Alpha's Private Plaything (Elsa and Drake Stone) novel Chapter 75

Chapter 75

“Hello?” My voice was thick with sleep.

“Ms. Hale?” A smooth, slightly amused male voice came through. “This is Terry from Moonlight Bar. Mr. Stone asked me to call you. He

needs a ride home.”

My mind cleared instantly, sleep evaporating like morning dew in summer heat. Drake. Fucking Drake. Drunk. Calling me like his personal

chauffeur at one in the goddamn morning.

“Tell Mr. Stone,” I spat out, rage boiling through my veins, “to wait. I’ll be there when I damn well please.” I jammed my finger on the end

call button and hurled the phone onto the bed. “Fucking bastard!”

My phone buzzed again. Drake’s name flashed on the screen. I declined the call, a small act of defiance that sent a wave of bitter

satisfaction through me. It buzzed again. And again. Seven calls in rapid succession.

“Who the hell does he think I am?” I slammed a glass onto the counter with enough force that I’m surprised it didn’t shatter. “His

personal Uber? His on-call whore? His fucking doormat?” My voice cracked with a mixture of fury and pain that I hated myself for feeling.

My phone started ringing again, this time with an unknown number. I ignored it until a text message came through:

Your mother’s silver poisoning treatment is due for renewal next week. The payment needs to be authorized by Monday. I’d hate for there

to be any… delays.

My blood ran cold, then boiled. “Low-life piece of shit,” I whispered, hands trembling so hard I nearly dropped the phone. The bastard was threatening my mother’s treatment. The treatment he knew I couldn’t afford without the company’s health insurance. The treatment that

was the reason I’d signed that damn contract in the first place.

With trembling hands and a heart full of hatred, I pulled on jeans under my sleep shirt, grabbed my keys, and headed for the door.

When my phone rang for what seemed like the twentieth time, I finally answered, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

“What?” I snapped, not bothering to hide the venom in my voice.

“Elsa,” Drake’s voice was like ice sliding down my spine. “This is not a request. It’s an order. Get here. Now.”

“I’m not your fucking dog, Drake, I don’t come when you whistle.” My words were sharp enough to cut glass, fueled by years of pent-up

resentment,

“Your mother’s treatment,” he said slowly, deliberately. “The payment is due next week. If you still want her to receive it…”

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The threat hung in the air between us, unfinished but perfectly clear. A wave of helpless rage crashed over me, making my eyes sting with

furious tears.

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