Revenge to the Alpha Mate novel Chapter 263

Chapter 263: Chapter 263

Brett’s Perspective

Yeah, things have been pretty good lately.

Don’t get me wrong, my old life had its perks. School, homework, those "meaningful" summer camps my parents loved, even sneaking out for a street race... they had their moments. But compared to *now*? They were nothing.

Now, it feels like I’ve been rebooted. No—like I’ve started actually *living*. Living like a wolf, not some domesticated, declawed dog taught to follow "rules."

Yard time is the best. Sunlight—even the weak kind filtering through razor wire. Cold air. Rough concrete. And the guys—no, the *wolves*. We shove, we roar, we fight over half a crumpled cigarette or an extra scoop of mush. The wet thud of fists on flesh, the sharp *crack* of teeth snapping near an ear, the raw, gritty smell of sweat, blood, and dirt... it gets my blood pumping faster than any music, any cologne ever did.

We spit into the guards’ blind spots, seeing who can hit farthest. When we see a particularly smug guard or a hated inmate, we exchange a look, find a moment, and piss on a nearby wall. Marking territory. Leaving our scent as a blatant "screw you." The rush of that open defiance, seeing their faces flush with anger they can’t act on... it beats the thrill of a redlining engine by a mile.

Luka, Scarface, and the others, they teach me more. How to fight dirty and efficient. How to use the environment. How to read who’s weak, who to avoid for now. I’m not the scared kid who got cornered that first day. My glare has bite now. My back is straight. My fists know where to land. My growl carries real threat. I’ve even started to like the flicker of wariness in other inmates’ eyes when they look at me.

I like this life. Brutal. Direct. No complicated "pack duties," "future plans," or "social graces." Strength is the rule. Vigilance is instinct. Living loud is the whole point. I feel untethered, like I finally shook off invisible chains. Maybe being a stray isn’t so bad?

But Luka, the guy I trust most here, has been acting... off. Heavy. One night after lights-out, huddled in our corner whispering, he leaned in close, his voice a bare thread of sound, serious in a way I rarely heard.

"Brett, don’t get too comfortable here," he muttered into the dark, his eyes fixed on the cell door. "This place... it’s wrong."

"Wrong? What prison isn’t?" I brushed it off, still relishing the feel of busting a guy’s nose earlier that day.

"Not like that." His voice dropped lower. "You notice? They keep too much deadweight here."

"Deadweight?"

"Yeah. The useless ones. The old, the sick, the crazy, the fools who can’t even learn to stick with a group... In any real pack gathering, they’d be driven out or culled. But here..." He paused. "They’re kept. Fed. Taking up space. Like... livestock." 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"I’m in," I said without hesitation, my blood heating up again. "What do you need me to do?"

Luka studied me for a long moment, judging my resolve, then gave a slow nod. "Not yet. Don’t breathe a word. Keep acting like you are. But watch. Learn the patrol timings. Notice which cameras might be dummies, which walls sound hollow. We need the perfect moment. Or... we make one."

I nodded firmly. The new purpose made the oppressive grey walls feel less suffocating. Was I scared? A little. But mostly, I was itching for it. Hanging here was one kind of freedom. But smashing out of this creepy cage? That was the real thing.

As for the secrets this place held? The vanished "deadweight"?

Screw it. We’d deal with that after we got out. If there was some shady operation going on, maybe we could blow the lid off it. Now *that* would be a story.

I licked my dry lips. In the darkness, a feral, eager grin spread across my face without me even realizing it.