Page 15 of Believe it or Knot

“You gonna ignore a paying customer?” He asks, sounding amused.

“Are you actually going to pay this time?” I ask, without looking up from my task. A timer goes off and I move to the fryer, pulling out the waffle sweet potato fries that made The Snack Shack famous on the lake.

“Oh, you know the deal, Sor.” I grit my teeth harder when he uses my nickname, forcing a familiarity that I desperately want to erase. If he never said my name or addressed me as anything ever again, I would be a lucky woman. “I don’t pay. I’ll never have to pay. At least not until you can.”

He’s not wrong. Stephen and his entire pack don’t have to pay for anything here. It’s part of the agreement my parents signed when they took out a loan from him to keep us afloat during the pandemic. They’d thought they would pay it back in a few months, once the original outbreak died down, but no one could have predicted that the pandemic would last for years.

I’ve been making payments, trying to get it to a more manageable level, but goddamn, the interest rate they agreed to is insane and I haven’t made a dent in it. At this point, I’m not even sure that the business is worth the amount owed.

That familiar weighed down, hopeless feeling hits hard and fast, and tears momentarily blur my vision as I tip out the basket of fries onto the metal heated counter and use the shaker to sprinkle salt over the crispy goodness.

By the time I’m done with that, I need to build the burgers.

“Don’t cry, Sor.” Stephen says, rounding the counter, like he has the right to, coming to a stop right next to me. I don’t look at him. I just need to get this one order out and then I’ll take a break. Annie can come in and hold down the fort while I deal with… this. Him.

I just need him out of my restaurant.

“You know you have other options,” he murmurs, running his hand down my arm, a waft of his overpowering tea tree scent hitting me hard, making my eyes tear up more as I force down a gag. “If you joined my pack, we’d forgive the debt.”

Join the pack. The one that is well known for treating betas like shit. No better than servants, but bonded forever, unable to escape, until the alphas tire of them and toss them out. Slaves. Alphas rule supreme in Stephen’s pack. I know they’re shopping around for an omega too, and I can only imagine how that poor girl will fare. Probably chained to a bed, naked at the disposal for her alphas whenever they want to fuck her.

In theory, I’m not against that. So long as the person being chained to the bed is a willing participant and has the option to tap out at any time. Plenty of my fantasies include bondage. But not with a pack like his. Never with a pack like his.

“I’ll lose this place before I join your pack, Stephen,” I say, tucking the burgers into their red and white paper boats and then dumping scoops of fries next to them. “I’ve told you that repeatedly.”

He growls. I know in that moment I’ve misjudged his mood. I thought he was relatively calm, relatively happy. Usually I can get away with being blunt with him when he’s like that, and he’ll laugh it off with the threat that he’s going to keep asking and eventually I’ll say yes.

Not today. His fingers bite into my bear arms as he spins me to face him before he backs me up, right into the grill. One of his hands curls around my neck as he forces me closer to the heated surface, cutting off my air.

“You listen to me, Sorrel.” He leans in close until his nose is touching mine. To anyone who might come in, who might glance through the window, it probably looks intimate, like we’re having a private moment. But I can’t fucking breath. I need him to release me. Now. One of my hands braces on the edge of the grill, to keep him from pushing me any farther into it and the other curls around his wrist trying to move his fingers, but he only tightens them.

“You are going to join my pack someday soon. You are going to be my good little beta whore, or I am going to take everything from you. Do you understand?”

Black dots the edge of my vision. The last thing I want to do is agree, but I’m pretty sure if I don’t, he’s going to keep choking me until I pass out. I should nod, or give some kind of assent, but I can’t bring myself to. And it’s not like he’s going to actually kill me. Not today, at least.

Probably not ever because he wants me, wants to own me.

I have no clue why.

When I don’t agree, a snarl pulls at his mouth and he pushes harder on my throat, bending me back. My hand slips, the tips of my fingers slide onto the hot surface of the grill for a moment before my body yanks them off on instinct with a soundless, airless cry. I fall back, spine arching. My back presses against the hot metal long enough that I know I’m going to have a burn.

The bell over the door tinkles and he releases me, stepping away from me as I gasp in air and curl my burned hand into my chest as tears stream down my cheeks. While Stephen turns to greet whoever just entered with his snake charmer’s smile firmly in place, I drop to my knees and scramble for the first aid kit and the burn gel I always keep on hand under the counter.

The burns on my fingers aren’t too bad, I can tell by just looking. They sting right now, but I’ve burned my hands enough to know that they’ll feel better in a few hours. The one on my back, however… Fuck, it’s probably going to blister.

“Sorrel?”

An unfamiliar voice saying my name has me blinking up in confusion. Stephen’s boat shoes move closer to me, standing over me like I’m his to protect. My aqua eyes meet a set of concerned gray ones. Gray eyes I recognize, because I was staring at them this morning through a screen. Now I am looking up at him from my knees as he leans over my counter. “Are you alright?” he asks, concern laces his tone as he takes in the first aid kit spread open on the floor.

“Grayson,” I whisper. “Grayson Cordova.”

Track 6: Can I Be Him?

I have to admit Liam and Rafe were right. Sorrel Forbes is really fucking pretty. Even with tears streaming from her aqua eyes and bruises forming on her neck, she’s stunning. But I can hardly register that because she has fucking bruises forming on her tan skin, and she’s clutching her hand to her chest like it’s a delicate baby bird a second away from shattering. She’s obviously hurt, but she scrambles to her feet, awkwardly bringing the first aid kit with her.

“I’m fine.” She forces a laugh, flicking her gaze over to the alpha standing next to her, bristling like an overprotective asshole. Not that I’m much better. I’m feeling pretty damn overprotective, and I don’t even know the girl.

He inches closer to her and I don’t miss how she moves away, her shoulders curling in like she’s trying to make herself small, escape his notice.

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