Alpha by Jasinda Wilder

tired I was, how drunk, how badly I wanted to be home. I remembered trying not to think how much farther we had to go, focusing on one sidewalk square at a time, ignoring the ache in my legs and in my back. It was as Harris had said; I had essentially carried Layla home. “I have a vague recollection of…three men. At a street corner. They were shouting at us, I think. In some other language. Spanish, maybe? I think…I think they followed us for a while. I remember…I remember trying to walk faster, but Layla was so heavy, all but unconscious.”
    “Yes. Those three. They did follow you, in fact. For three blocks. And they were indeed shouting at you in Spanish. The things they said…it’s good you don’t speak Spanish. They were saying vile things to you. I won’t repeat them, but it was disgusting.”
    “Would they have hurt us?” I had to ask.
    “Oh, yes. They fully intended to rape and kill you both.” Harris’s voice went cold, hard. “That’s what they were saying. Telling you exactly what they intended to do. Their plan was to follow you home, wait till you got your front door open, and then push you both in. Rape you, kill you, and leave you in your own apartment. No one would have ever known what happened, and they would never have been caught. There were no cameras in your building. No one knew you’d left the bar — no one was expecting you. It would have been days before anyone found your bodies.”
    I felt sick then. “They…how—what stopped them?”
    Harris didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was arctic and dark. “Me. Once I realized their intentions, I…confronted them.” He hesitated again.  
    “By ‘confront’ I assume you mean you…fought them?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I couldn’t help asking.
    He answered. “Harris doesn’t ‘fight.’”
    “Then what?” I asked.
    Harris cleared his throat. “They were scum. I do not take lives lightly, but I enjoyed ending those three. I did the human race a favor when I slit their filthy fucking throats.”
    A wave of dizziness washed over me. “You—you killed them?”
    “Quickly, and easily. Don’t feel any guilt for their lives, Miss St. Claire. They intended to take turns raping you two for hours. They were evil, sadistic creatures with not even a speck of humanity in them. I showed them the mercy of quick deaths.”
    “But you…you killed them. For me.”
    “Yes. I did. And I would do so again.”
    “Then there was also the matter of a potential mugger, just this past month,” he said. “Harris made sure the mugger never reached his intended point of ambush. That particular individual was merely…persuaded, shall we say, to give up a life of crime.”
    “Indeed,” Harris said. “I can be rather persuasive.”
    I had a hard time breathing suddenly. “What—what else did you do on my behalf?”
    He answered. “Only one other matter required intervention. The last gentleman you dated. Steven Higgins.”
    “Steven? What did you do to Steven?”
    “The Steven you knew, and the real Steven…they were not the same person.” He paused, and I heard the tone of his voice shift to address Harris. “You may go. Thank you.”
    “Good night, sir. Miss. St. Claire.” I heard Harris’s footsteps recede, and the front door close.
    “What do you mean?” I asked. “I dated Steven for six months. He was really great.”
    “Steven Higgins is a vile, vulgar, abusive animal with disgusting predilections.” His voice was thick with contempt.
    “Wh—what do you mean?”
    “He is a predator, and the worst kind of abuser. He hides his true self well, hides it until he’s sure his prey is too deeply ensnared and too weak to get away.”
    “I—I don’t understand. Steven never laid a finger on me. Not—not that way, at least. He was never anything less than a perfect gentleman.”
    “As I said, he is predator. A hunter. He spent six months with you, assessing you, drawing you in, making you