The Traitor Alpha's Daughter

For Your Sake

Wren’s POV

I’ll be straight with you here—I’m really f*****g confused about this place.

Why does it feel like everyone’s in on the same joke, but not sharing? Why do “cliques” around here feel more like “cults?” And what the hell is up with Brett and Marc?

I was holding my own, for the record. I mean, I probably would have ended up getting pummeled, and I appreciate Alina for stepping in, but I’m also feeling pretty emasculated.

Speaking of which, what kind of girl is able to overpower two different six-foot, two-hundred-pound guys? She doesn’t look freakishly strong. I mean, she looks fit as hell, but not like a f*****g bodybuilder.

“Have you done any research?” she asks me. “Talked to anyone about Noah or Brett and Marc?”

Not really. I did ask Kat a few questions, since she’s the only person besides Alina who’s been remotely friendly to me since my arrival here, but she was pretty vague and unhelpful—just told me to stay away from them, and Alina, if I knew what was good for me.

I’ll gladly stay away from them, but I’m not so sure I can stay away from Alina. After seeing what Noah did to her, how could I? Even now, the shiner he gave her fights its way through the makeup she tried to cover it up with. She’s miserable, and she needs help.

I’m just not quite sure how to help a girl who doesn’t claim to want it.

“Not really,” I admit. “What’s there to know? They’re assholes who think they’re in charge.”

“They are in charge. This town is run by two families, Wren—the Morrisons and the Taylors. And Noah is a Taylor—the Taylor.”

“What does that mean, though—‘the town is run by them’? Are you saying he’s, like... the mayor?”

She looks frustrated by my question—as if the answer should somehow be obvious to me. “No, Wren. Not the mayor. But he has more power than the mayor ever could.”

I'm not really sure what that means, but I have a feeling she's not going to get any more specific than that, so I move on to my next question. “When you said the Morrisons, did you mean like Kat Morrison?”

She nods. “Kat and her... family. I’m sorry the guys jumped you like that, but they were right to tell you to stay away from her. She’s bad news—even worse than Noah.”

I find it hard to believe that that tiny, little blond girl is all that dangerous, but I decide to move on to my next question. "Before they left, you told the guys that Kat was only talking to me to get under their skin. But why do they care if she talks to me?”

She bites her lip—a juicy, pink, extremely kissable lip that I now can’t stop staring at. “It’s... complicated. Let’s just say that where the Taylors use violence as their influencing tactic, the Morrisons use... charm.”

“I’ve gotta say, I prefer the Morrisons’ method.”

She laughs. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh, and I kid you not, it’s one of the greatest things I’ve ever heard. “Me, too.”

She’s not like the others—Noah, Brett, and Marc. She’s not really even like her friend Alice, though Alice seemed reasonable enough. Alina seems... kinder. Warmer. Smarter.

But… what does it all mean? Why is she with them? Why do any of them feel the need to “influence” anyone, whether by violence or by charm?

And how do one or two families have the power to rule an entire town without even being involved in politics? Sure, Noah might rich enough to buy that ugly ass Camaro, but it’s not like it was a damn Ferrari; surely he doesn’t literally “own” the town, right?

(Ironically, I have a Camaro, too. But it’s a classic—over thirty years old and rehabilitated from what were essentially spare parts. The last project my dad and I worked on together before he died.)

“Just... be careful,” Alina finally says. “These people aren’t like the criminals you know from back home. They might not seem scary to you now, but I promise they will eventually.”

I doubt that. Frankly, I still find them all laughable, even after they managed to get a few hits in. “And you?” I ask her. “When you tell me to be careful, are you telling me to stay away from you?”

The pain in her eyes is unmistakable. She resents her situation. She resents Noah. She resents her life.

So what’s stopping her from changing it?

“Yes,” she says, swallowing. “For your own sake, yes, I am.”

I should let it go at that, but I don’t. “What about for your sake?”

She smiles the prettiest, saddest smile I’ve ever seen at that and says, “My sake doesn’t matter, Wren. If you’d done your research, you’d know that, too.”

- - - - -

I think about Alina throughout my drive home, and I keep thinking about her all the way up until my mom gets home. In fact, I’m so lost in my thoughts about her, my mom has to shake me to snap me out of my trance.

“Sorry,” I say, reaching out to hug her. “How was work?”

Mom loves her job, and loves talking about work. She’s a museum curator, and has the time of her life picking out new material and putting together exhibitions. “It was incredible. I can’t believe how much unique history there is to this tiny, little town. And not just unique, but... I swear, some of it doesn’t seem factually possible.”

Right. The whole “paranormal activity” thing Kat mentioned. I really don’t have much patience left for this kind of nonsense.

That’s when she sees my bruised face and gasps. “Wren! What happened to you?”

“I’m fine, Ma,” I assure her. “Just some guys who didn’t like me talking to one of their girls. No big deal.”

She thinks it’s a big deal, of course. This isn’t the first fight I’ve been in, and it always breaks her heart. “Did it happen at school? Were there witnesses?”

“No witnesses. No trouble with the school. It’s really okay.”

“Wren.” Her voice is stressed and stern. “You already have a record. You know that Winder High has you on probation based on that record. Surely you can be more careful?”

That part is also true. Before my dad died, I didn’t fight much—just a street brawl here and there with thugs who tried to mess with me—but afterwards, the fights became, well, a bit more commonplace. When I say we moved here for the museum, it’s not entirely true; it also had a lot to do with giving me a “fresh start.”

It’s going well so far, wouldn’t you say?

“I’ll be more careful,” I promise my mother.

And I go to my room to strategize what the hell to do about Alina.