Dark Mafia Billionaire Rejected E-Book

Laura Dutton

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

Dark Mafia Billionaire Rejected is a raw, emotional werewolf romance about power, rejection, and what it costs to rise after being broken.

Kenna Hale was never meant to matter. Low-ranked. Ignored. Disposable.

Until the Moon made her the one mistake no pack could take back.
Rejected publicly by the Alpha heir at school, Kenna becomes a target overnight. Her bond is shattered. Her name turns into gossip. Her safety becomes negotiable. The pack that raised her turns cold, and the rules that were supposed to protect her suddenly don’t apply.

Then he steps in.
A dangerous billionaire with mafia ties, a past soaked in blood, and control over a city that fears his name. He doesn’t rescue Kenna out of kindness. He sees her as leverage, as opportunity, as something valuable everyone else was too blind to protect.
What starts as survival turns into something far more dangerous.
Kenna refuses to stay small. She refuses to beg. As packs clash, secrets surface, and enemies close in, she learns that rejection can either destroy you—or forge you into something unstoppable.
This is not a sweet love story.
This is not a gentle rise to power.

It’s about choosing yourself when everyone else throws you away.
It’s about love that costs blood.
It’s about wearing a crown that was never meant for you—and daring anyone to try to take it back.
Dark Mafia Billionaire Rejected is perfect for readers who love:

• Dark werewolf romance with high emotional stakes
• Mafia billionaires with dangerous loyalty
• Strong female leads who rise from rejection
• Slow-burn tension, power shifts, and hard-earned love
• Gritty, modern pack politics and street-level drama

This story doesn’t promise safety.
It promises consequences.

Leseprobe

Dark Mafia Billionaire Rejected

Laura Dutton

Copyright © 2026 Laura DuttonAll rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief quotations used in reviews or other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

Senior Year, Full Moon Problems

He Looked Me Dead in My Eyes

Rejected in the Hallway, Loud as Hell

Rumors Hit Faster Than Fists

Pack Rules Don’t Mean Nothing at School

I Caught the Scent I Wasn’t Supposed To

His Crew Rolled Up Like It Was War

“You Ain’t My Luna”

Blood on My Hoodie

The Rich Wolf With the Cold Smile

Mafia Money, Pack Secrets

He Bought the Problem—Me

Caught Between Two Alphas

A Kiss That Felt Like a Threat

On Sight: Pack vs. Pack

My Name Got Put on a List

He Pulled Up in a Blacked-Out Coupe

Kidnapped, But Not Broken

His Mansion Ain’t Feel Like Safety

The Mark Burned Like Hate

I Ran—He Let Me

Back Home, Nobody Wanted Me

The Alpha Who Rejected Me Came Begging

Billionaire Wolf Made a Deal in My Name

He Chose Me in Front of Everybody

Shots Fired Under a Full Moon

Truth Came Out Like a Knife

I Rejected Him Back, No Tears

He Dropped to His Knees for Real

My Crown, My Rules, My Revenge

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

The first time I saw blood on my own hands at school, it wasn’t mine.

It was his.

Brayden King stood in the middle of Westbridge High’s main hallway like he owned the whole building. Like he owned the air. Like he owned me too—until he didn’t.

His knuckles were split open, red shining against his light-brown skin. He didn’t even look bothered. Just wiped his hand on the side of his letterman jacket like he’d spilled soda.

Everybody cleared out around him, like the floor belonged to him and the rest of us were just lucky to walk on it.

I wasn’t lucky.

I was eighteen years old, a senior, and the lowest-ranked girl in the Ironjaw Pack. That’s what they called me. Low-rank. “Barely pack.” “Omega trash.” They never said it soft.

I had tight curls I kept shoved into a messy bun because I didn’t have time to make it cute. Not with a part-time job after school and a little brother to get home to. My body was lean from running everywhere, and my left eyebrow had a thin scar from a fight in middle school when a girl tried to jump me behind the gym.

I didn’t cry back then either.

I sure wasn’t about to start now.

The bell had just rung. The hallway was packed. Phones were already out. Of course they were. Westbridge didn’t care about homework or college apps as much as it cared about drama.

And today? Today was feeding time.

Tasha Nguyen was gripping my sleeve so hard her nails hurt through my hoodie. “Kenna,” she whispered. “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t walk over there.”

My name sounded small coming out of her mouth. Like she could keep me safe by saying it.

I tugged my sleeve back. “I ain’t scared.”

That was a lie. I was scared. I just didn’t let it own my face.

Brayden was the Alpha’s son. He was Ironjaw royalty. Captain of the varsity team. Pack heir. The kind of boy teachers smiled at even when he was wrong. The kind of boy the security guards looked away from.

The kind of boy who’d been in my dreams since I was thirteen.

Not sweet dreams, either. Those sharp ones. The ones where you wake up mad because the world isn’t fair.

Because deep down, every wolf learns early what the Moon can do.

It can bind you.

Or it can break you.

I shouldn’t have been here.

That’s the part nobody ever says out loud. The Ironjaw Pack had territory on the east side of the city—cracked sidewalks, old apartments, busted streetlights that flickered like they were tired. We weren’t a “pretty” pack. We were muscle. Work boots. Bite first. Questions later.

Westbridge High sat right on the line between Ironjaw land and the North Hills district, where the Silvercrest Pack lived in their gated homes and acted like they didn’t smell fear on everybody else.

Westbridge was supposed to be neutral. Supposed to be safe.

There were rules.

Rule one: no shifting on school property. Not even claws. Not even eyes.Rule two: no killing on neutral ground. Not even for “pack business.”Rule three: if a mate bond sparks, you handle it off campus, under pack supervision.

Those rules were written down. Signed by pack leaders years ago after a hallway fight turned into a massacre and the cops almost got too close to the truth.

The problem was, rules didn’t stop boys like Brayden King from doing whatever they wanted.

And today, the bond had sparked.

It hit me in third period. Chemistry. Of all places.

I was leaning over a worksheet, trying to keep my head down, when a scent slid under my nose like smoke. Warm. Dangerous. Like cedar and gasoline. Like heat off blacktop.

My hand froze around my pencil.

I didn’t even have to look up. My wolf knew. My body knew.

Mate.

I lifted my eyes slow, like if I moved too quick I’d shatter. Brayden was across the room, slouched back in his chair, laughing with his crew like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Then his eyes cut to mine.

And his face changed.

Not soft. Not surprised-happy.

Hard.

Like he’d just tasted something nasty.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away.

He stared at me like I’d insulted him just by breathing.

My stomach dropped so fast it felt like my bones moved with it.

Tasha had noticed, of course. She always did. She leaned in and whispered, “No way. No freakin’ way.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat locked up.

Brayden’s jaw flexed. His nostrils flared once, just once, and I caught it—his wolf pushing, pressing, rejecting the scent.

He stood up without asking to be excused and walked out like the teacher didn’t exist.

The bond didn’t stop. It didn’t fade. It clung to me, ugly and loud inside my chest.

By lunch, everybody knew.

That’s how it goes in a pack town. Somebody catches a look. Somebody smells something. Somebody texts it. Ten minutes later it’s all over Snap and IG like it’s a funny story.

“Omega got the Alpha heir as her mate??”“Moon must be drunk.”“Brayden better not claim her, that’s embarrassing.”“She gonna get herself killed.”

When the bell rang after fourth period, Brayden’s crew blocked the hallway like a wall. Big dudes. Pack boys. The kind that wore chains and carried themselves like they were already locked in.

And Brayden was right there in the center.

That’s where my prologue really starts. Right there. Right in the worst part.

He took one step toward me. Then another.

The whole hallway went quiet in that fake way, where the noise doesn’t stop but it pulls back. Like the building itself is listening.

Tasha slid in front of me like she could shield me with her small frame. “Back up,” she snapped. Her voice shook but she didn’t fold. “This ain’t the place.”

Brayden didn’t even look at her. His gaze stayed on me, cold and sharp.

“You,” he said. Just one word. Like he couldn’t stand saying my name.

I stepped around Tasha. “Say it.”

A few people sucked in air. Somebody muttered, “Oh damn.”

Brayden’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile but didn’t let himself. “You really think you can talk to me like that?”

“I can talk however I want,” I said. “Moon already did what it did.”

His eyes flashed—gold flickering behind brown. He reined it in quick. Cameras were out. Teachers were watching from doorways like they didn’t know what they were seeing.

He leaned closer. Low voice, so only me and a few nearby could hear. “You don’t get to wear that bond like it’s a prize.”

I felt the bond tug. I hated it for that. Hated my own body for reacting.

“You smell like trouble,” he said.

I swallowed hard. “You smelled me first.”

His face tightened. Like the truth hurt.

Then he lifted his voice. Not a shout, but loud enough for the whole hallway to catch it.

“I’m not claiming you.”

My ears rang. My wolf slammed against the inside of my ribs, panicked, angry, confused.

People started whispering right away. Quick, hungry.

Brayden kept going, like he needed to crush me all the way so nobody would ever question him.

“You ain’t my Luna,” he said. “You ain’t even pack-worthy.”

There it was.

Public.

Clean.

Mean.

I felt heat rush up my neck, not tears—rage. Shame tried to climb in too, but I shoved it down.

I took a step closer anyway. “So reject me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tempt me.”

“You already did,” I said. “Or you forgot you’re the one who stared first.”

One of his boys laughed. Another shook his head like I was stupid.

Brayden’s voice dropped again. “You don’t understand what you are.”

“I’m standing right here,” I said. “I understand plenty.”

His jaw popped. He looked past me like I was already gone. “Fine.”

Then he did the one thing a mate is never supposed to do on neutral ground.

He rejected me out loud.

“I, Brayden King of the Ironjaw Pack,” he said, voice steady like he’d practiced it, “reject Kenna Hale as my mate. I want nothing from her. I claim no bond. I take no tie.”

The hallway went dead. Even the whispers stopped, like everybody wanted to hear the sound of me breaking.

Pain hit so hard I didn’t bend—I locked up. It felt like somebody grabbed my chest with both hands and squeezed until the world tilted.

My knees tried to give.

I didn’t let them.

I stared at Brayden, waiting for something in his face to crack. A flicker of guilt. A twitch of regret.

Nothing.

He turned away like he’d just thrown trash in a bin.

And that’s when the real danger showed up.

Not Brayden.

Something else.

A deep voice rolled down the hallway from behind the crowd. Smooth. Calm. Not high school loud. Not pack-boy cocky either.

“Damn,” the voice said. “He really did it.”

People shifted, nervous, making space without even knowing why.

A man walked into view like he had no business being in a public school, and everybody felt it.

He wore all black. Not a hoodie. Not jeans. Tailored. Expensive. Clean lines. He looked mid-twenties, maybe. Older than us, way older in the eyes. Like he’d seen bodies and money and betrayal and never blinked.

His hair was dark, cut sharp. His skin was olive-toned. A thin scar ran along his knuckle like he’d fought with more than fists. He didn’t smile, but his mouth curved like amusement lived there anyway.

Two men followed behind him, broad and quiet, scanning the hall like security.

Brayden stopped mid-step.

For the first time, the Alpha heir looked unsure.

“Who the hell are you?” Brayden snapped, trying to sound big.

The man’s gaze slid to Brayden, then to me.

And when his eyes landed on me, my rejected bond didn’t spark.

Something else did.

Something heavier.

A pull that didn’t feel like teenage hormones or pack politics.

It felt like trouble with a bank account.

The man’s eyes dipped to my face, my hoodie, the way my hands trembled even though I was trying to hide it.

Then he spoke like he was talking to himself.

“That’s the girl.”

One of his men murmured, “Boss—”

He lifted a finger, silencing him without looking.

Brayden squared his shoulders. “This is pack business.”

The man took a slow step forward. “Nah,” he said. “This is mine now.”

A teacher finally found her voice. “Sir, you can’t—”

The man didn’t even glance at her. “Call whoever you want.”

He held my gaze like he was locking it down. Like he wanted me to understand something without saying it sweet.

“I’m Kade Moretti,” he said. “And you’re coming with me.”

My mouth went dry. “I don’t even know you.”

His eyes didn’t soften. “You will.”

Brayden moved fast, too fast. He grabbed my wrist like he owned it. Like his rejection didn’t count. Like I was still something he could control.

“Don’t touch her,” Kade said, voice low.

Brayden sneered. “Or what?”

Kade didn’t answer with words.

He answered with a gun.

Not pointed at me. Not at the crowd.

Straight at Brayden’s forehead.

The hallway exploded—screams, running, lockers slamming, teachers shouting.

Brayden froze. His crew froze. Everybody froze because the rules didn’t cover this.

No shifting at school.No killing on neutral ground.

But nobody said anything about a human weapon in a wolf hallway.

Kade kept the gun steady like it was nothing. Like he’d done this in nicer places than Westbridge High.

“Let her go,” he said.

Brayden’s fingers loosened, slow. Like letting go hurt his pride more than it hurt me.

I yanked my wrist back, skin burning where he’d grabbed me.

Kade lowered the gun like he was bored already.

Then he leaned in close enough that only I could hear him over the chaos.

“You don’t know it yet,” he said, “but that rejection just put a target on your back.”

My chest still ached. My wolf still whined inside me, wounded and furious.

I lifted my chin anyway. “So what? You here to save me?”

Kade’s gaze sharpened. “Save you? Nah.”

He stepped back, eyes sweeping over me like he was measuring how much pain I could take before I cracked.

“I’m here because you’re useful,” he said. “And because somebody tried to throw you away.”

His voice dropped, almost gentle, but not kind.

“I don’t waste things that belong to me.”

And right then, with my bond shattered and my whole school watching me fall apart, I realized the Moon wasn’t done with me.

Not even close.

Senior Year, Full Moon Problems

Senior year ended the second that gun showed up in the hallway.

Not because I got scared. Not because people screamed and ran like the floor was on fire. It ended because everybody saw me get tossed aside like I wasn’t worth keeping—then watched a stranger step in and act like I was his business.

Lockers slammed. Shoes squeaked. Somebody’s phone hit the tile and kept buzzing like it didn’t know the world just shifted.

Brayden stood stiff a few feet away, his face set like stone, like he hadn’t just ripped something out of me in front of half the school. His boys hovered behind him, wide and tense. Nobody moved too fast. Not with Kade Moretti holding a weapon like he had every right.

Kade didn’t yell. He didn’t have to.

“Walk,” he said, eyes on me. “Now.”

My mouth tasted like metal. Wrist still burned where Brayden grabbed me, but I wasn’t about to rub it in front of everybody like I needed comfort. That bond Brayden killed was still there in the worst way—like a bruise you can’t cover up.

Tasha pushed through the mess and grabbed my elbow. “Kenna, don’t. We can go to the office. We can—”

“You wanna argue in front of him?” I muttered, barely moving my lips.

Her eyes were bright, furious and scared at the same time. “I’m not letting some grown man kidnap you off campus.”

Kade’s gaze flicked to her, quick. Not soft, not cruel. Just measured, like he was deciding if she mattered.

“She’s not coming,” he said.

Tasha stepped closer to me anyway. “Like hell.”

One of his men—tall, shaved head, shoulders like a fridge—shifted his stance. He didn’t touch Tasha. He didn’t have to. His body said enough.

Kade kept watching me, not them. Like my choice was the only one that counted.

A teacher down the hall was yelling into a radio. “We need security! Now! There’s—there’s a gun!”

The word gun hit different when you grew up in Ironjaw territory. It wasn’t shocking. It was normal. But seeing it in school, out in the open, felt like somebody broke the last rule that kept the world pretending.

I swallowed and forced my voice steady. “If I go, she stays safe.”

Kade’s jaw moved once. “She stays safe if you move.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He stared at me like he was tired of games. “You want her safe? Tell her to go inside a classroom and lock the door.”

Tasha’s grip tightened. “Kenna, don’t do this. Please.”

A second ago, Brayden rejected me like I was dirt. Now my best friend was begging like I was about to walk into a van and disappear.

I leaned in close to Tasha, forehead almost touching hers. “Listen to me. Go to Ms. Paley’s room. Call my mom. Tell her to pick up Jace if I don’t show.”

Her face twisted. “You think you won’t show.”

“I don’t know what’s about to happen,” I said. “So do what I’m telling you. For him.”

Mentioning my little brother snapped her into focus. Tasha hated a lot of things, but she loved Jace. He was the one bright spot in our mess of a neighborhood.

She nodded once, angry tears held back by pure will. “If you don’t text me in ten minutes, I’m calling everybody.”

“Do it.”

I pulled my arm free and stepped toward Kade.

Brayden’s eyes cut to me. For a split second his stare looked sharp with something that wasn’t just hate. Then he wiped it off his face like it didn’t exist.

Kade didn’t look at Brayden anymore. The weapon stayed low now, not aimed, but still there. His men formed a loose wall as we moved, clearing space without pushing anyone. People backed up anyway.

The side exit sign glowed green above a door near the science wing. Kade guided me there with a hand hovering near my back, not touching, like he didn’t want to start a scene that dragged longer than it needed to.

Outside, the air hit cold and damp. Cloud cover sat heavy, but I could feel the pull of the moon even through it. Wolves didn’t need to see it to know it was coming.

The parking lot was half empty this time of day. A black SUV waited near the curb, clean and expensive. Tinted windows. No school sticker. No parent pickup line.

Kade’s driver opened the rear door like this was a fancy dinner, not a mess.

I stopped just short of the seat. “You gonna tell me why you’re here or you just gonna order me around like I’m one of your workers?”

Kade leaned in slightly. Close enough that his voice didn’t carry.

“That rejection did more than hurt your feelings,” he said. “It stripped you.”

My throat tightened. “I’m still standing.”

“Standing doesn’t mean protected.”

Something in my chest tried to flare—pride, anger, my wolf refusing to be pitied. I held it down. Not because I was weak. Because I wasn’t stupid.

Behind us, sirens weren’t close yet, but I could hear the school’s front doors banging open and voices spilling out. Security. Staff. Kids trying to get a better video.

Kade nodded toward the SUV. “Get in.”

I didn’t move. “I have a brother.”

“I know.”

The way he said it—simple, sure—made my skin tighten. Like he’d been watching me longer than today.

“My mom’s at work,” I said. “If I don’t get home, he’s alone.”

Kade’s eyes stayed steady. “Then we handle this quick.”

“Handle what?”

He looked past me for a second, scanning the lot, then back. “Ironjaw doesn’t like embarrassment. The Alpha doesn’t like his son looking stupid. You just got made into a problem in public. People will want you punished for it.”

“That’s pack politics,” I said. “You ain’t pack.”

Kade’s mouth shifted, almost a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m worse.”

A shiver tried to run up my arms. Not fear the way Tasha meant it. More like my body recognizing danger with money behind it.

I climbed into the SUV.

The leather seat was cold. Smelled like clean and expensive. Not like my hoodie that carried cafeteria fries and cheap detergent.

Kade got in beside me, smooth like he’d done this a thousand times. His men shut the door. The sound cut off the outside world so fast it felt unreal.

The SUV rolled out like nothing happened.

For a minute, neither of us spoke. The city slid past the tinted windows—graffiti walls, corner stores, kids skipping class near the bodega, the line where Westbridge pretended it wasn’t part of Ironjaw land.

My hands sat in my lap, palms open, so I wouldn’t ball them up and start shaking.

Kade watched me like he was reading a file in his head.

“You’re Kenna Hale,” he said.

“I know who I am.”

“Eighteen. Senior. Ironjaw omega.”

The word omega hit like spit. He said it flat, not mocking, but it still scraped.

I lifted my chin. “Say what you gotta say.”

“Full moon tonight,” he said. “Your pack locks down.”

“We do runs,” I corrected. “Controlled. Supervised.”

“Not for omegas,” he said. “For omegas, it’s stay inside, hope nobody decides to make an example.”

My jaw clenched. He wasn’t wrong. Ironjaw said it was for our safety. That’s what they always said.

The SUV turned into an underground parking structure attached to an office building downtown—glass and steel, too clean for my world. The driver parked near private elevators. No ticket. No security checks. Like this was owned.

Kade stepped out first and held the door. It wasn’t a gentleman move. It was a “you’re going where I say” move.

We entered a private elevator. No buttons, just a key swipe from one of his men.

“So what, you’re taking me to your lair?” I asked.

Kade’s eyes moved to my scar for a second, then back up. “Talk smart if you want. Just don’t talk loud.”

The elevator opened into a quiet suite with dark wood floors and walls that looked like they cost more than my whole apartment building. No receptionist. No waiting room full of people.

Kade walked straight to a window that looked over the city. He didn’t sit. He didn’t offer me water. He didn’t try to charm me.

Good. I didn’t want charm. I wanted answers.

“You said I’m a target,” I said. “For who?”

“For anybody who wants to use you,” he replied. “Your pack. Rival packs. Rogues that sniff weakness. Humans who think wolves are a rumor until they see claws.”

“We don’t shift around humans,” I snapped.

Kade’s gaze slid to me. “Some do.”

My stomach turned. A memory flashed—sirens in my neighborhood when I was nine, my mom’s face going blank, the pack telling us to stay inside. Don’t ask questions. Don’t talk.

I pushed it away before it could pull me under. “Why do you care?”

Kade finally turned from the window. “Because I’m building something. And Ironjaw sits on land I need.”

“So this is about territory.”

“Everything is about territory,” he said. “Money. Power. Packs. Streets. Same thing with different clothes.”

He stepped closer, slow, like he didn’t want to trigger me into bolting.

“You’re useful because you’re inside their world,” he said. “You know their habits. Their weak points. And now? You’ve got a public rejection on your back.”

My throat burned. “Stop saying it like I asked for it.”

Kade’s stare didn’t soften. “I’m not blaming you.”

Silence filled the room, thick and ugly.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a phone. Tapped once. Turned the screen toward me.

A picture of my apartment building.

Then another picture—Jace on the front steps, backpack too big, swinging his legs.

My whole body went tight. “What the hell is that?”

Kade didn’t flinch. “Proof I’m not guessing.”

Rage flared so hot I almost lunged for his phone. Not to hurt him. To smash it.

“You had someone watching my brother,” I said, voice low and shaking now, because I couldn’t hide that. “You sick—”

“Watching,” he cut in. “Not touching. He’s fine.”

“You don’t get to do that.”

Kade stepped even closer, close enough that the air between us felt thin. “I get to do what keeps my plans alive.”

“My brother isn’t your plan.”

“You are,” he said. “And your brother is how I know you won’t disappear on me.”

Hatred and panic tangled in my chest. Not the same pain as the bond dying. This was different. This was the feeling of being cornered by somebody who didn’t need fists to win.

I held his gaze anyway. “You want me to work for you.”

“I want you to survive,” he said, blunt. “Working for me is how you do that.”

“And if I say no?”

Kade’s eyes stayed steady. “Then you go home. Your Alpha hears about today. His people decide what to do with the girl who made his son look weak. Full moon comes. Things get messy. That’s the simple version.”

My voice came out sharp. “You’re threatening me.”

“I’m describing what’s already coming,” he said. “Threats are different.”

My hands were cold now, but my head was clear.

“Take me home,” I said. “If you’re so sure I’m in danger, then let me at least lock my brother inside and tell my mom what’s up. After that… we talk.”

Kade studied me like I was a puzzle he didn’t expect to respect.

One of his men—Rook, I remembered the name from Kade saying it under his breath—shifted near the door, waiting for an order.

Kade finally nodded once. “We do it your way. For now.”

“For now,” I repeated. “And your people back off my brother.”

Kade’s mouth tightened. “They’ll back off when you stop being a flight risk.”

I hated that he said it like it was logical.

The ride home felt longer. My neighborhood looked smaller after seeing his world up close. Like my whole life was a cheap copy of something real.

When the SUV pulled up, kids on the corner stared, already hungry for gossip. A black car like that didn’t belong here.

“Don’t get out and make a scene,” Kade said.

“I don’t make scenes,” I muttered. “I survive them.”

He didn’t respond. Just watched.

I went up the stairs two at a time. The hallway smelled like old carpet and someone’s burnt dinner. Our door stuck like always.

Inside, Jace was on the couch with his game controller, socks mismatched, hair a mess. He looked up like the world was normal.

“Kenna,” he said, grinning. “You late.”

“Had to handle something,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

He narrowed his eyes. “You in trouble?”

Kids know. They always know.

“No,” I lied. “Just tired.”

Jace hopped up and hugged me hard around the waist. That’s when I almost cracked. Not from sadness. From the urge to tear the world apart for touching him, even with a camera lens.

I held him tight for a second, then pulled back. “Go lock your window, okay? And don’t open the door for nobody.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

He didn’t argue. That’s how I knew my tone scared him.

A knock hit the door before I could breathe.

Three sharp taps.

Not a neighbor. Not a friend.

I moved Jace behind me and cracked the door just enough to see.

A pack runner stood there—Ironjaw colors under his jacket, eyes normal but his scent sharp with authority. He didn’t look at Jace. He looked right at me.

“Kenna Hale,” he said. “You’re summoned to the packhouse at sundown.”

My chest went tight. “For what?”

His mouth curled like he already knew and liked it. “You know what for.”

Behind him, down the hallway, the stairwell door was propped open.

And in that gap of shadow, Brayden King stood watching.

Not smiling. Not pretending. Just staring at me like he could still decide my fate even after throwing me away.

Then he stepped forward into the light, and his eyes locked on mine like he had something to say that didn’t belong in front of anybody else.

He Looked Me Dead in My Eyes

A gun don’t belong in a school hallway, but neither did what Brayden did to me.

The crowd had split like somebody dropped a match in gasoline. Kids ran. Teachers yelled. Lockers slammed. Phones kept recording anyway because Westbridge didn’t know how to stop feeding off mess.

I stood there with my wrist still burning from Brayden’s grip, my chest sore like something inside me got yanked loose and left hanging. It wasn’t the kind of pain you can rub away. It sat deep. Mean.

Kade Moretti’s pistol wasn’t pointed anymore, but the threat didn’t leave just because the metal lowered. His two men stayed behind him, quiet and wide, scanning like wolves without fur.

Brayden’s face had gone stiff. Not scared exactly. More like his pride was trying to decide if it could survive this.

“You don’t run this school,” Brayden snapped, voice too loud, like he needed everybody to hear he was still somebody.

Kade’s eyes didn’t even blink. He just looked at Brayden the way you look at a bug on your shoe.

“I don’t gotta run it,” Kade said. “I just gotta walk out.”

He shifted his gaze back to me.

That stare wasn’t like Brayden’s. Brayden looked at me like I was dirt he stepped in. Kade looked at me like I was a problem he already solved.

His eyes held mine, steady, and my body went still. Not because I wanted to. Because something in me knew moving wrong could get somebody hurt.

“Kenna,” Tasha’s voice cut through the chaos. She was right beside me now, breath fast, eyes wide. “Girl, say something. Tell him no.”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Tasha stepped forward, shoulders squared even though she was shaking. “You can’t just take her. This is school. There’s cameras. There’s—”

Kade finally looked at her. “You her friend?”

“Yeah,” Tasha said. “And I’m not letting—”

Kade lifted his chin just a little. One of his men moved, sliding between Tasha and me like a door closing. Not touching her. Just blocking her.

Tasha tried to step around him. He mirrored her like a wall that learned to dance.

“Back up,” she hissed.

The man didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Just stood there.

Kade’s attention returned to me like Tasha was already handled. “You got somewhere you need to be?”

My brain tried to catch up. Somewhere I needed to be. Yeah. Home. My brother. My job. A life that was already hard enough before the Moon decided to clown me in front of everybody.

“Why you here?” I forced out.

Kade’s mouth twitched like he respected that I didn’t fold right away. “Because you’re standing in a hallway full of wolves, bleeding on the inside, and you still got your chin up. That’s not normal.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said. “Just not the one you want.”

A teacher ran toward us from the office side, a short woman with a lanyard and panic all over her face. “Sir! Put that away! You need to leave—”

Kade didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t argue. He just reached into his pocket and flicked something toward her. A card, maybe. It landed in her hand. She looked down at it.

Her whole face changed.

Her mouth kept moving, but no sound came out. She stepped back like her feet forgot how to stay brave.

That scared me more than the gun.

Because it meant he didn’t just have muscle.

He had keys.

Brayden took one step forward again, like he couldn’t help himself. “She’s Ironjaw. You don’t touch pack—”

Kade cut him off. “You already threw her away.”

Brayden’s jaw clenched. His eyes flashed that quick gold again before he shoved it down. He looked at me like he wanted to punish me for being the proof of his embarrassment.

Something ugly in me wanted to spit at him.

Instead, I looked back and said, “Don’t.”

It came out flat. No begging. No tears. Just a warning.

Brayden froze like he didn’t expect my voice to hold weight after what he did.

Kade took one slow step closer to me. Close enough that I could smell clean cologne over the chaos, sharp and expensive. Not a teen boy body spray. Not sweat. Not cafeteria fries.

“You coming?” he asked.

Tasha made a sound like she was about to lose it. “Kenna, no. Please. That’s not—”

Her words broke when Brayden’s crew started closing in again, not rushing, just tightening the circle. Their faces weren’t laughing anymore. They were thinking.

Pack boys weren’t supposed to shift at school. But they could still hurt you without claws.

A hard truth hit me right then: Brayden didn’t have to finish me himself. He could just let his people do it later. Off-campus. In Ironjaw territory. Where rules got real loose.

Kade’s voice dropped. “You stay here, you’re dead by nightfall.”

My throat tasted like metal. “You don’t know that.”

His eyes didn’t move. “I do.”

Brayden barked a laugh, fake as hell. “You making threats now?”

Kade didn’t even look at him. “That wasn’t a threat. That was a schedule.”

My skin prickled. Not the mate bond. That was gone. This was something else. A survival alarm.

Tasha grabbed my hand. “Don’t go with him,” she whispered. “We can call my cousin. We can—”

“We can’t,” I said. The words hurt, because she meant it. She always meant it. But she didn’t live in my pack’s shadow. She didn’t know how fast “accidents” happened when somebody high-rank got embarrassed.

She squeezed harder. “Kenna—”

“Watch Jay,” I blurted, because my mind jumped straight to my brother like it always did when fear showed up. “If I don’t text you by six, go get him from the apartment. Use the spare key under the dead plant. You know which one.”

Her eyes watered. “Stop talking like that.”

“I’m not playing,” I said.

Kade watched all of it like he was memorizing me.

Brayden’s crew started murmuring. One of them said, “Alpha gonna hear about this.”

Another muttered, “He already knows.”

That made my blood run cold.

So it was already moving. The pack machine. The punishment.

Kade’s hand lifted, palm out, not touching me. “Let’s go.”

A school officer finally pushed through the hallway crowd, face red, hand on his radio. “Drop the weapon!” he shouted, voice shaking.

Kade didn’t flinch. He turned his head just enough to look at the officer. “You want to keep your pension?”

The officer hesitated.

That hesitation told me everything.

Kade wasn’t just some random creep. He had reach. Money. Fear behind his name.

I hated that my feet moved anyway.

Still, I didn’t walk soft. I stepped forward like I chose it, because the other option was staying in a hallway where I’d been humiliated and marked.

Tasha tried to follow. The big man blocking her shifted again, firm. Not cruel. Just final.

“Kenna!” she cried out. “Text me! Promise!”

“Yeah,” I said, but my voice didn’t sound like a promise. It sounded like a prayer.

Kade turned toward the nearest exit like he owned it. His men formed around us, and the crowd backed up without being told.

Brayden called after me, voice sharp. “You think this makes you something? You’re still nothing.”

My steps didn’t stop. But my head turned.

He was standing there with his perfect hair and his clean jacket and his whole crew behind him like backup dancers. His face was tight, eyes angry, like he hated that I was leaving on someone else’s terms.

He looked me dead in my eyes.

And I saw it.

Not love. Not regret.

Fear.

Not of me.

Of what it meant that another man walked into his world and took something Brayden thought he controlled.

That little flash of fear didn’t heal me. It didn’t fix the hole he made. But it gave me something I needed.

Proof.

He wasn’t untouchable.

Kade didn’t hurry me. He just guided my direction without a hand on my back, like he didn’t need to push. Like he already knew I’d keep walking.

The doors opened to winter air. Cold slapped my face hard enough to make me blink.

Outside, a black SUV waited at the curb, so clean it looked wrong next to the school’s chipped paint and trash-stained sidewalk.

Kids still poured out behind us, filming through the glass doors. The world was already turning what happened to me into content.

Kade’s man opened the back door.

I stopped right there, half in the cold, half in the doorway, and said, “Where are we going?”

Kade leaned in close, not touching me, voice low enough nobody else caught it. “Somewhere your pack can’t grab you.”

“My brother—”

“I know,” he said, cutting me off like he’d been expecting that. “Jaylen. Eleven. Walks home from Oakridge Middle. Hates when the corner boys talk at him. Likes those spicy chips that stain his fingers red.”

My lungs went tight.

I didn’t tell him any of that.

Tasha knew Jaylen’s name. Maybe some other kids did too. But the chips? The middle school? The corner boys?

That was home-stuff. That was inside my life.

“How you know about him?” I asked.

Kade’s eyes stayed calm. “Because I don’t step into a situation blind.”

That answer wasn’t comfort. It was a warning.

He nodded toward the SUV. “Get in.”

“No,” I said, and my voice came out louder than I meant it to.

One of his men shifted his weight. Not aggressive. Just ready.

Kade stayed still. “Kenna.”

Hearing my name from his mouth felt strange. Like he owned it already. Like he’d bought the right to say it.

“I’m not somebody you pick up like a package,” I said. “You want me to move, you tell me what you want.”

A pause.

Then Kade smiled, small and sharp. “There you are.”

My hands were shaking, but I kept them at my sides. I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of seeing me fold.

Kade’s gaze dropped to my wrist, where Brayden had grabbed me. A faint red mark still showed against my skin.

“That’s what I want,” he said.

I frowned. “My wrist?”

Kade shook his head once. “Your silence. Your pride. The fact you didn’t scream. You didn’t beg. You didn’t crawl.”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s rare,” he corrected. “And it’s useful.”

“Useful for what?”

Kade’s eyes went flat again. The playful edge disappeared. “Your Alpha just got embarrassed in public. That don’t go unanswered. There’s gonna be a message sent. You’re the message.”

My chest tightened. “Brayden’s not Alpha.”

Kade leaned in closer, voice like a blade being slid from a sheath. “His father is. And Roman King don’t forgive stains on the family name.”

I stared at him. “So you’re saving me to be a hero?”

Kade’s mouth curved, but there was no warmth in it. “Hero? Nah.”

He nodded toward the SUV again. “Get in, Kenna. I’ll keep your brother breathing. I’ll keep you breathing. In return, you do what I say until I tell you you’re done.”

A car horn blared behind us. A teacher’s voice shouted from the doorway. “Kenna! Come back inside!”

None of it mattered.

The only thing that mattered was Jaylen, walking home later with his little backpack, not knowing wolves were already making plans.

I swallowed hard. “If I get in that car… you don’t touch him. You don’t scare him. You don’t bring your mess to my doorstep.”

Kade’s eyes held mine. Cold. Certain. “Then you better listen the first time.”

That should’ve made me run.

But I didn’t have anywhere safe to run to.

So I climbed into the SUV.

The door shut behind me with a heavy thud that sounded like a lock.

Kade slid in beside me like he’d been here before. Like this was normal.

The driver pulled off the curb smooth, no rush, no panic. Like kidnapping a girl from a high school was just another stop on the schedule.

Westbridge High shrank in the rear window.

Kade looked over at me. “You got a phone?”

I pulled mine out with shaking fingers.

“Good,” he said. “Text your friend. One sentence.”

Tasha. My chest ached thinking of her standing back there, helpless.

Kade watched me type like a teacher grading a test.

I wrote: I’m alive. Watch Jay. I’ll explain later.

Kade nodded. “Now turn it off.”

I hesitated.

His eyes didn’t change. “Kenna.”

I shut it down.

The city slid by outside the tinted glass—old brick, corner stores, graffitied walls, then cleaner streets, brighter lights, houses that started looking expensive.

We were crossing lines.

Territory.

Kade’s voice broke the silence. “I got a question.”

I didn’t look at him. “What.”

“If Brayden didn’t reject you in front of everybody,” Kade said, “would you’ve gone to him anyway?”

That question hit me harder than the cold air outside.

Because the answer wasn’t clean.

Because part of me still hated that my body ever wanted him.

Kade kept watching, waiting.

I forced my eyes to meet his. “I don’t know.”

He nodded like he already knew that too.

Then he said, “You’re gonna find out who you are without him.”

The SUV turned onto a private road, and a tall gate came into view up ahead, black metal and cameras, guarded like a fortress.

My mouth went dry again.

Kade looked at the gate, then back at me.

“Last chance,” he said. “If you’re getting out, you do it now.”

The gate started to open.

And I realized I had no idea what I’d just stepped into.

Rejected in the Hallway, Loud as Hell

A gun in a school hallway changes the way everybody looks at you, even if you’re not the one holding it.

Westbridge High turned into noise and panic in one ugly second—screams bouncing off lockers, sneakers slapping tile, teachers yelling like their voices could put the world back in place. Somebody tripped near the trophy case. A phone hit the floor and kept recording, screen flashing up at the ceiling like it was still hungry.

Brayden stood frozen where he’d left me, eyes wide and mean at the same time. His boys didn’t know what to do. They were used to fists and pack threats, not a stranger with a real weapon and no fear of consequences.

Kade Moretti didn’t flinch.

That scared me worse than the gun.

Two men at his sides moved like they’d done this before. One stepped in front of the crowd to block anyone getting brave. The other kept his eyes on Brayden’s crew like he was counting bodies.

The teachers were trying to herd people into classrooms, but half the kids didn’t listen. They just ran. The other half stood back, filming, whispering, pretending they weren’t terrified.

My chest still felt wrong. Like something inside me had been ripped out and my body hadn’t caught up yet. Brayden’s rejection wasn’t a thought anymore. It was a bruise I couldn’t hide, and everybody in this building had watched it happen.

Tasha grabbed my arm again, this time like she was holding on to keep herself from falling. “Kenna,” she said, voice thin. “Please. Don’t go with him. You don’t even know—”

“I know I can’t stay here,” I shot back.

The words came out sharp. Not at her, but at the whole mess. The whole day. The Moon’s sick joke. Brayden’s voice in front of everybody. Kade stepping in like he could just pick me up and walk off with me.

A teacher tried to push through. Mr. Daley from security was behind her, sweating and shaking, hand hovering at his radio like he couldn’t decide between calling cops or calling God.

“Sir,” the teacher said to Kade, “you need to put that away. Now.”

Kade looked at her like she was a fly buzzing in his ear. Not angry. Not rude. Just… not concerned.

His gun wasn’t shaking. His hand was steady like he was holding a pen.

“Door,” he said to one of his men, like the teacher hadn’t spoken at all.

The man nearest him nodded and moved, scanning the hall. Kids scattered from his path without thinking. Something about him screamed danger in a quiet way.

Brayden finally found his voice. “You can’t just walk in here,” he snapped. “This is—”

“Neutral?” Kade cut him off, calm as ever. “Yeah. I heard.”

His gaze slid to me again. “You coming?”

Every eye found me. Hundreds of them. Teachers. Pack kids. Humans who didn’t know what they were seeing but knew it was bad. Even Brayden stared like he expected me to beg him to fix it. Like he expected me to crawl.

That was the part that lit my anger all the way up.

A second ago, he’d thrown me away out loud. Now he was acting like he still had a say.

No.

My fingers curled around my backpack strap until it bit into my palm. “Where?”

Kade’s mouth shifted like the question amused him. “Out.”

“That’s not an answer,” I said.

“It’s the only one you need right now.”

Tasha stepped into my line of sight again, chin up even though her eyes were wet. “Kenna, your brother—”

My throat tightened at that. Malik. Ten years old. Skinny legs, loud mouth, big heart. Waiting for me after school like he always did, even when he pretended he didn’t care.

A hard truth pressed down on me: if Brayden’s rejection made me a problem, then Malik was standing close enough to get hit by the splash.

A low-rank girl doesn’t have protection. Not real protection. Not when the pack decides you’re an embarrassment.

Kade watched my face like he could read everything. “You got family,” he said, not asking.