The bar was steeped in shadow, the heavy stench of stale beer and cigarettes clinging to the walls. The counter was worn wood, scratched by decades of frustrations and drunken confessions. And there, sitting alone in a dark jacket with her hair tied back in a messy bun, was Alexa Wykes.
She stared into the bottom of her glass as if it could reveal some meaning to the chaos in her head.
The drink burned down her throat. But it wasn't enough to silence the voices. The screams. The eyes of those who trusted her… and died.
"…I'm sorry," she murmured, barely audible.
The memories came in flashes… the smell of fresh blood, the stained wooden floor, the mutilated bodies. One of them was still smiling… even without a head.
Ian. The most loyal beta she had ever had. Loved poetry, hated violence. He had sworn to protect her until the end.
The end came far too quickly.
She poured herself another shot, but her hand trembled. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.
