The Rogue Alpha and His Stubborn Mate

04 Hot Danger

Nala.

I travelled to RavenClaw Pack territory. It was the farthest my resources could take me, but it was far enough.

Moving far away from my original pack was required to avoid being hunted down and dragged back.

For a Pack, the numbers matter. Therefore, alphas never let their pack members go, no matter how insignificant they may seem.

A runaway member meant the pack was one person weaker, and no alpha wanted that.

I was also a Gamma breed and a good fighter; it was only a matter of time before Alpha Caleb sent his men after me.

It didn't matter though. I planned to stay under the radar long enough to change my name.

The last thing I wanted was to live a rogue life, but my pack left me no choice. I knew I deserved better, and risking it all was my only way to self-discovery.

There was nothing wrong with being a rogue; they weren't just welcomed anywhere.

A name change and a new background story were required, and things like that took time.

For now, I planned to take a blue-collar job, something that didn't require much to get started while I figured out how to wire money out of the targeted accounts without it being traced. I was excited at the prospect of what could happen.

Running away was a daunting task, but I took solace knowing my uncle and his wife would be punished for it.

Alpha Caleb will blame them for being sloppy and causing him to lose a member. I have seen him do it to families of runaway wolves.

Sitting in the motel room I rented in Ravenclaw, I couldn't help but laugh and think about what would happen to them.

Would they be tied to a tree and flailed, too, or would they be humiliated? The possibilities were endless.

The sad part was I wasn't going to see it, and since I was a runaway, keeping in contact with the pack members would be stupid.

I was glad Riley wouldn't get in trouble after all. It was the least I could do for the delicious soup he brought me daily while I was locked up.

He was sweet, and I hoped he would man up one day. I doubt it, but there is no harm in hoping.

The motel room wasn't much, but it was good enough for me. I had it all planned out, and Ravenclaw was a big city. No one cared who you were, that much I could tell when I entered the city, and no one looked in my direction with curiosity.

Either they didn't care, or the people in Willow Bridge had issues minding their business.

I noticed a "bartender for hire" sign at the dive bar owned by the Motel where I was staying. I decided to apply and see if they would take me on. Despite being a full-stack developer and hacker, I figured there was no harm in serving drinks and keeping a low profile until I was sure it was safe.

The Owner of the Motel was nice; her name was Sarah McBride. She confessed that she wanted to offer me the job when I took the room at the Motel, but she didn't want to overstep. It was odd, but she seemed nice.

From her attitude, I knew I would have a blast there. She didn't ask me anything about my history, and I was a bit puzzled. It was odd to just take someone in and not ask personal questions, especially knowing they were new in town. I began to figure she knew I was a wolf gone rogue.

I still went by Nala but had to change my last name. Changing my first name would have been wise, but it would have been weird if the name had been called, and it took a bit for me to answer. That would be a dead giveaway.

My new last name was Nala Anvil. I had blurted out the first thing that came to my mind so it didn't seem like I was lying.

Sarah told me my shift would begin the evening of the next day, and I was grateful for the opportunity.

I spent the rest of the day stocking the motel room's mini kitchen with basic food, mostly canned noodles and bread. I would have to eat only when necessary for now, so I don't have to flush all my income down the toilet.

Yes, I know it's funny, but I came to realise a long time ago that spending too much money on food meant pooping money. All that stuff always ended up in the toilet. So, food to survive was all that I would require.

I resumed work at exactly six in the evening as instructed, and the job seemed straightforward. The Bartender I was taking over from showed me the ropes, and being a fast learner, I picked up everything quickly. I received a book of cocktail recipes, which made me a bit anxious since making cocktails required skills I hadn't yet mastered. I hoped the patrons would stick to beer, wine, spirits, and, at worst, Screwdrivers and Mojitos—those I could handle easily. The more complex drinks would take some time for me to learn.

The shift was going smoothly, and a few of the customers flirted with me. As long as they kept their hands to themselves and did not ask for anything inappropriate, I was fine, and the tips were good, too. If I got this lucky every day, I wouldn't need to spend my wages.

I was serving beer when the place suddenly went quiet. It was as if someone had gradually turned down the volume on the speakers. The chatter of customers faded abruptly, making me wonder what was happening.

I didn't have to guess for long. I looked at the entrance and saw three guys walk in.

Honestly, they were hot.

One had dark hair, one had brown hair, and the last one was blonde. They looked about twenty-seven or so. Their leather jackets and gloves suggested they were either bikers or some wealthy, dangerous criminals. They had black-inked tattoos on their arms, and the brown-haired guy had a tattoo running up his neck.

I was drawn to the dark-haired guy in the middle. He was a hard-looking man, but he was very hot and handsome. Just looking at him gave me butterflies, albeit I tried to hide it. His presence was imposing.

There was a dangerous look about him that made my heart jump. I guess I liked bad boys, after all.

I could easily tell they were alphas, all three of them, but the dark-haired, six-foot-seven buff guy in the middle was definitely their leader.

One thing was certain about them: they were dangerous, and the patrons were scared shitless. Who were they, and what were they doing here? The one in the middle locked eyes with me, and although I knew I should look away to keep a low profile, I didn't. I stared right back at him, meeting his gaze head-on. My stare could be daring, and I realised I was making the same mistake again. When he clenched his jaw, I knew I was in trouble, but I refused to look away. To me, averting my gaze would mean defeat, and defeat wasn't in my vocabulary. So, we found ourselves locked in a staring contest.