Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine

Chapter 1

It’s a good thing my grandfather’s dead; he’d die if he saw me now.

“Keep walking, mutt.” The prison guard shoves me from behind and I stumble forward into the sunlight.

Outside the gates are two alphas.

One was my love. One was my best friend.

They’re both the reason I was left here to rot.

__________

“Stop!” I tell the guard. “I don’t want to go out this way.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shoves me. “All you females get attached. I got no time for trash like you. Get a move

on!” He shoves me again and I stumble to my knees.

The snow bites through my clothes, chilling me to the bone.

It’s been three years.

Three years in this hell-hole, fending off daily assaults, and constrained to a cage with no warmth.

They’d bound me in silver for so long I was severed from my wolf. I still mourn that loss.

Our regeneration powers. The ferocity she gave me to fight. The freedom I felt in my true form, when I

could run and be free…If I had my wolf, I’d attack this lowly guard. But without her, I’m just another

weak human. The guard kicks me in the ribs. Not hard enough to break them; just enough to remind he

holds the power here.

“Move it,” he growls at me.

I push to my feet and walk along the barbed-wire fence. Funny, I’ve dreamed of this day from the

moment I was imprisoned. But now, seeing the two Alphas who wait for me, everything tells me to run

back and hide.

“Grace!” Jacob yells.

I turn away from Alpha Jacob who leans against his Maybach, his dark hair styled and his clothes

impeccable despite the snow and sleet. Jacob was my best friend. We grew up in the same pack. I’d

known him all my life. He eventually became an alpha and an attorney. The same lawyer who

prosecuted me.

Then… there was Alpha Sean.

I hate Sean even more—if that’s possible. His eyes are bright and focused on me, his expression cold.

The wind musses his hair in the most perfect way. He’s tall, strong, and so handsome it hurts.

Sean was my first and only love.

My mate.

Father of my baby…

I swipe away my tears and keep walking. Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

“Grace!” he calls, no doubt he’s furious that I’m ignoring him.

But I keep walking.

“Wait.” This time it’s Jacob.

“Grace!” Sean calls again, putting the force of his Alpha strength behind the command. “Come here.”

But his powers hold no influence on me now. Not since he severed our bond.

I stick to the edge of the barbed-wire fence and avoid these Alphas.

I have no phone. No money aside from a few odd bills. I’m broken and disfigured. A shell of the woman

I’d once been. My grandfather… It's a good thing he’s dead because he’d be gutted to see me now.

Shame bubbles up inside me, flooding my body.

Sean gets in his car, intent on intercepting me. I panic.

I run, sneakers slipping on icy ground and arms flailing as I try not to faceplant on the concrete.

A bus is rounding the corner.

I run and block out the muffled curses behind me.

I don’t stop or look over my shoulder.

They’d ordered the inmates at this prison to ‘take good care of me’. The beatings I endured almost

daily for these long years tell me that either of these men might personally finish what they’d started.

As Alphas, they’d be within their rights.

After the accident, I’d been rejected and named a rogue. If they wanted to, they could put a bounty on

my head or strike me down for trespassing on their territory.

But it’s not my fault I was imprisoned here!

I wave for the driver to see me as I rush across the street. I need to get out of this town—away from

these two packs!

The driver takes pity on me and waits. I race the last few feet and grip the rail to haul myself inside. I

fish into my pocket for what money I have and hand it over.

The driver’s dark eyes rake over me with resigned sympathy. He’s an older man, with wrinkles on his

forehead and the corners of his eyes.

“That’s too much money,” he says quietly.

But I’m shaking too hard to count it and I’m terrified at any moment that Sean or Jacob will grab me and

drag me away.

“It’s okay,” I say, shoving it into his hand and hurrying to the first vacant seat.

The woman across from me sniffs and turns away, like the sight of me is repulsive. She tugs her scarf

closer to her neck. I don’t have a coat—just the clothes they arrested me in, a t-shirt and jeans. My hair

is shorter and cut unevenly. My bruises aren’t too bad this week. My lip is mostly healed and my eye

has healed from deep purple to a dull, yellowish-green.

The bus quickly lurches away from the curb.

I breathe deep, but it doesn’t taste like freedom. Panic boils up swiftly.

It’s okay. You’re okay. Today is a new day. But I’m not okay. Not even close.

The last time I was in a moving vehicle, it ended in a horrific crash. One that set this whole horrible

chain of events into motion. One that cost me my pack, my mate. My everything.

The last time I was in a car, I lost my baby…