Chapter 3

ISLA’S POV~

My brain was trying to catch up. This didn't make sense. Maddox was the monster. He was the one who started this. Three years ago, he was my boyfriend. Then he found out and he turned into a stranger who looked at me like I was something he scraped off his shoe.

He led the pack of bullies against me. He led the humiliation. So why was he standing between me and Bella like a shield? Why did he look like he wanted to tear Bella’s throat out for touching me?

It felt like a trap. It had to be. Maybe this was a new game. Break the toy, then fix it, just so you can break it again.

"Let her go," Maddox said. His voice wasn't even loud. It was the type of voice an Alpha uses when he’s about to bite. "And listen to me, Bella. You don't touch her. You don't look at her. You don't breathe in her direction. Is that understood?"

I saw Bella’s feet shift. She was shifting her weight, nervously. I could hear her sharp intake of breath. She wasn't used to being spoken to like that by him. They were supposed to be on the same team.

"Maddox, I was just—" she started, her voice trembling.

"I don't care what you were doing," he cut her off."I said, is that understood?"

There was a long silence.

"Yes," Bella whispered. She sounded small. "Understood."

I lifted my head just an inch. I saw Bella look down at me. Her eyes were filled with pure hate. She looked like she wanted to kill me. She nodded at Maddox, and then she spun around. Her friends scrambled after her, the sound of their footsteps fading down the hall.

Then it was just us.

The door clicked shut.

Maddox turned around slowly. He looked down at me. I was still on the floor, looking like a drowned rat. I expected him to laugh.

Instead, he reached out a hand.

I stared at it. My heart hammered against my ribs. Don't take it, my brain screamed. This is the hand that pushed you down the stairs.

But my body moved on its own. I reached up. My hand was shaking. His fingers closed around mine. His grip was tight. He pulled me up like I weighed nothing.

I stood there, swaying. I didn't pull my hand away because he wasn't letting go. He pulled me closer, just a step, so I had to look up at him. He was so tall. He blocked out the light from the window.

He looked at my face. He looked at the wet hair sticking to my cheeks. He looked at the red marks on my neck where Bella had grabbed me. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

"You know what this means, right?" he asked.

I shook my head slightly. I couldn't speak. My throat was closed up.

"I just saved you from Bella," he said. He let go of my hand, but he didn't step back. He crowded me against the sink. "And I don't do things for free, Isla. You know that."

I swallowed hard. "I... I didn't ask you to."

"Doesn't matter," he said. A dark smirk touched the corner of his mouth. "You owe me now. You owe me a favour. A big one."

My chest locked up. A favour?

I looked at him. He was a Black Star Pack heir. He had money, power, an army behind him. I was nothing. I was the daughter of a traitor. I had nothing to give him.

What kind of favour?

My mind raced through the worst possibilities. He would make me steal for him. He would make me hurt someone. Or... my stomach dropped. He would make me do something with my body.

Was this him collecting the rest of the debt?

"What... what kind of favour?" I whispered.

He just looked at me. He leaned in, his face inches from mine. I could smell mint on his breath. "I haven't decided yet," he said softly. "But when I do, you better be ready to pay. Because I always collect."

He stepped back.

"Clean yourself up," he said, turning his back to me to check his phone. "You look like hell."

I stood there, frozen.

The school bell rang. It echoed off the tiles and made me jump.

It was the signal that the hallway was about to be full of people. I couldn't be here with him. If anyone saw us...

"I have to go," I blurted out. My voice cracked.

I didn't wait for him to answer. I turned and ran.

I pushed past the stall doors and bolted for the exit. My wet shoes squeaked on the floor. I kept my head down, I felt tears burning behind my eyes.

---

I slipped through the door just as the class was ending. But I was late. My thighs were burning, the wet denim of my uniform was sticking to the open sores. Every step I took made a wet, squelching sound against the linoleum.

Mrs. Gable was at her desk, shoving papers into a leather bag. She looked up. She saw me. She saw the wet hair plastered to my forehead, the dark stains on my shirt where the mop water had soaked through to the blood, the way I was holding my side because my ribs felt like they were grinding together.

She didn't ask if I was okay. She didn't ask what happened. She just stopped packing and looked at me with a expression that wasn't even disgust.

Then she turned to the class. The room went quiet.

"Before you all leave," she said, her voice projecting to the back row, "I want to remind you of the dress code. And basic hygiene." She didn't look at me, but I felt the weight of her words. "We are wolves. We are predators. We are not... scavengers. If you look like you've been dragged through a sewer, do us all a favor and stay home. It is distracting to the other students. It lowers the tone of the entire pack."

She picked up her bag.

I felt heat rush up my neck, burning my ears. I kept my head down, staring at my wet shoes. I wanted to sink into the floor.

I heard a sound from the third row. A snicker that was very cruel.

I glanced up. Bella was looking at me. She wasn't angry anymore. She looked... amused. She caught my eye, held it, and let out a little laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. She looked satisfied. The teacher had done her dirty work for her.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I sat down at the empty desk in the back, the one no one wanted, and pulled my hood up.

Hours dragged by.

I waited for the shove. I waited for the trip in the hallway. I waited for whispers. But it didn't come.

Bella walked past me in second period. She didn't even look at me. It was like I was a ghost. The girls with her didn't laugh. They looked straight ahead, terrified of something.

Perhaps Maddox’s threat had worked.

And the quadruplets... they were gone. Their seats in the front row were empty. I tried not to look at them, but the absence was loud. They were top scholars. Alphas in training. They didn't need to be here if they didn't want to be. The fact that they weren't here meant I could breathe. Just a little.

I started counting.

I looked at the clock.

Nine more hours until the sun went down and the moon came up. Nine hours until my birthday officially started. Until I turned fully eighteen.

My wolf was waiting. I could feel her pacing in the back of my mind. She was angry. If I could just shift... if I could just let her out...

I wouldn't be the daughter who takes the beatings. I wouldn't be the girl who gets mocked. I would be teeth and claws and speed. I could run. I could fight. I could tear out throat of anyone who came near me. I could finally go back to that house and make my father regret every single time he raised his belt.

The thought of the gun under my pillow flashed in my mind. I had stolen it from his study a month ago. I had bullets hidden in a shoebox.

If I shift... if I’m strong enough...

The day blurred. I kept my head down. I didn't even speak.

Finally, the final bell rang.

I grabbed my bag. My hands were shaking, not from fear this time, but from anticipation.

I walked out of the building. The air was cooler now. The courtyard was full of students, laughing, shouting. I kept to the edge of the wall to stay invisible.

I was almost at the gate. I could see the street outside. I could see a taxi.

Then two shadows fell over me.

They didn't just step in front of me; they blocked the sun. They were tall. Broad. The air pressure changed instantly, dropping so hard my ears popped.

I stopped dead. My heart didn't just sink; it stopped beating entirely.

I knew who it was without looking up. I knew the way they stood. Legs apart, their weight shifted, radiating arrogance.

I slowly lifted my eyes.

Black leather jackets. Dark jeans. Matching cold, predatory smiles. Slade and Brock.

They weren't in class. They were waiting. They were standing right in front of the exit.

Slade looked down at me, his eyes dark and empty. Brock was leaning against the gate, blocking the only way out, twirling a set of car keys around his finger.

"Cut the chase, Isla," Slade said. "We know it’s your birthday. We’re here to celebrate. Take us home."

It wasn’t even a request. I knew that. I stared at my hands. They were shaking in my lap. My father wasn't home. If I took them there, I was leading wolves into the sheep pen. But if I didn't... I looked at the knife in Brock’s hand.

I thought of the gun. It was under my pillow. If I could get to it... if I could just get to my room...

"Okay," My voice sounded dead. "Follow me."

---

The drive was short. When we pulled up to my house, the paint was peeling off the porch. The yard was a mess of weeds. It was a dump compared to the mansion they lived in.

"Charming," Brock muttered, getting out of the car. He stretched, his joints popping. "Fitting for a mutt."

I walked up the steps, my legs feeling like lead. I unlocked the door. The house smelled like dust. It was quiet. Too quiet.

"Where's Daddy?" Slade asked, pushing past me into the living room. He kicked a pile of laundry with his boot. "Oh, wait. I forgot. He doesn't care about you."

"Upstairs," I said, my throat tight. "My room is upstairs."

I led them up. The carpet was threadbare. I could feel their eyes on my back, burning holes through my shirt. When we got to my room, I pushed the door open.

It was small. A twin mattress on the floor, a cheap dresser, and a desk piled with books. The sheets were gray and thin. There were no posters on the walls. Just scars and marks where I’d hit the wall when the pain got too bad.

Slade walked in and poked the mattress with his toe. "Jesus. Do you sleep on rocks?"

Brock went to the dresser and started opening drawers. He pulled out my underwear that was worn thin from too many washes. He held them up by the elastic, snapping them against his palm.

"Look at this," he sneered. "No wonder everyone likes your body, Isla. You dress like a nun. It makes a man wonder what you’re hiding."

I stood frozen. I didn't pick them up. I stared at the pillow. The gun was right there. Inches away. If I lunged...

But Slade was blocking the door. He was too big. Too fast.

"She's not cooperating," Brock said, his voice dropping an octave. He turned to me, and the playfulness was gone. His face was hard, cruel. "We came all this way for a party, Isla. You’re the host. Act like it."

He grabbed my arm and shoved me. I stumbled back onto the bed. The mattress was hard against my spine.

"Side," he ordered.

I didn't move. I couldn't. My brain was screaming run, but my body was paralyzed.

Slade laughed. He walked over and stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at me.

"She’s scared. That’s boring. We need to fix that."

"Look at me," Slade commanded.

I lifted my chin. His eyes were dark, dilated, focused entirely on my chest.

"You dress like a nun," he murmured, stepping closer until his thighs brushed my knees. "But let's see what's under the wrapping."

He reached out with his free hand and grabbed the collar of my shirt. He didn't tear it. He just pulled it down, hard. The fabric strained against my throat, then gave way, exposing the top of my chest and the lace cup of my bra and then went ahead to unbuckle his belt.

"Slade, don't," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Shut up."

He didn't stop. He brought the bunched-up panties up and pressed the rough cotton directly against my breast, right over the nipple. He started to rub.

It should have hurt. It should have felt disgusting.

But my body betrayed me instantly.

The friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. My back arched involuntarily.

“Good. Now stay calm and be a good girl and don’t bite.”