Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine novel Chapter 19

After coming out of the hospital, Terrence asks, "Alpha, do you want to go back to the mansion, or...?"

"Back to the Westside," I say absently.

The Westside is where Grace lives.

“How long do you think you’ll continue this …arrangement,” Terrence asks carefully.

I catch his tone and his expression conveys his displeasure with me associating with such a damaged woman.

It’s a complication that normally would avoid like the plague.

But I don’t recall asking for his opinion.

Nor do I need to update my beta on my intentions.

“I’m sure you have a plan, sir,” Terrence says. “You always do. Keep our enemies close, and such…Just let me know if I need to prepare our teams for whatever plan you’re setting up.”

“Hmm.”

Terrence nods and resumes driving away from the hospital. As we near the Westside, he slows down instead of accelerating through an intersection.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Terrence points to the side of the road. “Isn’t that Miss Cummins?”

I glance sharply out the window.

In an instant I know it is Grace.

Her hair is swept up in a simple ponytail. She’s slender and working efficiently, sweeping the street from the buildings toward the passing traffic.

She’s wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, but even still a delivery man on an electric bike doesn’t seem to notice her. He clips her and Grace collapses.

I growl.

Terrence slams on the brakes and pulls to the side of the road.

“Alpha, shall I deal with this?”

Terrence gestures to the biker who has sped away without even bothering to check if Grace is okay.

“Sir, do you want to find out who the owner of this electric bike is and make him take responsibility?"

I get why Terrence is asking.

I lost my shit on Assistant Director Curtis—and rightfully so.

The man had drugged and slapped and likely would’ve raped Grace if given the chance.

Do I feel the same urge for justice now?

Yes.

But I am not an Alpha who will be controlled or led by his emotions.

My grandfather’s warnings about my dad are fresh in my head.

“Drive on, T.” I resume flipping through emails on my phone. ”There's no need to worry about it.”

Terrence is stunned.

But he doesn’t question me.

The red light turns green, and he drives forward.

Grace is a magnet for trouble.

I might intervene when it suits me.

But this woman…she is not my responsibility.

* * * * * * * * * *

GRACE

My coworker Claire helps me to my feet. "Are you alright? Do you want to go to the hospital?"

I grit my teeth and stand up. These days, I feel like one giant bruise. My face, arm, hip, leg. I still have a scab on the back of my head from Christopher.

There’s no bleeding on my ankle from where the bike clipped me. Although it’s red and swelling rapidly.

"No need. It’s just a bruise. I’ll be fine.”

“If the swelling doesn’t diminish, go and get checked out," Claire says. “ASSHOLE!” she screams at the biker who has zoomed ahead without so much as an oops! or apology.

“What is wrong with people!?” Claire asks.

That’s a million-dollar question.

Rather than try and think about the overall awfulness of humanity, I just shrug.

“I’m sure he has somewhere important to be. Maybe it’s an emergency.”

She shakes her head. “You’re always making excuses for people.”

“Thank you for letting the driver know how we really feel.”