Page 27 of Bad Blood Alpha

Chapter 10

Jenny dragged Xander away before Flynn got the chance to bitch-slap him again. The rest of them wandered out, and there was silence.

Thank god. Flynn’s head was about to explode, his cat was running circles in his brain, and he was moving to Tahiti. Tonight.

He wouldn’t even pack a bag. He fucking hated clothes, anyway. They just got in the way.

He turned to Kira, who was gazing at him in that haughty way she had, eyebrows raised.

Nobody could look down their nose at you like a dragon. They were the snottiest, most egotistical, entitled creatures in all the worlds.

“So, can I show you to your room, your Highness?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Stop that.”

“Fine,” he said. “Guest rooms are this way.” He couldn’t wait to get her settled someplace where he wasn’t, so he could fucking think.

He led her to the back of the main floor, where there were two bedrooms and a bath. When Flynn, Tank, and their wolf friend Tristan had first squatted in this place after escaping from Alexander Fucking Grant, Tris and Tank had slept down here. Flynn, as the leader, had the master bedroom in the loft.

Now that Tristan was in Idaho with his family, and Tank and Lissa had their own cabin, the place felt empty at night, though Flynn would rather have his claws pulled out one by one than admit it.

“Pick a room,” he said, gesturing. “Nobody’s using either of them.”

“You have this whole cabin to yourself?”

“At the moment,” he said. “It’s not a castle, but I make do. And the damn crew is in and out all the time, even though they have their own places. We use these as guest rooms now.”

She picked the room on the left—Tristan’s old room. When he showed her the bathroom, she whistled.

“Holy shit. This is a castle-worthy bathroom.”

She wasn’t wrong. It was fucking huge, with one of those fancy room-sized showers with a dozen shower heads and steam nozzles, and a jacuzzi tub that could probably fit four normal-sized humans. Flynn’s bathroom, upstairs, was even bigger.

“It was built by a billionaire,” he told her. “This was his hunting cabin. Alexander Grant.”

Her mouth dropped open. “But isn’t he the one who…”

“Captured and tortured us?” Flynn stared her down.

“Yeah.”

“That’s him.”

“You’re living in one of Alexander Grant’s houses?”

“It’s mine now. I own it.”

“Still. That’s…”

“Crazy? Fucked up?”

She narrowed her eyes speculatively. “Interesting.”

Flynn shrugged. “He wasn’t using it, after we put his sorry ass in jail. And he had a kickass liquor collection. It was worth it just for that.”

She was still looking at him like she could see inside his brain. It was unsettling. “There’s towels and shit,” he said. “Toothpaste. Help yourself. I’m going to bed. I’m going to get drunk first, so if you need anything, I probably won’t hear you.”

He knew he was being rude. Didn’t fucking care. All of his instincts and early training were screaming at him to bow his head and do whatever the hell she wanted.