Page 4 of The Alpha’s Unclaimed Mate

“Private territory,” Marcus explains. “Deep in the forest. It’s very unsafe. Lots of wild animals.”

My brows knit together. “And people want to live there?”

He grins, barely. “Maybe it suits them.”

“If you say so,” I mutter, looking out the window.

We drive in silence for a few seconds, and then he suddenly looks my way. “So, what’s your name?”

I press my lips together, really wishing this town had taxis. A taxi driver wouldn’t ask me what my name is. He’d mind his own business.

“Jessa Hale,” I finally reveal cautiously. My eyes flicker toward him to catch a reaction, but his face betrays nothing. Relief and anger war within me. He doesn’t remember me.

Good.

Asshole. But good.

“That’s a pretty name.”

I turn my head to look out the window and roll my eyes.

“You’re not going to ask me mine?” He laughs quietly. “Given how suspicious you were of me, I thought for sure you’d want to know.”

“Why?” I ask, pretending to be disinterested. “Are you someone important?”

I know I’m being rude, and I know he can tell. But he doesn’t seem to mind for some reason.

“I’m not important now,” he murmurs, turning a corner. “Marcus Steele.”

“The soccer player?” I turn my head toward him. “I thought you retired.”

“I did. It’s been close to a decade now.” He slows down the car to let one pass him. “I’ve decided to live a slow life.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

He raises his brows, looking at me. “Did I upset you in some way?”

I clamp my mouth shut, straightening up and muttering, “No. I’m just tired.”

The rest of the drive passes in a silence I don’t bother filling. He pulls up outside my building, wipers still losing their war with the downpour, and cuts the engine.

“This is you?”

“Yeah.” I’m already reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride. Seriously.”

“Let me walk you up.” He nods toward the rain sheeting across the windshield. “It’s coming down hard.”

“No.” It snaps out before I can dress it up. “Thanks. I’ve got it from here.”

He doesn’t argue, which somehow irritates me more. I twist around for the bags in the backseat, get both arms under them, then shove the door open with my shoulder into the wet.

The paper’s soaked through. I feel it go the second I lift, that sodden give in the bottom seam, and I try to clutch the whole mess to my chest. It doesn’t help. The bottom tears open, and everything goes, cans rolling, a carton of eggs splitting on the curb, an orange bouncing off into the dark, the cereal box Mia made me swear to get face-down in a puddle.

“No. No, no, no.” I drop to my knees in the runoff, grabbing at things that won’t stop rolling. “Are you kidding me right now? Tonight, of all the—”

“Hey.” His door’s already open. “It’s okay, let me—”

“I’ve got it.” I’m scrabbling for the eggs, what’s left of them, my hair plastered to my face. “I don’t need—just, can you not?”