Ruin Me, Alpha Chapter 20: “Fuck Me, Devon”

Irene’s POV

The sun bled out behind the pines when I reached the clearing. Gideon was already there, arms crossed, jaw tight.

"He left at dawn," he said before I could speak. "Silverclaw delegation. So border dispute up North. Won’t be back for two days."

Two days.

My pulse kicked hard. "That’s the window."

Gideon’s eyes narrowed. "You sure about this?"

"I’ve never been surer of anything." I glanced around, no patrols close enough to hear. "Tonight. I get the keys, I get Dad out, I drive north. Grandmother’s old cabin is still off-grid. No scent trails, no pack link. He stays hidden until I clear his na."

Brielle stepped out from the shadows, wringing her hands. "I’m coming with you."

"No." The word snapped out sharper than I ant. "Absolutely not. If this goes south they’ll hang you next to . Stay here, keep your head down, cover for if anyone asks."

She opened her mouth to argue.

"I said no, Brielle." I grabbed her shoulders. "You’re the only real family I have left. I’m not losing you too."

Her lip trembled, but she nodded.

Gideon rubbed the back of his neck. "And when Devon cos ho and finds the cell empty? He’ll tear the territory apart."

I smiled, cold. "I have a null-scent potion Yolanda taught years ago. Dad will be a ghost. And Devon..." I let the na drip like venom. "Leave Devon to . When the ti’s right, I’ll put him in the ground myself. I want to be the one to cause him to take his last breath."

Gideon stared a beat too long. "You still sleeping with him?"

"That’s none of your business."

"It is if it gets us all killed."

I stepped into his space. "Worry about your part, Beta. I’ll handle the Alpha."

Night swallowed the compound by the ti I reached the penthouse elevator. Two guards blocked the doors.

"State your business, Oga."

I lifted my chin, let my voice go lazy and bored. "Alpha’s orders. Said he forgot sothing in the office and I’m to fetch it before he gets back tomorrow. You want to call him in the middle of a Silverclaw summit and explain why you detained his personal assistant?"

The younger one shifted. The older one scowled but waved through.

The elevator doors slid shut. My heart hamred so loud I swore they heard it.

Top floor. Hallway silent. I slipped into the office—dark wood, leather, the faint trace of cedar and gun oil that was pure Devon. I went straight for the drawer he thought I didn’t know about. Key ring. Heavy iron. One key stamped with a tiny wolf’s head.

Got it.

I was two steps from the door when the air changed.

Blood. Thick, tallic. And power, so much raw Alpha power it made my knees buckle. But the scent was wrong. No cedar. Just iron and storm.

I followed it anyway, because I’m an idiot, down the private stairwell I’d never seen open, past the gym, past the wine cellar, until I hit a steel door that shouldn’t exist.

I pulled. It opened like it was waiting for .

The sll slamd into , it was damp stone, despair, old blood. Six cells. Five empty.

The sixth held my father.

He looked up when the door screeched. His face was gaunt, beard wild, shirt hanging off bones that used to carry the Ironfang banner. But the eyes—those were still Alpha eyes.

"Irene?" His voice cracked.

My legs almost gave out. "Dad."

I ran to the bars. The key shook in my hand.

He grabbed my wrist through the iron. "Devon killed Baron. Executed him. Said your brother attacked a guard. It was a lie. Baron never—"

Tears burned. I jamd the key in the lock, twisted—

A low whistle drifted down the corridor. Slow. Mocking.

The cedar hit like a fist.

I froze.

Devon stepped into the torchlight, white shirt open almost to the navel, sleeves rolled high, jeans low on his hips, sneakers silent on the stone. Sunshades perched on his head even in the dark. Gum snapped between his teeth.

He leaned a shoulder against the wall and smiled.

"Looking for sothing, little wolf?"

I spun, claws out. "You lying bastard. Gideon said you were North."

"I was." He chewed slowly. "Got boring. Decided I missed the sound of you screaming my na."

Dad rattled the bars behind . "Irene, get out!"

Devon didn’t even glance at him. His eyes stayed locked on , glassy and hungry.

I moved closer. "You’re a monster."

"Already knew that." He pushed off the wall, stalking closer. "Question is—what does that make you, sneaking into my house, stealing my keys, trying to take what’s mine?"

"My father is not yours."

"Everything here is mine." His voice dropped. "Including you."

I charged.

Claws aid for his throat. He sidestepped lazy, like he’d seen it coming years ago. My nails raked air. He spat the gum out, caught my wrist, spun until my back slamd the bars.

Dad roared, reaching through to grab him. Devon didn’t flinch.

I twisted, elbow to his ribs—missed. He laughed under his breath.

We moved like we’d rehearsed it a thousand tis. I slashed—he dodged. I kicked—he caught my ankle and yanked off balance. I went for his face, nails carving bloody lines across his cheek. The wounds sealed before the blood hit his jaw.

"Harder," he taunted. "Make feel it."

I drove my knee up. He blocked, shoved back against the cell door so hard the tal groaned. Dad’s fingers brushed my hair, helpless.

Devon crowded in, chest to chest, breath hot on my face. "You ca into my den slling like revenge and bad decisions."

I bared fangs. "I’m taking him and walking out."

"No," he said softly. "You’re not."

I lunged again. This ti he let hit him—took the punch to the jaw, smiled wider, let scratch his face until they bled even though the wounds sealed, his face is coated with blood, dripping down his perfect curves like an art, his blood had spilled on my face, dripping in tiny drops down my face, then he grabbed my throat and pinned to the wall. His grip was iron, thumb pressing my pulse.

"Fight dirty, baby," he whispered. "I like when you bleed ."

I sank claws into his stomach—once, twice, three tis. Blood soaked his shirt, hot and slick between us. He coughed once, red blood on his lips, and laughed.

"Are you done?" he asked, voice rough. "Because I still want to fuck you."

Then his mouth crashed into mine.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was war.

Teeth clashed, blood shared, tongues fighting for dominance. I bit his lip until I tasted copper. He growled into my mouth, grip tightening on my throat just enough to make my head spin.

I hated him. I hated how my body lit up like a match struck on his na.

My hands fisted in his hair, yanking hard. He made a filthy sound and hoisted off the floor. My legs wrapped his waist on pure instinct, ankles locking.

His bloody hand slid under my shirt, claws pricking skin, and the world narrowed to heat and teeth and the way he kissed like he wanted to crawl inside my soul and burn it down with him.

Dad’s voice faded behind the roar in my ears.

Devon broke the kiss only to bite my neck—hard enough to bruise, not break skin. His hips rolled once, slow and deliberate, letting feel exactly how hard he was.

I gasped against his mouth.

He smiled, dark and victorious, and kissed again.

Then, he broke the kiss.

"Say the magic word." He whispered.

"Rot in hell." I spat.

He grabbed my jaw. "Wrong. ’Fuck , Devon’. Say it."

I swallowed, hands wrapped around his neck, his hardness pressed into driving crazy, the art of his bloody face that I had created by my own self, his lips and mine coated with blood.

This dangerously good looking motherfucker. Damn you.

"Fuck , Devon." I say.

He smiled, the most beautiful sight ever. "Again."

"Fuck , Devon," I grabbed his chin. "Hard, right here, against this wall."