The Traitor Alpha's Daughter

The Scarlet Lounge

Wren’s POV

When Kat Morrison shows up at my door on Saturday night, she looks… well… different.

Don’t get me wrong—she’s still not my type. Nor do I foresee myself being able to shake my constant thoughts and concerns for Alina away, no matter how good another girl looks.

But she does look good.

“Kat,” I manage, rubbing my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

She bats her eyelashes sweetly at me. “I’m taking you out. A group of us are going to the Scarlet Lounge, and I think you should come.”

I glance behind me, toward the living room, where my mother is doing a little late-night work. She definitely heard Kat say that. To my surprise, she gives me an eager nod.

My poor, naïve mother.

“How do you even know where I live?” I ask Kat, thinking back to Alina’s warnings about her. Should I be worried? How could I possibly be afraid of someone so… blond? And tiny?

She grins. “I have my ways. Don’t worry about it—just go and get dressed. No sneakers, no shorts. Meet me out at my car.” She winks at that and adds, “It’s the Beemer.”

- - - - -

I should have said no.

I should have listened to Alina. I should have thought about the fact that Brett and Marc will likely attempt to kill me if they find out I did this.

But I never really even considered saying no, if I’m being honest. Ever since my dad died, I’ve had this reckless streak where I don’t really care what happens to me. What do I have to lose? It would suck to hurt my mom if something happened to me, but other than that… who cares?

I recognize a few of the people waiting for us in the parking lot, but not many. They all look a little like Kat, I notice—light skin, light eyes, strikingly beautiful, and rather... lightweight.

“Kat,” says one of them—a taller, older gentleman who looks to be in his late thirties. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Just having a little fun,” she says cheerfully as she reaches to squeeze my arm. Her skin is uncomfortably cold, but I try not to show it. “This is Wren—the guy I told you about.”

She’s been telling people about me? We’re about as far from “dating” as it gets; I barely know her.

“Right,” the man says, giving me a cold nod. “I’m Atlas. Try your best to behave in there. If you’re a guest of the Morrisons, you should act the part.”

There it is again—this Morrison/Taylor nonsense. Is everyone in this town related? Obviously Alina isn’t a Taylor, from the way she was talking about them—and from the fact that she’s dating the head honcho of the tribe. But Atlas—what a stupid name—seems to be implying that everyone around us is a Morrison.

My rebellious side wants to tell him to go f**k himself, but given that I’ve already pissed off half the town’s powerhouses (according to Alina), I decide to play it a little safer with the other half, for my mom’s sake. So I smile through closed teeth and say, “Yes, sir.”

I follow my new “friends” inside then—skipping, I might add, the entire, hundred-foot queue of people waiting to get in.

Kat doesn’t release my arm the whole way inside. As soon as we reach the interior, she drags me to the bar, where she orders each of us a vodka-tonic. No one asks me for any kind of identification; it’s readily apparent that I’m “in” by association.

“Come on,” she says when we have our drinks. “Let’s dance.”

I’ve been to clubs before. I’m from New York City, after all; I’ve easily been to a hundred clubs. But there’s something about this one that’s different. It’s… louder, somehow. The lights are brighter, contrasted against the blackest of blacks. The air is sweatier. The vibe is… almost surreal.

Kat is a good dancer, but someone else catches my eye early into our dancing—someone whose moves put everyone else’s to shame. Watching her is like watching a painting coming to life—a true work of art.

It’s not until the spotlight shines down on her and illuminates her silhouette that I realize who it is—-and I freeze in my tracks.

“Ugh,” says Kat when she sees who I’m looking at. “I swear, she follows me everywhere. Just ignore her.”

As if I could possibly ignore the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen, wearing little more than a slip of a dress and moving like she could send J-Lo packing.

She’s with Noah, of course. He wasn’t there when I first saw her, but it only takes him about three seconds to clock me watching her, come over to her, and stick his paws all over her.

That’s when she notices me for the first time and instantly stiffens as much as I did when I saw her.

I have an effect on her. I’m not sure exactly what that effect is, but it’s undeniable.

She doesn’t look away from me when our eyes meet. It’s almost like she can’t look away from me. There’s so much emotion in her gaze, I can hardly keep up. Fear; shame… but also lust. That’s for me, right? It has to be for me.

I’m certainly feeling it for her.

“Hey,” snaps Noah, shoving her behind him and stepping between her and me. “The f**k are you doing here, man? Care to stop ogling my girlfriend?”

I make a move toward him, but Kat stops me with surprising force, stepping between me and him. “He’s with me, Noah. Back off.”

A straight-up growl—I’m talking, the kind of sound you might hear from an animal—emits from him at that. “Not a good idea, Kat. Do you know who this guy is?”

“Sure,” she says cheerfully. “He’s the new kid from New York. What’s it to you?”

Before he can answer, Atlas steps in—the older guy from outside. “Easy, kids. Let’s not make a scene here.”

Noah’s expression darkens. “We’re not children, Atlas.”

“We’re not children,” Atlas corrects, gesturing to himself, Kat, and Noah. “But it appears that both sides have chosen to bring kids to the adults’ table.”

He’s referring to me and Alina, I realize.

Well, he’s not entirely wrong. Only… how is Kat any older than me or Alina? How does that compute?

“Kat needs to be checked,” says a guy from Noah’s right—an older guy who looks even creepier than Noah himself. “None of us should be fraternizing with… them.”

He’s talking about me, I realize. I’m… “them.”

What the f**k does that mean?

“Tell your little pet Alina to take her Beta’s advice, Tav,” snaps Kat at the man. “She was flirting with Wren long before I was.”

Noah back-hands Kat so quickly, I nearly miss it. Within a split second, Atlas straight-up clocks Noah in the face. From there, it’s a free-for-all—Morrisons jumping on Taylors, Taylors decking Morrisons, and people I’ve never even seen before breaking out in all-out brawls.

It’s not until I receive a flying punch to the gut that I feel Alina’s hands on me.

“Come on,” she whispers into my ear, wrapping a warm, calloused hand around my wrist and pulling me to my feet. “It’s not safe for you here.”