litter the coffee table. Unwashed dishes pile in the sink. A half-eaten pizza sits congealing in its box. This is where he kept her. This is the prison Mia called home before we found her.

My phone sits heavy in my pocket as I remember his textsto her over and over. I had taken pictures of them and saved them to my phone.

We agreed to give Justin a warning—one chance to disappear from Mia’s life forever. But he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t stop himself from trying to reclaim what was never truly his.

The console blinks in the darkness, casting strange shadows across the walls. I note the expensive headset dangling from the edge of the couch and the stack of new games beside the TV. So this is what he spent her money on while she worked double shifts, came home exhausted, and cooked and cleaned for him. While he tore her down piece by piece until she believed she deserved nothing better.

My nostrils flare, catching a new scent—fresh air and cigarette smoke. Footsteps in the hallway. A jingling of keys.

He’s here.

I sink deeper into the shadows, my body so still I barely breathe. The lock turns. The door opens. Light from the hallway spills across the threshold, and then he’s there, silhouetted against the brightness. Justin. Smaller than I remembered. Scrawnier. Hair disheveled and clothes rumpled. He reeks of alcohol and another woman’s cheap perfume. My lips curl into a silent snarl. This pathetic human thinks he owns my Mia while he sleeps with others.

He flicks on the light, blinking against the sudden brightness. He doesn’t see me at first. He takes a few shuffling steps into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him, and tosses his keys onto the kitchen counter with a clatter.

It’s only when he turns toward the living room that his eyes find me in the corner.

The moment stretches between us, frozen in time. His eyes widen, pupils dilating with fear. I can hear his heartbeat accelerate, the sharp intake of breath as recognition dawns.Then panic—pure, animal panic—as he remembers who I am and what I promised him the last time we spoke.

“Holy shit!” he gasps, already turning back toward the door.

I move faster than his human eyes can track. One moment, I’m in the corner; the next, I’m between him and the exit, my hand closing around his throat before he can scream. I lift him easily, his feet dangling inches above the floor, watching dispassionately as his face reddens.

“Hello, Justin,” I say, my voice dangerously soft. “Did you miss me?”

His hands claw at my wrist, fingernails scraping uselessly against my skin. I can smell the fear pouring off him in waves, sharp and acrid. It pleases my wolf; it makes him howl for more.

“We had an agreement,” I continue, tightening my grip just enough to make him understand how easily I could crush his windpipe. “Do you remember what I told you?”

His mouth works silently, eyes bulging. I loosen my grip slightly, allowing him just enough air to respond.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he gasps, his voice a broken rasp.

Wrong answer. My fingers flex, squeezing until his face turns purple.

“You were told to leave her alone,” I remind him, each word precise and cold. “No calls. No texts. No contact of any kind. Yet here you are, filling her phone with threats. With filth.” I lean closer, letting him see the predator behind my eyes. “I warned you what would happen if you broke our agreement.”

“Please,” he whimpers, tears streaming down his reddened face. “I was drunk. I was just upset. I didn’t mean?—”

I slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the cheapart prints hanging there. One crashes to the floor, glass shattering across the hardwood.

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