Bad: Six Sexy Gents Unmasked Page 6

  A twinge of pride filled him as he was the first to oblige to Zachary’s command. Blaine stomped after him like a petulant child. Meanwhile, Zachary kept glancing at them over his shoulder. The adults seemed to follow his every movement, as if they were waiting for him to turn on the two boys any given moment.

  Zachary was the first of the three to seat himself and find a somewhat comfortable position on the wooden floor. Blaine seated himself on Zachary’s right, while he took the place on the left, hoping to avoid the younger boy’s piercing glare.

  He had no idea why Blaine was looking at him with such hatred, and it annoyed him that he was being despised for no apparent reason. He dug his nails into his thighs to suppress the urge to throw himself at Blaine and tear his throat open. Instead, he let himself focus on the delicious smell that was filling the room.

  A few pack members emerged from another room, carrying large bowls of what he guessed was soup. He had been wrong assuming there were no female members of the pack. There were actually eight adult females among the food servers, with two younger girls, who were about his or Zachary’s age. They placed small wooden bowls in front of everyone to be used as places. Then they walked around with the bigger bowls of food, dishing out portions for everyone.

  What they were serving appeared to be thicker than normal soup, but it smelled delicious nonetheless. Once one of the women made it over to him, she merely raised an eyebrow and walked past him. Before he could feel a tinge of disappointment, Zachary stood up, grabbed the woman’s wrist, and glared at her. He had never seen such intense anger in anyone but himself before.

  “You will serve him just like everyone else at this table,” Zachary ordered.

  The woman cowered in fear and he couldn’t help but feel fascinated. He admired the sense of authority Zachary exuded even though he was so young. It also flattered him that the older boy treated him like another member of his pack.

  “Ye-Yes…” the woman muttered as she went back to his place.

  The scene shocked a few adults, but the others merely shook their heads at Zachary. The woman couldn’t keep her hands steady as she filled his bowl with the strange soup. Before anyone could utter another word, he grabbed the bowl with both hands and devoured everything in just a couple of gulps. He leaned against the improvised table and smiled, feeling satisfied. The other pack members continued to eat in silence, ignoring him entirely.

  “You’ve got quite the appetite,” Zachary said with a smirk.

  He looked back at the older boy and noticed that he hadn’t eaten his soup yet. Zachary followed his gaze and offered him his bowl with an encouraging nod. The gesture was as tempting as it was surprising, but he shook his head politely. He knew the older boy needed the food as much as he did.

  The rest of the meal went on without a single word from the other pack members. It was clear his presence was causing them discomfort. They didn’t want him there, but it’s not like he wanted to be there either. They captured him and forced him to stay. It seemed like the only person who wanted him to be there was Zachary.

  If he did try to escape, he’d become a target. He knew this pack’s headquarters now and that would be valuable information to their enemies. Zachary’s pack offered decent meals, a roof over his head, and a sense of security—all of which he knew he needed desperately.

  Perhaps I should stay, he thought. It was certainly a tempting idea. It did seem like Zachary wanted him there. And as for Blaine, he didn’t feel the least intimidated by the young wolf. He could just ignore him or treat him like some sort of personal entertainment.

  He let himself mull over the idea as the rest of the pack exited the hall and went to their respective quarters. Zachary and Blaine didn’t move with the group, so he just stayed behind with them. The older boy seemed troubled and opened his mouth multiple times to speak up, but changed his mind each time and instead looked down at his hands. Blaine continued to glare at him with distaste.

  “Why weren’t you named?” Zachary finally asked, but he seemed to regret the words as soon as they came out.

  “I don’t know,” he replied.

  It was the only answer he could give because he never really thought about why he didn’t have a name. It wasn’t important to him. No one had looked after him, talked to him, or even gave him a second glance. He didn’t know where he came from or why the people around him had kept him alive at all. He merely existed and that had been all there was to it.

  When he was cold, those around him wouldn’t necessarily invite him to their homes, but some would leave a window or a door open for him to crawl into. When he was hungry, someone would “accidentally” drop some food near him and walk on. He focused on surviving from day to day, but whenever someone challenged him to a fight, he didn’t cower in fear for his life.

  For a moment, Blaine’s gaze softened. He saw the slightest flicker of pity in those icy blue eyes, but it was gone in a blink and was replaced by a look of superiority.

  He hated that look. It was the biggest thing that bothered him about werewolves who belonged in a pack. They looked at him as if he was beneath them, as if he was lucky to breathe the same air as them. He’d grown to hate that expression. It made him feel so angry that he couldn’t control himself. He tried to suppress that feeling but then one day, he just couldn’t hold it in anymore. He blacked out and when he came to his senses, the only thing surrounding him as long as his eyes could see was blood.

  “Hmm, alright. But we have to call you something, don’t we?” Zachary said thoughtfully, tilting his head sideways as if trying to think of a good name for him. After a couple of minutes, he gave up. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

  He didn’t really care but it seemed that having a name was of great importance to this pack, so he just nodded.

  Zachary seemed satisfied by that. He stood up and turned to Blaine. “Alright. You should head to your quarters now, Blaine. We have a long day tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll go and find our new friend a place to stay for tonight.”

  Blaine was about to protest, but Zachary gave him a look that indicated what he said was final. He left reluctantly, leaving the two older boys in the hall.

  “Come, follow me.” Zachary led him to a room in adjacent to the dining hall. It was small, but it served its purpose. He didn’t have any trouble finding a comfortable position on the soft hay spread across the floor. A blanket woven of grey wool served as his pillow and he drifted to sleep as soon as he lay his head on it.

  * * *

  A sharp scent woke him up in the middle of the night. His mind was clouded by sleep and confusion, but there was an unfamiliar scent in the air that bothered him so much. It made him uneasy and angry. He knew it didn’t belong in the area, so he decided to find the source and dispose of it. He walked throughout the large house, following the scent instinctively. Once it grew more intense, he started hearing faint noises and whimpers. He traced the scent to the same room where the sounds were coming from.

  He opened the door, and it took him a few moments to process what he saw. There was a male werewolf towering over Zachary’s body and pulling at his clothes, despite the boy’s clear protests. A loud growl escaped him before he found himself in front of the male, his hand buried deep inside his chest. He could feel the hot blood surrounding his hand, but didn’t care about it. His heart was racing wildly and he could feel his teeth throbbing, yearning to be sunk into the male’s throat. Blinded by rage, he roared at the male and pushed him back, pulling his hand from his chest.

  Both the male and Zachary were equally surprised by his actions. He could hear Zachary gasp as he brought his hand up to his mouth and licked some of the blood off of it. He didn’t feel like himself. The blood didn’t bother him at all. The blood had never been the problem. It was the person bleeding it out that mattered.

  “I’ll rip you apart!” the male roared as he lunged towards him, ready to slash him to pieces.

  He moved quickly and avoided the a
ttack with ease as the male stumbled forward, realizing he had missed his target. It was almost pathetic how he struggled. A wounded animal couldn’t do much to a hunter once it felt death’s hand resting upon its shoulder.

  “You won’t hurt anyone ever again. I’ll bring the suffering to you!” he shouted as ran towards the male, who met his glare with equal fury.

  He jumped and landed right on the attacker, digging his nails into his throat. He didn’t break their eye contact for a single moment as he saw blood pour out of the male. He wanted to make sure he was the last person the male ever saw before he died.

  Before long, the attacker’s body slumped backwards and fell on the floor with a thud, lifeless. Zachary barely managed to get up before some of the pack members burst into the room.

  “By the goddess, what happened in here?” asked one of the women who were first at the scene.

  He turned towards her and grinned. His smile only grew wider as her expression shifted from confusion to utter horror.

  More pack members rushed into the room and stared at the scene before them with shock. They all turned to Zachary for answers, but he offered no explanation. He simply walked over to his rescuer and wrapped his arms around him. Surprised once more by the boy’s gestures, he stood still, unsure of how to respond.

  “Kaden,” Zachary’s voice echoed throughout the room. He pulled back from the hug and looked into his rescuer’s eyes, his face showing both surprise and respect. “We’re going to call him Kaden from now on.”

  Kaden was a name born out of their language long ago. It had been a term for fighters, serving under one master they had sworn their loyalty to. It was a name he would accept from Zachary. It was a fitting prize.

  It was a name that should be feared, not respected. After the mess he had made of their home, it was a name forever stained... a name that was more synonymous to the word killer.

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  About The Author

  Synne Jakobsen is from Norway and was born in the summer of 1996. She is introverted and tend to keep to herself. She has always enjoyed writing and stumbled upon Wattpad by accident when she was 16 and has been writing online ever since, hoping whoever stumbled upon her stories would enjoy them as she does.

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  William Maxwell

  (Different POV)

  Meeting Mr. Mogul

  By: Mel Ryle

  ©MelRyle2015

  William Maxwell

  I felt a little frustrated at how the meeting ended. Alexandra was persistent in finalizing the contract within next week. I knew that it wouldn’t be long before she handed over the company to me. But she hasn’t given me any clues as to when it would be. The only thing I know for certain is it’ll be before or after she marries.

  I combed back my hair with my right hand in frustration and leaned on the seat of the car while Mark drove towards my apartment. The silence was almost deafening and I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I frustratedly glanced down at my wristwatch and noticed it was past eight in the evening. I did not want to go home yet. Luckily, my stomach rumbled at that precise moment and gave me an idea.

  “Mark, can you take me to the restaurant? I’ll be eating out for dinner tonight.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mark replied briefly as he smoothly steered the car to the street on the opposite direction of my apartment.

  When we got to my family’s restaurant, which my sister handled, I got out and told Mark to pick me up when I call. He gave me another curt reply before I closed the car door.

  I walked the short distance strode up to the podium with the maître d’. When I approached her, her eyes grew wide and nervous before a fake smile plastered on her face. I didn’t recognize her from my last visit.

  “Good evening, sir. Are you dining for two or one tonight?” she asked smoothly. Her words were like a caress, but to my ears, they were just plain and stark.

  “No, I’m here alone,” I replied as I watched her absentmindedly. When she didn’t make a move to usher me in, I pursed my lips in annoyance. “Aren’t you going to guide me to my table?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. This way please,” she said nervously. She squirmed out of her position as her eyes fluttered rapidly and turned away from me, trying to hide her anxiousness. I could see the bead of sweat along her temple.

  I ignored her reaction to my presence and followed her inside. I looked around the restaurant and found nothing new to the place. It looked the same from my last visit. The chandeliers above and the tables were set immaculately. But I was used to this kind of ambience. A lot of the other restaurants I owned look like this.

  “Here’s your table, Mr. Maxwell. Y-your server will with be with you in a moment,” the maître d’ stuttered as she gestured towards my usual booth.

  I nodded and sat down comfortably. I looked at the menu placed in a standing position at the middle of the table and grabbed it. I checked if they had anything new, but found none that would entice my appetite.

  “Good evening, sir. Are you ready to order?”

  I tore my eyes away from the menu and looked up to the voice beside me, a little bit surprised. I regained my poker face as I opened my mouth to reply yet no words came out. I blinked my eyes a couple of times as I studied the waitress in front of me. She was taking out a small notepad from her front apron pocket, her head tilted down. She wasn’t looking at me when she asked.

  From my lack of response, she glanced up and asked again, “Are you ready to order, sir?”

  I stared at her for another moment, a little bit taken aback from her composure. Didn’t she know who I was? The girl who escorted me before looked flustered when she saw me. I shook the thought away and scanned the menu again.

  “I’d like tonight’s special and my usual wine,” I replied firmly, injecting a more authoritative tone in my voice.

  She looked at her notepad to write it down. Why was she writing something that could be easily remembered?

  “And what would your usual wine be, sir?”

  I was stunned at the words coming out of her mouth. It seemed like she didn’t recognize me at all. “You don’t know who I am?”

  She smiled apologetically, her eyes gleamed with shame. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’m new here, so I’m not yet familiar with the regulars,” she replied softly.

  “Figures,” I mumbled and shook my head. It turns out I was right. “You can ask your manager what my usual is. That would be all,” I added coolly to end the conversation.

  I couldn’t believe someone in this city, who works for the place my family owned, didn’t recognize me. Without another word, the waitress walked away towards the other side of the restaurant. As I watched her retreating back, I smirked when she stomped away angrily. It was almost comical. Didn’t it cross her mind that I might be looking at her?

  I watched her approach the manager, Frederic, who surveyed the place. When she reached him, there was a short pause before Frederic glanced at me in surprise. I quickly darted my eyes away from them. In disbelief at what I was doing, I pulled out my phone to distract myself. Why was I eyeing the waitress?

  When I heard footsteps got closer, I was somewhat caught off guard to see that it was Frederic standing in front of me. Who else did I expect it to be?

  “Good evening, Mr. Maxwell. I’m sorry for the confusion this eveni
ng. I shall get your meal ready,” he said apologetically and bowed slightly.

  “It is okay, Frederic. I want some red wine tonight, you know which one,” I replied formally.

  “Yes, sir, I will be back with that and your meal.” He bowed again before going to the kitchen.

  I watched him for a moment before my eyes glazed around the room and landed at the waitress who attended me. She was by the counter across the room, grabbing a tray filled with plates. I discreetly studied her. She had a model-like figure underneath her standard waitress uniform, which was comprised with a white polo shirt (the sleeves were rolled up to her elbow), black slacks, and brown apron around her waist. Her brunette hair was loose and went past her shoulder in waves. Her tanned skin looked golden under the luminescent light of the chandeliers above. Though her beauty wasn’t that special and nothing that I haven’t encountered before, I couldn’t seem to look away from her.

  I snapped out of my trance as Frederic returned with a tray and a bottle of wine inside a bucket of ice. I tore my eyes away from him as he neatly set my table and saw the waitress glancing in my direction. Her face registered understanding and lack of interest at the same time before facing the current table she attended.

  I didn’t know whether to feel insulted or not, but she had dented my ego for some reason. I never met a woman who looked at me without being perturbed by my presence. Who was this girl?

  I headed out after I had my meal and texted Mark to pick me up. I kept my urge to look at her again at bay. When the cool night air hit my face, I felt relieved that the invisible pull on that waitress was slightly gone. At the back of my head, though, there was still a nagging voice that told me to go back inside.