The Alpha Behind The Mask-Chapter 11: His Car

Aurora’s POV

​I frowned, glancing around as I realized there was no taxi. Our club, which was usually swarming with cabs at this hour, was surprisingly empty. There wasn’t a single yellow light in sight.

I pulled my phone from my bag to book a ride, but my heart sank. No service. Not even a single bar.

"Damn it!" I hissed, glaring at the time on my screen. It was past 10 PM.

I stood outside the club, the cold night air biting at my skin. I couldn’t stay here, but I couldn’t call for help. Finally, I decided to walk. My apartment wasn’t too far, though the route was dim and quiet. I grunted in frustration, adjusted my bag, and turned—only to slam into a solid chest.

"Ohh!" I exclaimed in pain, rubbing my forehead.

"Watch where you’re going," a man muttered, sounding annoyed. I looked up and saw one of the regulars, his eyes cold.

"I’m sorry," I murmured, keeping my head down and walking past him. I left the club grounds and began making my way home. The road was eerily empty, with only the occasional car speeding past, their headlights casting long, terrifying shadows against the trees. I grumbled in regret, my footsteps quickening as fear began to settle in my gut.

A few minutes into the walk, I spotted a jet-black Rolls-Royce Cullinan driving slowly behind me. My pulse spiked. I quickened my pace, murmuring prayers under my breath. The car didn’t pass; it increased its speed and pulled up right beside me. My hands began to tremble.

"You are terrified, yet you walk alone at this time of the night?"

I heard a familiar voice coming from the car. I turned quickly and realized it was him—the Masked Dom. The man who had just stolen my first kiss... my parents’ killer. It was strange how I could easily recognize him despite the mask he was wearing. I heaved a sigh of relief that it wasn’t a total stranger, but my chest still felt tight.

"Why are you out here alone?" he asked, but I ignored him.

He groaned, his gloved hands gripping the steering wheel. He thought for a moment before saying, "Get in."

"No," I snapped, though my voice wavered. I clutched my bag tighter to my chest. I hated him. Every time I looked at that mask, I saw the face of the man who had destroyed my life—the monster I believed was responsible for my parents’ deaths. I would rather walk ten miles in the dark than sit inches away from a murderer.

I quickened my pace, my heels clicking frantically on the pavement. He didn’t speed off. He kept the luxury SUV at a crawl, the engine purring like a predator stalking its prey.

"Aurora, don’t be a fool," he growled, the window rolled down. "It’s late, and this city is crawling with things far worse than me."

"I highly doubt that," I spat, not looking at him. "I’d take my chances with a stray wolf over a monster like you any day. Keep driving."

He let out a sharp, frustrated grunt. "You’re stubborn. It’s going to get you killed."

For two blocks, we played this agonizing game. Me, stumbling along the sidewalk in fear and fury, and him, the black shadow of the Rolls-Royce hovering at my side. Every time I tried to turn down a side street, he swerved to block my path.

"Get. In. The. Car," he barked, his patience finally snapping. He stopped the car abruptly and stepped out, his towering frame casting a long, terrifying shadow over me.

I backed away, hitting a brick wall. "Stay away from me!"

"You’re shaking," he observed, his voice softening just a fraction, though it remained authoritative. "If you don’t get in, I will put you in there myself. Choose."

Realizing I had no escape and the street was deathly quiet, I walked to the passenger side with trembling knees. I hated myself for it. I hated the way I had to rely on the man I wanted to drive a blade through his heart.

I hesitated, wondering if I should really get in with a man who looked like he wanted to devour me. "Are you sure?"

He groaned in irritation, his eyes—visible through the mask—staring at me with an angry fire. "Don’t make me repeat myself." It wasn’t an invitation; it was an order.

Quickly, I opened the heavy door and climbed inside. The interior didn’t just smell like a car; it smelled like old money and cold, expensive power. My feet sank into floor mats made of thick, white lambswool that felt like walking on a cloud—a sickening contrast to the dirt of the street. Every inch of the dashboard was covered in hand-stitched leather so soft it felt like silk, and polished chrome that gleamed like the edge of a blade. I looked at the diamond-stitched seats and realized with a shiver that every luxury in this rolling palace was bought with blood.

Our gazes met for a split second, but I nervously looked away, focusing on my lap. "Where to?" he asked.

I gave him the directions to my flat, my voice barely a whisper. He groaned again, seemingly irritated by the tantrum I threw.

"Put on your seatbelt," he demanded.

"That won’t be necessary. I’m almost home," I responded, trying to reclaim some small sense of control.

"Suit yourself," he snapped and drove off.

The moment he hit the gas, I cursed my pride. He drove as if he were in a car race, the Cullinan roaring as he tore down the empty streets. He didn’t seem to care that I was being tossed around in the seat.

"Please, slow down!" I begged, gripping the door handle until I was sure I had caused a tear.

He ignored me. He actually increased his speed. By the time he slammed the brakes in front of my apartment, I had my eyes squeezed shut. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt, and my body was shaking uncontrollably. As I sat there, the memory of my parents being killed years ago flashed vividly in my mind. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs felt like they were collapsing. I was having a full-blown panic attack.

"Hey!" I heard his voice calling out to me, but I couldn’t respond. I was gasping for air that wouldn’t come.

"Shit!" he blurted out. I heard his door fling open. He ran around to my side and yanked the door open, letting the cool night air rush in. He stood there, murmuring words I couldn’t quite understand, his presence looming over me.

After a few minutes, I took a jagged, deep breath. The world stopped spinning. I opened my eyes and saw him watching me. This time, the anger in his eyes was gone. It was filled with a deep worry and concern.

I frowned, glaring at him. "Get away from me," I spat, my voice trembling with rage as I climbed out of the car.

"I told you to use the seatbelt, didn’t I?" he asked, his tone back to being annoyed.

"You are the one to be blamed! How can you drive at such a high speed? Do you want to kill me?" I asked, my fear turning into hot anger.

"Kill you?" He scoffed, a dark, bitter sound. "I wish I could kill you. But not yet, Not until I fuck you."

He said it with such intensity that a shiver of pure ice ran down my spine. I realized he really meant it.

"Stay the fuck away from me," I murmured, not wanting to stay a second longer. I hurried to my flat door, fumbled with the keys, and practically threw myself inside. I collapsed on the bed, waiting for my nerves to recover.

Feeling exhausted, I stood up and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, emptying it in one go. I was about to lie back down when a heavy knock came at the door. I froze. It was late, and I wasn’t expecting anyone.

Heart pounding, I went to the door and peered through the peephole, only to realize it was the Masked Dom.

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