Page 116 of Knot Their Arrangement

There's only one left.

The thought makes me groan internally as I try to push away the guilt that threatens to surface.

I'm not what my father loved to call me – not some whore destined to spread my legs for anyone with enough money or power. These choices were mine, made with full awareness and consent.

Still, the speed of it all makes my head spin. Going from carefully controlled celibacy at the Safe Haven to being thoroughly claimed by multiple Alphas in less than a day...it should feel wrong.

Should make me question my own worth, my own morality.

But it doesn't.

Despite the unexpected and admittedly impulsive decisions to let these men pleasure me –to pleasure them in return– I don't feel degraded. There's nothing shameful about choosing to explore connections that feel genuine, that spark something real inside me.

I'm being safe about it...

The thought trails off as I remember one crucial detail: my heat suppressants are still at the Safe Haven. A frown creases my brow as I consider the implications.

Great.

Pushing the worry aside for now, I continue my descent.

The oversized t-shirt I borrowed from Rhett falls halfway down my thighs, the words "RACING PLAYER 1" shifting from neon blue to red across the black fabric with each movement. It's about as far from my usual carefully coordinated outfits as possible, especially with my hair falling loose in soft waves instead of being neatly styled.

The only concession to my normal appearance is the lightly tinted red lipstick I applied – just enough to bring some life back to my face since I don't have access to my usual products. They might be light coverage, but they're effective at making me look put together even on my worst days.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, voices drift from what must be the living room. The tone immediately alerts me to some kind of tension, drawing me forward despite my uncertainty about interrupting.

"They put her on a list. Meaning it's my duty as a detective to watch her." Ezekiel's voice carries that authoritative edge I remember from the forest, though it's tempered with something that sounds almost like concern.

"She's not a puppy that needs 24/7 monitoring," Damon argues, clear annoyance coloring his tone. I peek around the corner just in time to see him giving Ezekiel a pointed side-eye before taking a long drag from his cigar.

The smoke curls around him like a living thing, adding to his already imposing presence.

Even in what appears to be casual clothing – though I suspect his idea of "casual" still costs more than my entire wardrobe – he radiates authority and danger in equal measure.

"Her safety is the priority," Ezekiel insists, his voice carrying that edge of authority that probably serves him well in interrogation rooms.

He paces the length of what appears to be an extremely expensive Persian rug, each step precise despite his obvious agitation.

"Especially when her ex-soon-to-be husband or whatever the fuck we're calling Maharaja had every intention of selling her out to any horny Alpha desperate to have her because of this movement."

Damon exhales a perfect smoke ring, watching it dissipate before responding. His casual posture in the leather armchair belies the tension I can sense beneath his controlled exterior.

"It's not like I'm suggesting we abandon her to the wolves. We have every intention of making her ours." His dark eyes narrow slightly as he taps ash into what looks like a crystal ashtray. "But guarding her like she's some prized golden retriever puppy who can't even use the washroom alone? That's fucking foolish."

"She literally got kidnapped while she was in the washroom!" Ezekiel spins to face him, gesturing sharply with one hand. "While you and Kieran were enjoying your evening with her, I might add."

From his position by a floor-to-ceiling window, Kieran's mismatched eyes glint with amusement.

"I'm hearing a lot of jealousy in that tone, detective." His smile carries a knowing edge that makes Ezekiel's jaw clench.

"Perhaps if you'd been faster accepting your attraction to her, you could have joined us."

“I was working!” Ezekiel exclaims as if it was obvious. “I didn’t know this one,” he pauses to purposely point to Damon. “Was a jealous prick. Actually. I take that back. I know he’s a jealous mother fucker, which is why he sent Mr. Nascar Stalker to go search for the Omega in the saree running the streets and somehow he fucking found her!”

Ah. So did they bump into Ezekiel after we’d crashed into each other and he’d mentioned me? Maybe that could have been why they found me right when I was in need of a helping hand.

A deep chuckle draws my attention to where Rhett leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in a way that makes his muscles ripple beneath his shirt. He blends so effortlessly with the dark space in the corner like he has no intention of joining this conversation unless necessary.

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