Page 4 of Targeted By Temptation
When it came to my alpha father, it was hard to think of a single redeeming quality. My job was to follow his rules. I played my role well. I even dressed college up as something to benefit him. I got my perfect grades in school, and I excelled at my sports—not that my classmates considered them sports.
I wasn’t playing football or track. No. I was a marksman and an archer, and I was really good at both. At one time, I’d even been actively recruited to prepare for the Olympic teams. For a split second, I thought it might be my way out. I’d been wrong.
My father wanted no part of that and forbade me from any competitions that year. He said it was bringing too much attention to me. At the same time, he demanded I practice and practice and practice. I did, but nowhere near to the extent he wanted. Both sports came naturally to me, like I was born to hit the targets.
But just like my omega dad years earlier, I was looking for a way out, and my skills gave me that… at least temporarily. In my dreams, I would go to college, get my degree, and break free. The break-free part wasn’t something I ever believed would come true, but I needed it there, dangling like a carrot to keep me from giving up.
I hadn’t been under any illusion that my father would pay for my college, at least not one I’d want to attend. He’d have me go local so he could keep his thumb on me. That was where all that practice and skill paid off. I not only got a full-ride scholarship that included my room and board, but I got a stipend too.
No longer was I making A’s to avoid my father’s wrath. I was doing it as my way out. Four years in, I got my degree and immediately rolled that into a master’s program.
My father didn’t like it. He said I had family obligations. I knew exactly what “family obligations” he meant. He wanted me to be in a political marriage. That was another thing he never hid from me, not even when I came home talking about a kid at school I “liked” in kindergarten. I’d only meant I made a friend, but my father took it as an opportunity to explain to me that I was neverto date unless he arranged it. Who does that to a little kid? Only my father.
I was born to marry someone who would help him gain power. It was disgusting. It was also my fate. I spent years looking for an escape route. There were none. I was and would always be trapped until he took his last breath.
Every time I thought a door to freedom was opening for me, it would close before I could take my first step. My father didn’t pretend it wasn’t him orchestrating the “missed opportunities.” He was making sure that I followed his plan and reminding me that I was only as free as I was by his kindness.
We had very different definitions of what kindness was. I hated him. I hated him so much.
He used school breaks as a way to shop me around the appropriate circles. It wasn’t even that I hated the people. I didn’t. In fact, I quite enjoyed spending time with the daughter of the local senator, in particular. Under any other circumstances, we’d probably have become good friends. But she, like me, was trapped in a social status that stole all autonomy from us.
That was the only failed pairing I was sad about. We weren’t a love match by any means, but together we might’ve been able to have a decent life. To this day, I don't know what went wrong with that particular negotiation, because make no mistake about it, we were part of a business deal. It wasn’t the two of us, though. We’d have gotten married without argument for the sake of being each other’s safe space.
Whatever it was, something went terribly wrong, and needless to say, the senator was no longer a senator, and that had my father’s fingerprints all over it.
During my last trip home, it wasn’t the child of a politician or billionaire. Nope. My father went straight to the freaking mafia boss. There was no pretense of being a “match,” either. He sent his righthand man in his place. I never saw his face, but from what my father said, he liked mine.
Gross.
Please don’t let him be the reason I’m being beckoned home.
3
EZRA
Three hours.
I'd been sitting in this glorified waiting room for three damn hours, and still no sign of Viktor Stravon or whoever he'd designated to receive the treaty.
If Boaz had come himself, there was no way they’d show him similar disrespect, but as I was the Alpha’s younger brother, they were giving me the finger. Damn them.
I glanced around the room, something I’d done a hundred times during the last 180 minutes. Either they were hurting financially more than I’d assumed or they used the barebones set-up to intimidate anyone who visited the Alpha. It reminded me of a prison waiting room and consisted of bare concrete walls, one small window with bars, and furniture that could have been salvaged from a dumpster.
My wolf was clamoring to leave and spend time shifting and hunting rather than being cooped up in this awful place, but there were two Stravon pack members standing guard by the door with their arms crossed. They hadn't said a word sinceshowing me in here, and I hadn't bothered trying to make conversation. If I didn’t have a wolf inside me, I’d be intimidated by their stance and their silence.
This was a power play on the part of the Alpha. It was so petty, but Boaz would understand the tactic, as he did petty better than the rest of our siblings. They were hoping that making me wait would show me and Boaz that even though we had them in a vice, they were asserting control. Though I was irritated and wanted out of here, I got it. They were using what little power they could muster to say, “While on pack land, you will do our bidding.”
Can we go now?
No. Boaz said there should be no confrontations and no violence. If I bounce out of here without completing my task, Boaz will bleed me dry.
My wolf complained that Boaz was such a stickler for the rules.
And you’re not?
Pfft.
Fed up with sitting on the hard chair, I got up and stretched, which attracted the guards’ attention. Their hands gravitated to their weapons, confirming their reputation for violence. But again, if I put myself in their place, I would’ve done the same.
