Page 25 of Knot All that Glitters: Part 1

Yes.

Hale:

Let me uncomplicate it for you, mouse.

We like you. A lot.

We want to see you again.

I stare down at the most recent text from Hale, my heart thundering in my chest. Even a day after it was sent and I first saw it. I haven’t responded, not yet. I’m worried about what it’s going to mean when I do. When I admit that I like them too. A lot.

That I would give just about anything to go out with them again. Or stay in with them.

I can still feel the press of Jude’s body along mine. The rasp of his fingers over the skin of my inner thigh. I can still taste himon my tongue almost a week later. I want more of that, more of everything.

But it’s like my father has some sort of sixth sense for these things. As soon as I find a modicum of happiness, something for myself, he does everything in his power to take it from me.

Even if he doesn’t know what ‘it’ is.

In this case, he’s taken over my entire freaking schedule. From sunup to sundown, I am booked solid. Starting with early morning trips to the gym for an appointment with a personal trainer for an hour and a half. Which omegas are not supposed to do, by the way. We’re supposed to be a little soft, a little cushiony and curvy. But he wants me to look more like a beta, so I spend hours carving away that softness and turning it into muscle.

Which, don’t get me wrong, makes me feel strong, but I hate working out. Hate it.

After the gym, it’s brunch with the wives of his biggest supporters, or luncheon with a foundation that donated money, or a visit to a children’s hospital. He has me go to a clinic for omegas and try to talk them into just ignoring their instincts. Those are the worst events he makes me attend. I hate every word that falls from my lips, every lie, every time I say, ‘if I can do it, so can you!’

What follows is lunches with lone alphas and betas that act like alphas, a lot of staring at my chest and not caring one bit if I ever say a word. From morning to night, it’s been the same. A blur of my strings being pulled, of the proverbial hand of my father shoved up my ass to make my mouth move with the words he wants me to say, nothing more than a doll for him to use.

I’ve only seen the Calloway Pack once.

While they’re some of his biggest donors, which I still can’t wrap my head around, he doesn’t view them as all that important. Or maybe he feels he can’t be seen giving themspecial treatment and invites to these intimate gatherings since they are an established pack. And everyone knows Frederick Bell doesn’t support pack life.

The one time we did see each other, Brian was on my ass all night, hand hovering over my lower back, almost possessively, as he ushered me around the room. I’d tried to get him to give me some space, but he’d flatly refused. So the most I’d been able to do was give them a smile—the real one—and murmur a greeting, which they’d returned, if a bit stiffly.

Jude had glared at Brian, more specifically, at all the places where we were touching. Brian’s hand on my lower back, my shoulder nestled into his side, not by choice, but because every time I moved away from him, he followed like he was stuck to my side with an elastic band.

Hale had made allusions to seeing Brian the night before, but that they hadn’t had a chance to speak since my father’s aide was a little tied up. I don’t know what that meant, but the way Brian flushed deep red and hustled me away from them, clearly flustered, was almost gratifying.

If only he’d left me with the Calloways while he scurried away like the little rat he is.

Alas, that was not to be.

I miss them.

I don’t even know how that’s possible, seeing as we’ve literally spent all of four hours together, probably less. But I do.

And if the way they’ve been texting every day is any sign, they just might miss me, too. Or maybe they’re still banking on my being able to help them get closer to my father. I don’t know and I don’t particularly care.

Except for Ren, I have nothing of my own, nothing for myself.

I’ve spent my life following my father’s orders and being the good puppet he needs me to be. I need something for myself.

I want that something to be the Calloway pack. Even if it’s only temporary. Even if they are using me to get close to him. I’ll go into this with my eyes open, keep in the back of my mind that it might all blow up in my face. If I do that, it’ll hurt less, right?

Sure.

That’s what I’ll tell myself.

It’s what I tell myself as I pick up the phone and finally, twelve hours later, respond to Hale’s text that they like me. A lot.

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