Playing The Alphas

Chapter 104: I Slapped Her

SAMANTHA

SLAP!!

The sound cracked through the air like a whip, sharp and final. My hand stung from the impact, a satisfying burn that radiated up my wrist and into my forearm. I, Samantha, had lunged forward and slapped her hard across the face, cutting her gloating short. The force of it had come from somewhere deep inside me, some reservoir of rage I didn’t know I possessed. My palm connected with her cheek with such velocity that her head snapped to the side, her perfectly styled hair whipping across her face.

Molly was betrothed to the Alpha triplets as a wife, so she thought she could behave anyhow with me because Finnian, one of her betrothed, was here. The smugness had dripped from her like honey, each word a deliberate barb aimed at my throat. She had paraded around me with her chin held high, her handmaidens giggling behind their manicured fingers as she reminded me—yet again—of my place. Of my worthlessness. Of how I was just a plaything, a temporary distraction for the princes who would eventually tire of me and come crawling back to their proper bride.

I was just an ordinary sex slave that the alpha princes also liked. That was all. A body they used when the mood struck them. A warm mouth and willing thighs. Nothing more. Nothing less. And Molly could not bear it that they loved someone else that wasn’t her. The jealousy had festered in her like gangrene, poisoning every interaction until she couldn’t look at me without her eyes going flat and ugly. She tried to bully me with her cohorts, cornering me in the eastern corridor when Finnian was supposed to be occupied elsewhere. She had pushed me against the stone wall, her nails digging into my arms as she whispered all the ways she would destroy me once she wore the crown.

But Finnian had shown up early. And she had panicked. And then she had started gloating again, trying to salvage her wounded pride by reminding everyone that she was the chosen one, and I was nothing.

I hit her so hard that I left a blazing palm print on her skin. The mark bloomed across her cheek like a crimson flower, the edges already darkening to purple. Her cheek ballooned under the force of my slap, swelling grotesquely as blood rushed to the surface. The sound of it echoed off the corridor walls, a thunderclap that silenced her entourage instantly. I had put every ounce of my frustration, my pain, my years of silent suffering into that single strike. My fingers were still tingling from the impact, the ghost of her skin imprinted on my palm.

She froze, shock widening her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe I’d actually hit her. Her mouth hung open, the gloating words dying on her tongue. One of her hands came up to touch her cheek, and I watched her fingers tremble against the raised skin. The slap had been so forceful, so utterly unexpected, that it had robbed her of speech entirely. For a beautiful, fleeting moment, she looked almost human. Almost vulnerable.

I stared her down. I wanted her to feel my cold stare; to know that she was going to pay for every wrong she’d done to me. My eyes bore into hers, unflinching, as I let the silence stretch between us. I wanted her to see the hatred that lived in my chest, the white-hot fury that had been simmering for months. Every snide comment. Every shove in the hallway. Every whispered threat when no one was watching. It all culminated in this moment, in the sting of my palm against her entitled face.

"An apology isn’t enough," I said steely. My voice was low and controlled, belying the storm raging inside me. "Not for everything you’ve put me through."

Her disbelief quickly morphed into fury. The shock faded, replaced by something ugly and wild. "Are you nuts?" She sprang at me wildly and swung a couple of fists, her movements clumsy with rage. "You fucking psycho! How dare you! You actually hit me? You’ve got some nerve!"

I stumbled back, my heel catching on the hem of my torn dress. But before she could reach me, Finnian was there, placing himself between us. He shoved her back with a firm hand, looking really pissed off. His jaw was set, his eyes blazing with a warning that made even Molly’s entourage take a step back.

"That’s enough, Molly."

"She’s just a worthless slave, a filthy nobody!" Molly was twisting with rage, trying to get around him. Her face was mottled red and white, the handprint on her cheek standing out like a brand. "Who does she think she is, laying a hand on me? She’s nothing!"

That wild look in her eyes... She wanted to tear me apart. I could see it in the way her fingers curled into claws, in the spittle that flew from her lips as she screamed. She wanted to rip my hair out, scratch my eyes, leave me bleeding on the floor. She wanted to make me pay for the humiliation I’d just inflicted.

Finnian stayed between us like a solid wall. His body was broad, immovable, a barrier of muscle and fury. He gave her a last warning. "Try it again, and I’ll have the soldiers deal with you."

The threat seemed enough to snap her back to reality. Her eyes flickered to the guards who had materialized at the end of the corridor, their hands resting on their swords. The color drained from her face, leaving only the angry red imprint of my hand.

But the fury in her eyes didn’t dim. She shot me one last seething look, her gaze promising retribution. "This isn’t over. Not by a long shot!"

I met her gaze without flinching. I’d long stopped caring about her opinion of me. From the moment she laid eyes on me, she’d despised me, and I’d had enough of her games. My stare was cold, unyielding. Let her come. Let her try. I had nothing left to lose.

Molly stormed off with one final huff and her minions scurried after her, their silk dresses rustling as they scrambled to keep up with their mistress. Their whispers followed them down the corridor, a chorus of indignation that faded as they rounded the corner.

As her figure disappeared down the road, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The adrenaline drained from my body, leaving me feeling hollowed out and exhausted. My vision swayed, and my body shook. The strength that had fueled my slap evaporated, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that made my knees buckle.

Finnian’s hand was the only thing keeping me upright. His fingers wrapped around my arm, steady and warm. "Are you okay?" His voice was close. It felt so overwhelming feeling him so near me; how the chill of his scent wrapped around me like a fog. Pine and frost and something darker, something that made my stomach clench.

"I’m fine," I mumbled, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened, anchoring me in place. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh of my inner arm, grounding me.

I could feel the heat of his gaze, and when I looked up, I saw his eyes darken, fixed on my chest. I glanced down, following his gaze, only to find my clothes in tatters, undoubtedly ripped apart during the scuffle with Molly’s followers. The skin on my chest was exposed, and I had a patchwork of bruises and marks left from the night before with Jayce.