Page 100 of Knot Their Arrangement

Their attention shifts to Trouble, taking in the significance of my mask adorning her features.

The glowing display isn't just a piece of advanced tech – it's a symbol known throughout the city's underworld. A calling card that strikes fear into those who recognize its meaning.

Everyone in these dark corners knows what that mask represents.

It's the signature of Rhett "Blaze" Holloway.

Aka me.

"Holloway," the leader speaks, recognition coloring his tone.

There's a slight tremor in his voice that he tries to mask with bravado. I know that tremor well – it's the sound of someone realizing they're in far deeper than they planned.

"We were paid heavily to do our job tonight. We're not leaving empty-handed and starved when we were offered an Omega. You know the rules. I suggest you follow them."

The smile cracks on my face like breaking glass.

The rain seems to fall harder as my expression morphs into something darker, more primal. My eyes narrow to predatory slits, every muscle in my body coiling with barely contained violence.

The neon glow from nearby city lights catches the rain, creating an eerie backdrop to this confrontation.

One of his men audibly gulps – smart enough to recognize the danger, if not smart enough to run from it.

The sound brings back memories of other nights, other confrontations where people realized too late exactly who they were dealing with. But I keep my focus on the leader, a low growl vibrating through my chest and against Trouble's back where I hold her.

I feel her tense in my arms, her body going rigid at the sound of my growl. But I instinctively tighten my grip, protective rather than restraining.

Her scent spikes with fear, though I note with satisfaction that it's not fear of me. Even after all these years, even after watching me commit murder, her body recognizes me as safety rather than threat.

Through my peripheral vision, I track the positions of all six men. They're arranged in a standard tactical formation – the kind taught to mercenaries and private security. Professional, but predictable.

I've killed better-trained men for less offense than they're planning.

"Why don't I make this clear now?" My voice drops several degrees, becoming as cold and emotionless as the void. Each word carries lethal intent, a promise rather than a threat. The temperature seems to drop around us, or maybe that's just the effect of my tone. "Castellano has officially laid a claim on this very Omega. Feel free to check it out if you survive this interaction."

I pause deliberately, watching their expressions shift at the mention of Castellano. His name carries weight in these parts – the kind of weight that breaks bones and ends bloodlines.

Even these hired hunting thugs know better than to directly cross the man who controls every significant criminal enterprise in the city.

No one with functioning survival instincts crosses Castellano in his own territory. Even here in the forest, where boundary lines blur and multiple powers claim ownership, his influence casts a long shadow. These men might be hired muscle, but they're not stupid enough to risk his wrath.

The rain continues its relentless descent, plastering hair to scalps and making tactical gear glisten in the dim light — perfect conditions for what might come next.

Rain washes away blood so efficiently.

"That claim is reinforced with Blackthorn's involvement." Another calculated pause as this information sinks in. Kieran's reputation in certain circles rivals Castellano's, though for different reasons. Where Damon rules through obvious power, Kieran's influence is subtler but no less deadly. "Obviously anything with him involved is just inviting trouble, but if you didn't get that memo, let me be the first and only one to warn you."

My lips pull back in a wolf's grin, all teeth and deadly promise. The expression feels natural on my face – I've worn it often enough in situations like this.

"And I, Rhett 'Blaze' Holloway, don't like ANYONE touching whom I've already claimed."

The words emerge as a growl, low and threatening. The sound makes two of the men take involuntary steps backward. They've heard the stories, then. Know what happened to the last group who tried to poach from my territory.

"Already claimed?" One of them hisses to their leader, who hasn't broken eye contact with me. His gaze tracks my every movement, analyzing for weaknesses he won't find. Years of street racing, underground fights, and darker activities have eliminated such vulnerabilities. "He says she's unclaimed and a virgin."

A dark chuckle escapes me, the sound almost genuine in its amusement.

It's either laugh or start the bloodshed immediately – because the realization of what they'd planned, of the brutality they were hired to inflict on someone they believed to be innocent, makes my inner Alpha howl for their deaths.

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