Page 90 of Believe it or Knot

Sorrel squints up at her with her nose wrinkled adorably. “They officially asked me to be a member of their pack, and I accepted.”

“Oh.” That’s all he says. Just, ‘oh.’ There’s this emotion that flickers over his face… like… heartbreak. Like he thinks her being with us means he’s losing her forever. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s not losing her, he’s gaining us.

I make a mental note to reassure him of that fact, right as Sorrel tilts her head back to look at him with a shy smile on his face. Her pretty aqua eyes run over his expression. A furrow appears between her brows as she tries to read what he’s feeling. But he’s wiped it clean. Not even his normal growly frown.

“Gage,” she starts, but he shakes his head and her mouth snaps closed before she stubbornly continues. “This doesn’t mean-”

“I know,” he cuts her off, like he doesn’t want her reassurance that they can still be together, even if she’s with us. “Believe me, I know.”

He bends and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, eyes slipping closed at the contact, squeezing her tighter.

I watch them, feeling like an interloper again, then glance over my shoulder at Gray and Rafe, who are watching them too. Gray meets my eyes and gives me a nod. He sees the same thing I do.

Gage thinks we don’t want him. He thinks we’re taking his girl from him.

We aren’t.

We would never do that. Our primary goal as a pack is to keep all of our pack members happy. And I know without asking that in order for Sorrel to be happy, she needs Gage.

It’s our job as a pack to reassure him that, believe it or not, we want him too.

Track 20: You Belong to Someone Else

I don’t know why I’m here. No, that’s not true. I know exactly why I’m here. Because Sorrel asked me to be and I’m helpless against her. Even if this is the last place on earth I want to be. Stepping into this building, this studio is akin to facing a firing squad.

The end of my hopes and dreams for the future.

The end of my life.

And I just have to suck it up because… well, she wants this.

Or at least I think she does. With the way her tan skin has a slightly grayish tint and she’s pacing in front of me, her fingers fidgeting incessantly, I’m not too sure that she does. Maybe… Maybe she just got caught up in the glitz and the glamor and said yes. And now she’s looking for a way out.

A way to be with me and not them.

I close my eyes as memories assault me. The taste of her mouth on my tongue, the silky softness of her skin under my fingers, the wet heat of her cunt on my cock. The sounds she made. The way sliding into her felt like coming home. Our fingers laced together, staring into her eyes as I came harder than I ever have in my entire fucking life.

My fists clench at my sides to force the memory away.

I’d thought that was the start of something, the beginning of the rest of our lives together. I thought she would be mine from that moment on, but I was wrong. She’s been here with the Cordova pack, letting them take her to expensive dinners and putting herself at risk, being attacked by some psycho ex of theirs.

Last night I got the whole story from Sorrel, followed by another conversation with Gray, where he was much more realistic about the trauma my girl went through. Sorrel tried to play it off like it was nothing. She always tries to play it off like it was nothing. No matter what it is.

But this… this wasn’t nothing. Some man left bruises on her perfect tan skin, scared her, made her cry, stole her sense of safety. If The prime of the Cordova pack hadn’t assured me that the prick was behind bars, I would have hunted him down and gutted him.

I can still see the faint bruises, though they’re mostly hidden behind the layer of makeup carefully applied by a tiny beta woman with bright pink hair and too much eyeliner.

“I’m so fucking nervous I could puke,” Sorrel says, looking green around the edges. Not that you can actually see her edges. She’s got about a million pounds of makeup on, making her skin look flawless, but also fake. I miss her freckles.

She’s dressed differently too, wearing an outfit that I know the Cordova pack bought for her and probably costs more than two months’ mortgage of my parents’ place. A tight deep purple pencil skirt, a cream colored blouse with tiny pearl buttons up the front, sky high heels, that make her legs look phenomenal, but that she has trouble walking in. There’s a blazer hanging on a rack nearby, just waiting for her to slip it on. A freaking blazer. Sorrel’s never worn a blazer in her life.

But here she is, changing herself to fit them. The Cordova pack.

I hate it.

I hate them.

Liar.

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