The air in this hallway smelled thick with worn leather, motor oil, and the heavy cedar scent of an Alpha. That scent belonged to the strongest wolf in California, the man who ran our garage businesses and ruled the highway corridor.
By club law, a wolfless mechanic like me was not even allowed on this carpet. Only the half-stitched leather Property Patch over my heart-a secret badge marking me as the President's claimed woman-kept the armed Enforcers at the stairs from throwing me out into the dirt yard.
We stopped in front of a heavy mahogany door that stood cracked open an inch. A soft, breathy laugh drifted through the gap, hitting my eardrums like a splash of freezing grease.
"Goddammit, don't stand out here like a kicked dog." Her voice came out low and scraped raw. "Get in there and see it with your own eyes. Your husband has another woman in his lap right now-in his office, in this clubhouse, on club time. And you're out here knocking."
She stepped aside to give me the door.
My grease-stained, calloused hand shook as I raised it. I pressed my palm against the rough wood, my knuckles turning ash-gray from the pressure, and shoved the door wide open.
The heavy hinges groaned loudly, shattering the quiet warmth inside the office.
In the dim light, my eyes locked onto the wide black leather couch. A massive, broad-shouldered man in a black shirt sat there, his muscular arm wrapped protectively around a petite woman in a pristine white dress.
An invisible fist closed around my heart, squeezing until my ribs ached. That man was my husband, the President of the Iron Fangs MC, Colt Mcclain.
Cradled against his chest was Jetta Pratt, our spoiled Club Princess whose late father had died fighting for this pack. Her arms were looped around Colt's neck, and her cheek rested right against his leather vest-his Cut-pressing over the stitched wolf-head patch that proved he owned every rider and dollar in this territory.
At the sound of the door, Jetta flinched like a startled rabbit. Then she lifted her head, her light brown eyes looking past Colt's shoulder to shoot me a cold, smug gleam.
She deliberately rubbed her wavy chestnut hair against Colt's stubbled jaw, her voice trembling as if she might break in half. "Colt... did we disturb someone?"
My throat felt packed with dry gravel. I balled my hands into tight fists at my sides, my skin turning ice-cold.
Harper shook with rage beside me. She lunged a step forward, pointing a trembling finger at the couch. "Colt! Is this how you stay loyal to your fated Mate-the woman the Moon Goddess tied to your soul?"
Colt finally turned his head. When his icy blue eyes met mine, a flicker of panic crossed his face before hardening into dark, brutal hostility.
He did not push Jetta away. Instead, he leaned back against the cushions and draped his thick forearm over the armrest, looking down at me like a king inspecting trash on his boots.
"Who gave you permission to walk down this hall?" Colt's voice dropped into a low, rumbling Alpha growl that vibrated in my chest bones and made my ears ache.
Those seven words hit me like a bucket of ice water poured from head to toe, washing away two years of silent obedience in the garage pit.
Jetta pressed a hand over the faded pink scar below her left collarbone and coughed weakly, leaning heavier against his chest. "Don't be mad at Carolynn, Colt. She just feels insecure without a wolf of her own..."
Wolfless. That was the word on my pack registry, and the reason Jetta could bare her teeth at me and call it pity. Only it was a lie.
I had been drinking herb tea thick enough to drown a scent since I was a kid-because the white wolf in my blood would have gotten me killed. So I kept her pressed down under engine grease, and let all of California believe the President of the Iron Fangs married a null.
Colt's dark brows pulled together. His gaze dropped to my oil-stained work pants, and his lip curled in cruel disgust. "Take your friend and get out. Stop embarrassing yourself in my office."
I stared straight into his cold face. A low-ranking wolf is supposed to drop their eyes and bare their neck when an Alpha barks, and I had spent two years looking at the floor. Not tonight. I held his gaze as the last warmth in my chest burned into dead ash.
I raised my right hand and gripped the half-sewn Property Patch over my heart, the thick leather straining under my fingers.
"Embarrassing myself?" My voice came out flat and steady, sounding like a stranger's.
Colt's gaze froze on my fingers. The muscles in his forearm locked up like iron cables.
"Then let's strip this fake skin right off," I said, speaking clearly into the dead silence of the room. "I want this patch off my vest, and I want our marriage contract torn up. Starting tonight, the woman who saved your life can have this seat in the open."
The air in the office seemed to vanish. Colt's breath stopped short, a sudden, raw panic cracking through the fury in his blue eyes.
Jetta's smug smile stiffened. She clearly never expected a lowly wolfless helper to give up the President's protection, and her fingers dug into Colt's shirt.
Colt shot to his feet, his six-foot-four frame blocking the overhead light as a wave of suffocating Alpha pheromones flooded the room. In two long strides, he reached me, grabbed the collar of my leather vest, and yanked me up until my boots barely brushed the floor.
"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" he snarled against my face. "Take that crazy talk back right now!"
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