Page 1 of The Alpha's Runaway Mate
ONE
JESSICA MCSWAIN
“Where the hell is this place?”I mutter, gripping the steering wheel. My beat-to-hell truck rattles every time I hit a bump, which is constantly, because apparently West Virginia doesn’t believe in paving roads or fixing the ones that were paved.
The GPS gave up forty-five minutes ago, it kept trying to redirect me down the same dead-end roads until the screen finally froze. Now it’s just me, the trees, and a growing suspicion I’m about to get murdered by a raccoon with attitude.
I’m looking for a bar calledSnarl. Yeah, weird name. But I overheard some guys at the grocery store mention the owner is desperate for help. A cash-paying job is exactly what I need: no questions, no paperwork, and no chance of anyone tracing me here.
I squint through the windshield, hoping for a sign. Literally any sign. Nothing. The woods look the same in every direction, dark, endless, whispering. God, why did I think this was a good idea? Oh right. Because I’m flat broke and desperate.
I pass a leaning mailbox with the name worn off. Beyond that, it’s all trees and fog. The kind of place where the air feels heavy, like it’s holding secrets. Every now and then I swear I see something move between the trees, something tall, but when I blink, it’s gone. Probably just my nerves.
“This is stupid,” I say to myself, because talking to myself is cheaper than therapy.
The steering wheel squeaks under my fingers as I take another random turn. If this bar even exists, it better come with free drinks and a life upgrade.
A memory flashes through my head of me, standing in that grocery store with my cheap can of soup, pretending to browse while eavesdropping on two old guys. “Nolan’s struggling to keepSnarlrunning while his brothers are outta town,” one of them said. That was all it took.
Snarl.It sounded... off. Dangerous, even. Which, honestly, fits my life right now. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the creepy chill creeping down my spine.
In another life, I’d be in some cute little southern town with a job at a coffee shop, maybe living above it in a tiny apartment with string lights and a cat. I’d bake muffins on weekends and learn everyone’s names. I’d fall in love with some guy named Hank or Greg, someone sweet who’d never hurt me. Someone who’d kiss my forehead in the mornings and make me coffee before work. Someone who’d call just to say he misses me, not to check where I am. Someone whose hands would never leave bruises, whose voice wouldn’t turn sharp when I said the wrong thing. We’d argue about nothing, about laundry or late-night dishes, and always make up before bed. It would be safe. Easy. Predictable.
That’s not the life I got. I learned a long time ago that love can look gentle one day and feel like a cage the next. So I stopped dreaming about safety. I stopped dreaming about love at all.
The road bends, and suddenly a dirt path veers off to the right. There’s a building at the end of it, a barn-looking place with a gravel lot and a crooked light flickering out front. My heart jumps.
“Please be it,” I whisper.
I pull in slow. The building looms in front of me, its wood weathered gray and scarred with scratches. The single hanging light buzzes like it’s one storm away from dying. No sign, no hours posted, nothing to say it’s even open. But my gut says this isSnarl.
I kill the engine and just sit there for a second. The air feels weird, too still, too watchful. “Okay, Jess,” I mumble, dragging in a breath. “You need this. Get the job, get the cash, get out.”
The pep talk’s weak, but it’s enough. I grab my purse, swing the door open, and step out. My boots crunch over gravel as I head for the entrance. The closer I get, the more it feels like the building itself is listening.
The front door’s thick wood, scarred with deep grooves that look... clawed? Four parallel lines, straight through the grain. I stop, tracing one with my fingertip. Smooth. Old. But too clean to be random. My brows knit. “What kind of animal does that?” I whisper, my voice barely a breath. The thought makes my stomach tighten, but I shake it off.
“You’re fine,” I tell myself, and pull the handle.
Inside’s dark enough to make my eyes work for it. The air smells like whiskey and cedar and something earthy I can’t name. There’s a long bar opposite the door, bottles lined up on dusty shelves. A couple tables are scattered around, a pool table off to the right under a low green light. And sitting at a table near the bar is a man. He’s the only one here.
He looks up when I walk in, and for half a second, I swear his eyes glow gold.
I blink, and then they’re a normal blue. Deep, cold blue. My stomach flips. Well, nothing to do now but commit to the bad idea. I start walking toward him like I own the place, even though my pulse is sprinting.
He watches me the way a wolf might watch something stupid enough to walk into its den. “Get out,” he says. His voice is deep, rough, like gravel wrapped in heat.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not complicated. Turn around. Get the hell out,” he growls.
Wow. Friendly. My fear spikes, but irritation catches up just as fast. I cross my arms, using sarcasm as armor. “Is this how you treat all your customers? Because if so, no wonder this place is empty.”
He doesn’t answer. Just leans back in his chair, watching me. Up close, he’s… a lot. All heat and muscle wrapped in quiet authority. Even sitting, he owns the space. Broad shoulders stretching the faded black T-shirt, long legs sprawled out like he doesn’t have a single doubt he belongs here. His dark hair’s a mess, like he’s been running his fingers through it all day without realizing it. A short beard shadows his sharp jaw, drawing my eyes to the curve of his mouth, firm, unsmiling, butdevastating all the same. He looks like a man built for hard work and harder nights, the kind of man you shouldn’t stare at but can’t look away from.
“Guess business isn’t booming,” I add, trying to sound braver than I feel.
He snorts. “Business is fine, sweetheart.”
