There was a time when my lack of identity bothered me. All I know is that my mother died during childbirth. I once asked Alpha Black for a picture of her. His response was harsh as he glared down at the six-year-old girl requesting nothing more than a memory of her mother. He told me I didn’t need a picture of a whore. I never asked him again, but now, as I look at myself in the mirror, I wonder about his words. Was my mother truly a whore?

The Director of the orphanage I grew up in never answered my questions, either. When I persisted, as a child desperate to know where I came from, the response she gave me was equally cruel. She labeled me a murderer. She told me that I had killed my own mother by being born.

That broke my heart. And part of me realized that the more questions I asked, the more horrifying the answers would be.

So, I stopped asking questions.

But ever since I came to this town, ever since I was exiled here, I find myself thinking about my parents. Would my life have turned out differently if they were still alive?

A bitter laugh spills out of my mouth, and I get to my feet. Why am I thinking about all this? I’m so close to my goal. Maybe in another year or two, I will finally be free. I may not be able to buy my freedom directly from the Red Rock Wolf Pack, but I can pay the South Alliance a certain fee to be free from them. It’s been done before. Wolf shifters cannot just walk away from their packs. Either they are expelled from the pack or they have to buy their freedom—from the pack or from the Alliance the pack belongs to.

I cannot see Robert Black, the Alpha of the Red Rock Wolf Pack, giving me my freedom. But if I go directly to the Alliance leader, even Alpha Black can’t refuse his order.

Letting out a shuddering breath, I get to my feet and stuff my mask into the front pocket of the hoodie. I grab my belongings and lock the door of my dressing room as I head out. Like Mathew promised, there’s a large takeout bag on the table in the kitchen. I open it and sniff its contents before smiling gleefully. Sure, Mathew and I have a transactional relationship—I fix his matches for him, and he makes a ton of money off of me—but he’s always looking out for me, as well.

After taking out one of the meat rolls, I stuff the remaining food inside my backpack and zip it up. I have just taken a bite of the roll and am about to turn around and leave when I hear loud, thudding footsteps. Alarm fills me. Nobody is supposed to be back here when I’m on my way out; it’s the only way to hide my identity. Mathew always makes sure the back entrance is clear when it’s time for me to leave.

“Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of a bitch.”

I recognize the voice as belonging to Mountain Man, my opponent tonight. Annoyed, I curse silently under my breath. Who let that idiot back here? He’s coming this way, and he clearly knows I’m here.

Shoving the meat roll inside my pocket, I grab my mask and pull it over my head before I turn it around…just in time to be grabbed by the front of my sweatshirt and shoved against the refrigerator.

The man before me has the kind of face only a mother could love. He is bald, with ugly scars and a nose that was never set properly after being broken one too many times. He’s not wearing his mask, but it doesn’t matter; I already know the true identity of Mountain Man.

Roger Clark.

I’ve seen him around. He’s staying at the motel across the street from the Dancing Bear, the bar where I work. The man likes his drink. He also likes to harass the female staff. Even with his mask on, I always knew who he was. A man that size isn’t easily confused with any other.

There is a large bruise on his forehead, and I feel a surge of satisfaction that I’m the one who put it there.

“Did you really think you could humiliate me and get away with it?” Roger spits. “Do you know who I am? It’s about time someone put a bitch like you in her place.”

I hear the fabric of my hoodie tear as he uses both hands, and fury fills me. Without hesitation, I knee him in the balls. However, he doesn’t so much as flinch, and I belatedly realize that my knee came into contact with something solid.

A grotesque smile forms upon his face. “Do you think you’re the first woman to try that trick? All you women are the same. You think if you go for a man’s junk, you can incapacitate him. Unfortunately for you, I’m always a step ahead. I wear a metal cup to stop bitches like you from attempting to go for a man’s weakness.”

He wears a what?

I stare at him.

If he has a metal cup covering his dick, how does he…?

My mind is wandering in all the wrong directions when I should be focusing on the problem before me. This asshole has torn my hoodie, and his hands are now going for my shirt.

I shove him using all my strength, and he slams into the table.

“You know what?” Rage contorts his expression. “I think I want to see your face when I fuck some sense into you.”

He charges toward me, his hand reaching for my mask. His words hit me, his intention clear now.

He intends to rape me.

A different emotion takes hold of me. My body moves on its own, and I elbow him in the neck, causing him to stumble backward. Fear is a bitter taste in my mouth.

He thinks he can violate me? I’m going to kill him.