Chapter 19
Casper's POV
"Let's have another drink," I suggested, leading her back to the cooler. I poured her a large measure of the same whiskey she'd given Elowen. "To us."
Sarah giggled, pressing her tits against my chest as she took the glass. "I knew she wasn't right for you. Too fucking plain, too boring. That freckled little mouse doesn't deserve someone like you."
I fought back the urge to tell her how wrong she was, how Elowen's cute face and amber eyes haunted my dreams. Instead, I watched as she drained half the glass.
Sarah's lips curved into a nasty smile, her fingers playing with my shirt buttons. "Drake told me she's a total prude in bed. Frigid little bitch can barely keep a man satisfied. Thought I'd help her loosen up with that special drink."
My ears perked up at that. "Special drink?"
She laughed, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. "That whiskey I gave her? I added a little something extra to it." Her eyes gleamed with malice. "It was meant for you, actually. Would've had you feeling real good, real suggestible. Figured we could finally finish what we started before that skinny nobody stole you away."
My blood ran cold, then boiled. "You tried to drug me?"
"Don't act all high and mighty," she snorted, finishing her drink and reaching for more. "Just wanted to remind you what a real woman feels like. Not that pathetic excuse for a female with her sad little tits and country bumpkin style."
I poured her another large whiskey, my hand steady despite the rage building inside me. "What else did Drake tell you about Elowen?"
"Oh, plenty," she slurred, the alcohol hitting her system. "That desperate bitch works at your bar for pennies just to buy him shit. New phone, designer clothes—all while he's fucking other girls on the side." She laughed cruelly. "She's so fucking stupid she doesn't even know. Drake says she cries when they have sex because she hates it so much, but she's too pathetic to leave him."
Each word was like a knife in my chest, imagining Elowen unhappy, used. I clenched my fists, barely holding back the urge to smash Sarah's smug face in. But I knew I couldn't—not yet. This bitch was my golden ticket to uncovering whatever bullshit "engagement contract" Drake was hiding behind.
"Sounds like you and Drake talk a lot," I said, pouring her yet another drink.
"We have our little chats," she winked, swaying slightly. "Both hate that freckled cunt. Both know she doesn't belong here. She's just trash that should've stayed in the gutter where you found her."
When Sarah was completely wasted, I texted several of my racing team members who were still at the track. They arrived within minutes, bringing more alcohol and turning up music on portable speakers.
"Hey, Sarah," I called out as she struggled to stand straight. "My guys want to see that pole dance you were so proud of. The one that got you hired at The Red Wolf. You're always bragging about how sexy you are compared to Elowen. Prove it."
Sarah grinned sloppily, too drunk to see the trap. "I'm the fucking best," she slurred, climbing onto a makeshift stage we'd created using race barriers. "That bitch couldn't dance if her life depended on it. Watch a real woman work."
What followed was exactly what I'd planned. Sarah stumbled to the makeshift stage, her hips swaying exaggeratedly as she grabbed one of the metal poles used to support the racing barriers.
"Watch this," she slurred, attempting to swing around the pole like she was at a strip club.
Her first spin sent her crashing to her knees, legs splaying wide open in her short white shorts. The guys erupted in laughter, phone cameras flashing as she struggled back up, mascara already smudging down her cheeks.
"Fuck you all," she spat, wobbling as she stood. "I can do better. I'm fucking amazing."
She tried again, hoisting herself up and wrapping one leg around the pole. For a moment, she managed to hold a pose, but when she attempted to slide down dramatically, her sweaty palms lost their grip. Sarah tumbled sideways, landing hard on her ass as her shorts rode up indecently.
"Is this the professional dancer you talked about, Casper?" one guy called out. "Thought you said she was good!"
"I AM good!" Sarah shrieked, makeup running down her face. "Better than that freckle-faced nobody you're obsessed with!"
Each time she fell, the laughter grew louder. Phones recorded every humiliating second as she exposed herself repeatedly, too drunk to realize she was the joke, not the entertainment. Her makeup was completely ruined now, black streaks down her flushed face as she tried desperately to impress a crowd that was only there to witness her downfall.
"Elowen could never," she slurred, trying to grind against the pole and nearly falling again. "I'm what a real woman looks like."
"Really? Because you look like a drunk mess to me," I called out, earning roars of laughter from the guys.
After her fifth or sixth fall, Sarah clutched her stomach, eyes wide with panic.
"I need a bathroom," she gasped, the alcohol and humiliation catching up to her. "Casper, please, I'm gonna be sick."
I nodded, helping her off the platform with fake concern. "Sure thing. The restrooms are just past the garages."
I led her on a winding path through the track facilities, deliberately taking wrong turns and backtracking. "I think it's this way," I'd say, watching her squirm and clutch herself, dancing from foot to foot like a toddler.
"Hurry," she pleaded, doubling over. "I can't hold it much longer."
"Just around this corner," I promised, knowing full well we were nowhere near a bathroom. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before trying to drug someone or talking shit about Elowen."
"Fuck you," she hissed, though her voice was weak with desperation. "She doesn't deserve you."
"And you do? A woman who tries to drug men and can't even control her own bladder?"
When she finally realized what I was doing, it was too late. A dark stain spread across her white shorts as she froze in horror, urine running down her bare legs into her designer sandals.
The guys who had followed us at a distance burst into uncontrollable laughter. One of them pointed, "Look at that! Casper's ex just pissed herself like a fucking kindergartener!"
"Get those shots for Instagram," another called out. "Tag her workplace!"
Phones came out again, capturing her ultimate humiliation as she stood there, wet and broken, tears streaming down her face.
"Please," she sobbed, mascara-stained tears mixing with the sweat on her face. "Please don't post those."
"Next time you fuck with what's mine," I whispered in her ear as I passed, "remember this moment. Next time you try to drug someone or badmouth Elowen, remember standing here covered in your own piss while everyone watched."
I walked away without looking back, hearing her collapse to the ground in tears behind me. Let her find her own way home.
My mind was already focused on Elowen and what Drake had planned. I needed to find out what that contract was about.
As I drove back to the Pack House, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, I couldn't shake the image of Elowen in Cassian's arms. The way she'd chosen him over me. But knowing she'd taken that drink meant for me—that she'd unknowingly protected me even while pushing me away—made my wolf howl with possessive need.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Elowen was mine. And I would make sure everyone knew it, especially my twin brother.