Ruin Me, Alpha-Chapter 24: The Alpha’s Hateful Surrender

The wine cellar is dead quiet except for the drip of a leaky barrel somewhere behind us. Gideon steps fully into the dim red glow of the emergency light, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes burning holes straight through me.

"What the fuck did I just listen to?" His voice is ice.

I smooth the front of my dress like it’s armour and meet his stare. "None of your business. What are you doing hiding in Devon’s cellar?"

"Answer my question!" he snaps, stepping closer.

I don’t flinch. "Don’t yell at me, Gideon. I’m not one of your warriors."

He scoffs, bitter laugh scraping his throat. "Right. Because the Irene I knew wouldn’t let that bastard finger-fuck her against a wall while the council waits upstairs. What was that, Irene? Huh? ’Who else?’" He mimics Devon’s growl, disgust twisting his face. "You begged him to fuck you. In front of your own father last time, now this? Have you forgotten who he is?"

"I haven’t forgotten anything," I say, voice low and steady.

"Then explain." He crowds me, towering the way he used to when we were seventeen and stupid and clad in high school uniform. "We had a plan. Take him down. Expose the massacre. Free your dad. Not—" he gestures wildly at the rack I was just pinned against, "—not spread your legs every time he crooks a finger!"

I slap him. Hard. The crack echoes off the stone.

His head snaps to the side. When he turns back, his cheek is already blooming red.

"Watch your mouth." I gritted.

After a heartbeat, I say, "I am not in love with him," I hiss, stepping into his space until we’re nose to nose. "I will never love him. I’m playing him, Gideon. The sicker he is for me, the blinder he gets. Every moan you heard? Every ’yes Alpha’? That’s me wrapping the rope around his neck. I’m this close." I hold up two fingers an inch apart. "This close to the perfect shot. So lower your fucking voice and trust me."

He searches my face for a long, painful minute. The anger drains out of him in slow degrees.

"You swear it?" he asks finally, quieter.

"On my brother’s grave."

He exhales through his nose, rakes a hand through his hair. "Fine. Okay." He paces two steps, turns back. "What’s the new plan, then? Because the old one is rotting while you’re busy riding his—"

"Finish that sentence and I’ll break your jaw," I cut in calmly.

He shuts up.

I fold my arms. "I have everything. The surveillance files, the Northern orders signed in his own handwriting, the ledger that shows he paid the rogues himself. I just need the right moment to release it all. One leak to the right council member and he’s done. No war, no bloodshed, just the truth. Clean."

Gideon nods slowly, thinking. Then his eyes flick back to me, sharper.

"Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"Don’t play dumb." His voice drops. "About us. Back then. Before Voltage. Before everything. We were together, Irene. We were dating, we both thought we would get married. Almost two years. Does he know?"

I swallow. My throat feels suddenly dry. "He’s paranoid about every male who’s ever looked at me. But if he knew it was you... you’d already be dead. He’s not that subtle."

Gideon’s shoulders loosen a fraction. He steps closer again, voice softer now. "When this is over... when he’s gone and I’m Alpha of the merged pack..." He reaches out, brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear like he has a thousand times before. "Can we try again? You and me? Like it was supposed to be?"

Everything inside me goes still.

The old feelings are ash. Whatever we had died the day he stood silent while Simon humiliated me at the altar, died again long before, when he couldn’t fight for me the period I was promised to King Voltage, it also died when he let sent Simon to seduce him so I can forget him and got me to fall in love with Simon. There’s nothing left but echoes.

But I need him calm. I need him focused.

So I smile. Small, warm, convincing.

"Yes," I lie, letting my hand cover his on my cheek. "Of course we can."

His eyes light up like I just handed him the moon. He pulls me into a hug, arms tight around my waist, face buried in my hair.

"I never stopped loving you," he murmurs against my neck. "I’ll explain when all these is over. Everything I’m doing, it’s for us."

I close my eyes and hug him back, fingers digging into his shirt.

Over his shoulder, in the darkness, a bottle shifts almost imperceptibly on the rack.

I freeze. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Gideon doesn’t notice. He’s still holding me like I’m his salvation.

I force my voice steady. "We should go separately. I’ll leave first. Wait five minutes."

He pulls back, cups my face, presses a quick, desperate kiss to my forehead. "Be careful, okay? Text me when you’re back in the Omega quarters."

"I will."

He lets me go. I turn, smooth my dress one last time, and walk toward the door without looking back.

My hand is on the handle when his voice stops me.

"Irene."

I glance over my shoulder.

"If he ever hurts you again," Gideon says quietly, "I’ll kill him myself. Plan or no plan."

I nod once and slip out.

The door clicks shut behind me.

I burst into the living-room and the copper reek hits me first. Then the sight.

Three bodies sprawled across the Persian rug like broken dolls. Elder Gwen and Rown, Councillor Holt. Throats opened ear to ear, blood still pulsing in lazy rivers from the gashes. The white couch is soaked crimson. One of Holt’s shoes is missing; it lies halfway across the room, sole up, as if he tried to run and never made it past the coffee table.

My knees lock. Breath stalls in my chest.

Devon sits in the middle of it all, legs crossed, a crystal tumbler of whiskey balanced on his thigh. His black shirt clings wet to his chest, dark hair pushed back, face unreadable with blood spills staining it. Blood drips from his right hand in slow, deliberate drops, pat-pat-pat onto the leather. He doesn’t look at me. He stares straight ahead, grey eyes flat and dead.

I can’t move. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

"...What did you do?" The words come out cracked, barely louder than a whisper.

He lifts the glass, sips, swallows. "Nothing serious." His voice is calm, almost bored. "Just asked them a simple question."

I shake so hard my teeth click. "Devon."

He finally turns his head. Those eyes pin me where I stand. "I asked them, Irene... if someone looked you in the face and swore nothing was going on between you and your girl, but you knew he was planning to steal her the second they both exposed you, what would you do?"

He lets the silence stretch. The drip from his fingers keeps perfect time.

"I asked three times," he says, conversational. "None of them gave me the answer I wanted. So I got pissed."

A choked sound escapes me. I take one stumbling step back and my heel slips in blood. My stomach lurches.

He uncrosses his legs, stands. The movement is slow, feline. Blood drips from his cuff onto the floor. He doesn’t wipe it away.

He starts walking toward the hall.

"Please," I blurt, voice shaking uncontrollably. "Please don’t hurt Gideon. I beg you. He’s all I have left."

He stops. Turns. The softness he sometimes saves just for me is gone. His face is carved from ice and shadow. Terrifying.

"I know," he says quietly. "That’s exactly why he’s still breathing."

I wrap my arms around myself to stop the trembling. "I’m serious, Devon. Don’t touch him. You know I don’t love him. You can read my emotions, you know—"

"I know you don’t love him," he cuts in, voice low and lethal. "Doesn’t mean I enjoy people trying to take what’s mine. Same thing happened with Baron."

My heart slams against my ribs so hard it hurts. The room tilts.

"What did you just say?"

Devon tilts his head. "Your brother held my ankle on that battlefield. Begged me to save him while the light bled out of his eyes. I let him bleed. It was... satisfying."

The scream that rips out of me isn’t human.

I launch myself at him. My hands close around his throat, nails digging into skin, thumbs crushing his windpipe. His glass hits the floor and shatters.

"You devil!" I snarl, squeezing until my knuckles go white. "You fucking devil, you killed him!"

He doesn’t fight. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches me with those cold grey eyes, blood still sliding down his wrist.

I slap him. Hard. The crack echoes over the dead bodies. My palm stings; his cheek barely reddens.

He still doesn’t move.

Tears burn down my face. "I hate you," I hiss. "I hate you so much I can taste it."

His tongue slides across his lower lip, tasting the blood I put there. "Good," he murmurs. "Hate keeps you warm at night, doesn’t it? Keeps you coming back."

I slam both hands into his chest. He doesn’t budge.

"Say it again," he says, stepping forward until I’m forced back. "Tell me you hate me while you’re still wearing my mark under that dress."

I shove him again. "I will kill you for this."

He catches my wrists, yanks me flush against him. Blood from his shirt soaks into my clothes. His mouth brushes my ear.

"Kill me after you scream my name again," he whispers. "Like you did twenty minutes ago in the wine cellar."

I jerk, trying to free myself, but his grip turns iron, tears rolling down my eyes.

"Let me go!"

"No." His voice drops to a growl. "You want to claw my eyes out? Do it. You want to scream? Scream. But you’re not walking away from me tonight, Irene. Not after he touched you."

"He hugged me!" I spit. "That’s all—"

Devon’s laugh is soft and deadly. "He put his mouth on you. I smelled him the second I walked down those stairs. It might not be today but he has done it beforeq." His thumb strokes over my racing pulse. "I’m deciding how many pieces I send back to him."

Terror and fury collide inside me. "If you touch him—"

"I’ll do more than touch him." His eyes flick to the bodies behind me. "I’ll take my time."

I lunge again, teeth bared, going for his throat. He spins me, slams my back against the wall beside the fireplace. One hand pins both my wrists above my head; the other grips my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

"Listen carefully," he says, voice velvet and venom. "You can hate me. You can plot with him, lie to him, let him dream about a future that will never exist. But the second he puts his hands on what’s mine again, I will gut him in front of you and make you watch."

His thumb drags across my bottom lip, smearing blood.

"And you’ll still crawl into my bed afterward," he finishes softly. "Because you’re just as fucked up as I am."

My chest heaves. Tears and blood mix on my cheeks. "I’ll never forgive you for Baron."

"I don’t want forgiveness." His forehead rests against mine; his next words are barely sound. "I want you raging. I want you breaking. I want you so full of hate for me there’s no room for anyone else."

He releases my jaw, slides his hand down my body, cups me possessively through my dress. I hate the way my thighs clench.

"Tell me to stop," he breathes against my mouth. "Say it and mean it."

I can’t. The word sticks in my throat.

His lips brush mine, feather-light, mocking. "That’s what I thought."

He lets go of my wrists but doesn’t step back. I stay pinned between him and the wall, trembling with rage and something darker.

"You’re a monster," I whisper.

"Yes." He licks the blood off his thumb, eyes never leaving mine. "Your monster."

He steps away, finally, and the cold air rushes between us. Without the heat of him I feel like I’m freezing.

He walks backward toward the hallway, gaze locked on me. "Clean yourself up. Shower’s upstairs. Third door on the left. You’re sleeping in my bed tonight."

"I’m not—"

"You are." His voice hardens. "Or I start with Gideon’s fingers at dawn. Your choice."

He disappears around the corner.

I slide down the wall until I’m sitting in the blood of three dead men, hugging my knees, shaking so hard my bones ache.

I hate him.

Goddess help me, I hate him.

And I’m still going to walk up those stairs.