Fucking Prick.

I wanted to grab him by the scruff of his scrawny neck and smash his goddam ugly face into my nice new George the third-period mahogany desk.

But I couldn't do that, because he was the chief of the Metropolitan Police, Dave Watkins. And I despised the creepy fucker. Almost as much as the lying two-faced Alpha of the East London's wolf pack, Adrian Palmer who sat next to him.

My wolf clawed at the back of my mind, itching to surface and sink its teeth deep into their throats and end my torture.

Sitting back in my chair, I listened to the pair argue between themselves, not giving a shit for the politics of humans or wolves.

They both bored me senseless.

Turning to my left, an ache in my head exploded. It felt stuffed full of cotton and my gut felt as fragile as a sacrificial virgin. Some might think I was hungover, but I wasn't—hangovers were for pussies.

What I was feeling was more like halfway dead and being bored to death by these two whiney fuckers would literally drain the rest of the life of out me.

I squinted one eye at Palmer. "Listen, Adrian, who's to say he didn't kill himself, yeah?" Honestly not giving a rats-arse if his second in command had killed himself or not.

"What the fuck?" Adrian snarled, glaring at me.

That pissed me off, right there. How dare this prick not address me with the respect I'd earned—My family earned over the hundreds of years looking out for these wasters.

"What the fuck Sir or Mr Stone to you... remember that, yeah?"

Ugh. My head pounded. It would have been fine if there wasn't so much blood in my alcohol system. I needed some paracetamol, asap.

Adrian glared at me like he wanted to rip my spine from my body, with his teeth.

C'mon, try it sunshine, and I'll rip you a new one and then our creepy friend from the Met can fuck you in it!

"What the fuck...Sir," he answered, teeth clenched tightly together. "There is no way Alfie killed himself, he was murdered. I'm telling you this as a fact. It was one of your lot!" He turned to glare at Watkins.

Watkins shifted in his chair; his mouth down-turned. "Well, it looked like suicide to my lads, so I have no intention of putting any man-power on this one. It's an open and shut case for us."

Smug bastard.

Normally, I would have hit this on the head. But this had been the fourth death in London alone within the four packs that held territories, and surely they all couldn't be suicides?

But if the humans didn't want to touch this with a barge poll—that suited me just fine. I would stick Gunner on it, he would get to the bottom of it. "Thanks for coming in Chief, I'll take it from here."

Watkins nodded and stood to leave, straightening his cheap arse'd suit that I wouldn't even buy for a homeless person.

The ache in my head got worse. Forgetfully, I reached for my phone to request my assistant get me something for the pain. But stupidly—I'd fucked her over my nice new desk and expected her to carry on like nothing had happened.

I mean why did it have to mean anything?

Why did every woman seem to think a one-night stand meant anything?

Yeah, I know what you're thinking—what a wanker.

But I'd always been a high achiever, and satisfaction was a given, so they had no room to complain. And I'd never had any complaints in that department—Ever! So why couldn't they just say 'thanks,' and move on?

Well, it appeared I'd called it wrong this time. She'd genuinely thought it had meant something and when she dropped by my office uninvited I might add and found me with my dick in the mouth of a delightful blond piece from the Accounting Department. Well, she went mental and had a bitch of a meltdown and threw a jug of water at me and quit.

Note to self: DO NOT fuck any more personal assistants. Damn, I missed Mrs Jones. Face was like a slapped arse and old and cranky as fuck, but she was a damn good PA and took none of my shit. Why did the good ones have to die?

I turned to my left and opened the drawer. Surely there must be some painkillers in here somewhere? Distracted by a tap on my door. "It's open," I shouted, still rummaging around in my drawer hoping to find something... anything to numb my banging head.

Fuck! I really need a new assistant.

And if I thought my head was pounding now, then the sound of Adrian Palmer's mate, Mandy Palmer hit my eardrums and ripped a hole right in the middle of my throbbing head and poured acid in.

"I saw that wanker leave, so I thought I could come through," she said in her high-pitched east-end accent.

Christ. I shuddered and my stomach rolled. She walked in and closed the door behind her. Now don't get me wrong, to look at her she was a stunner. Huge green eyes and all that bouncy blond hair that smelled like honey with curves that had most men creaming their boxers.

Hell, even I'm guilty of wetting my dick. Not that her prick of a deadbeat mate would ever know.

And that arse of hers, round and just the right amount of bounce. Have to say, didn't care too much for the huge fake tits. But back to her arse, well it was certainly a sight to see—especially bent over the chair her mate was currently occupying.

But then she had to open that goddamn mouth. Again, don't get me wrong, when she was screaming my name begging me to let her come. Well, it didn't sound that bad, and I'd also downed half a bottle of Macallan. However, at any other time, it was like chalk on a blackboard and add that to my banging headache, it made me want to wrap my hands around her throat and stop her making that fucking awful noise.

"I told you to wait outside, you thick woman?" said Palmer.

Another reason to add to the endless list of why I hated this prick – he talked to women like they were shit, even his mate didn't get any respect. That isn't fucking on.

I'll be honest, I'd never bought into the whole fated 'mate' crap.

Bollocks to that.

Nobody would ever tell me, I was supposed to be with one woman for the rest of my life–that was just messed up. And when you look at these two, there was certainly no love there. He was all about the 'power' and just wanted something pretty hanging off his arm. And Mandy, well she only wanted to brag she was the mate of one of the biggest packs in London. They were fucking hilarious.

That's not to say I didn't want to settle down—I did. Get married, and have six or seven little ones running around. But that was far off in the distant future and we are talking at least another ten years.

Yeah, forty sounded a good age to settle down.

Mandy tottered over to us wearing the highest red heels that I'd ever seen, smiling at me, pushing out her fake tits which were barely being contained, in a top that was made for a ten-year-old child.

She licked her lips as she gave me a look. The look that most women gave me —who am I kidding? The look that all women gave me, like they wanted a piece of me.

Now, I'm not one to brag, but getting a woman—any woman! Never been a problem.

I was a good-looking man, coupled with having a huge dick. Oh and being sixth on the world's rich list. Cheers, Dad!

So, if I gave any woman an inch of attention, then they acted like they had won the lottery jackpot or something. C'mon love, I just wanna get my dick wet. Not take you home to meet the family.

Mandy leaned over and pressed a kiss on her man, or mate's cheek —whatever, fucked if I cared.

Standing upright she smiled at me again. "Hi, Mr Stone, you're lookin' well Sir."

I returned her smile, my stomach still rolling. "Thanks, Mandy, you're looking well yourself."

Adrian huffed, before speaking. God, I wanted to smash his face in. C'mon sunshine, give me a reason.

"The packs are getting nervous, someone or something is picking us off. So, I'm speaking on behalf of all the London Packs, this shit needs sorting—now."

He looked at me like I should give a shit, which I still didn't. But it's my job... again, cheers Dad."I've already texted Gunner, I want him on it."

Adrian flew up from his chair, eyes bulging as he spat out his words like an escaped mental patient, high on drugs. "There is no fucking way, I'm 'avin that wanker around my business. He's fucked up and crazy to boot. No. Fuckin'. Way."

He is right though, Gunner is crazy, it's one of the reasons I like him so much. He's a loner and doesn't give a shit about pack politics. He gets to the root of a problem and fixes it.

True, it often got messy, bloody even. But like I give a shit. Gunner gets the job done. Period. "Sit down, yeah?" I said.

He looked at me like I just fucked him in the arse. But after a moment of internal thinking, he sat his skinny arse down.

"Gunner might be a little crazy, as you put it. But he gets the job done. Wolves respect him and the humans shit themselves and tell him what he needs to know. So, Gunner will sort it... yeah?"

Again, he looked at me like I'd just shit on his front lawn. "Fine," he said through clenched teeth.

Thank fuck for that. "Great, now if you will both excuse me, I have other matters that need my attention... yeah?" I stood up and walked around the table sliding my hand along the edge of my beautiful new desk.

Adrian got up and turned to Mandy, grabbing her roughly by the arm. Almost yanking her poor arm from its socket.

She stumbled on her stupidly high red shoes and twisted her ankle. A small yelp escaped her mouth. But that doesn't stop Adrian. No—in fact he looked even more pissed off with her. So, he then added insult to injury and pushed her toward the door as she was trying to steady her footing. "Fucking move Mandy," he growled.

She said nothing.

He then grumbled something else; no doubt derogatory—but I didn't quite catch it.

Prick.

Then the fucker pushed her again and she crumbled to the floor.

That's it... that's the final straw with this arrogant piece of disrespectful shit. I cracked my shoulders one after the other. My wolf screamed to be let loose—which sadly I couldn't, as no doubt it would ruin my nice new table and I couldn't be arsed getting blood out of the carpet...again.

Curbing the urge to free him, I lunged at the piece of shit and grabbed him by the hair. Turning his head, he looked shocked, and a little scared—which he fucking should be.

Something else then flickered across his dumbass face. Stupidity, I thought and then he seized me by my very expensive suit jacket.

Letting him get a good grip, I twisted around his arm leaving my shoulder in place so he wasn't pulled forward or backwards by my movement. I brought my elbow around backwards and hammered that straight into his head with all the force that my considerable frame could manage. It created a delightful cracking sound that made me tingle with excitement. I loved it when things got broken.

He went down hard and of course, I leant down and gave him the once over. Broken temple? Good job our health service is free—because this prick is gonna need some aftercare.

"You crazy fucker, I'm gonna kills you," he yelled. And I could also hear his mate screaming at me now.

But I was in the zone, nothing would stop me having a bit more fun. I kicked him hard in the groin, so hard his dick returned home. He's now officially a lady.

A smile kicked out at the edges of my mouth as the usual sharp surge of pleasure flowed through me.

He screamed like a baby girl and then his mate, Mandy jumped on my back. What the Fuck?

Now I'm not one for hitting a woman. Never have. Never will.

But she surprised me as I felt the hardness of her fake tits crushed against my back and her fists battering my head.

I almost laughed but it was cut short when she was lifted from me. I looked up to see Gunner holding in mid-air, her feet dangling just as one of her cheap high-heeled red shoes dropped to the floor.

He smiled at me with that crazy psychotic smile of his. "Do you want me to sort this boss?" he asked.

This time I did laugh. Damn, that felt good. "Nah, let her down."

He let her go and she collapsed to her knees.

I moved to stand over her stupid fucking idiot of a mate. "Now, you're lucky that Gunner turned up, or else this would have turned out a hell-of-a-lot worse for you—You got that, you fucking piece of shit?" I knelt beside him and lifted his head. "If you ever fucking touch me, or even look at me the wrong way again. You're dead—understand, yeah?" Fucking prick.

He grunted something I didn't hear and started to drag himself from the floor. "Get them out of here, please Gunner."

"Sure thing boss," he replied.

I walked towards my bathroom listening to Gunner escort them out of my office. Removing my jacket and unclipping the cuffs on my shirt, I rolled them up to my elbows. Turning on the tap, I scooped up some lukewarm running water and splashed it on my face. It felt nice, and a bonus—my headaches abated. Who knew I only had to beat the shit out of someone to get it to go?

I heard a knock on my door. That couldn't be Gunner back already?

Nah, he never knocked for a start. "It's open." I grabbed the small hand towel and dried my face.

Walking from my bathroom I rolled my sleeve back down and glanced up.

Holy shit

Holy fucking everything.

Hello beautiful.