Page 110 of Knot Their Arrangement

My eyes snap open, and I find myself staring into an expression I haven't seen in years – that same cocky smirk that used to make my teenage heart race. But the boy who gave me my first taste of freedom has been replaced by something more tempting and more refined.

The same Alpha who set Maharaja on fire.

Who chased me through the forest wearing that haunting mask with its glowing eyes.

Who fought alongside the detective – Ezekiel – to save me from those hunting Alphas who thought I'd be easy prey.

Riot.

The realization hits me like a physical blow, making my breath catch in my throat. But he's not Riot anymore, is he? That was just a nickname from our shared past, a symbol of the chaos we created together during that perfect week of rebellion.

Now he's Rhett "Blaze" Holloway – a name that carries weight in the underground racing scene, that makes hardened criminals check their rearview mirrors at night.

The masked avenger who delivered justice with fire and precision, who turned my ex-husband to be's precious car into his funeral pyre.

Oh fucking god...did he die in the fire? What even happened last night? Wait...I need to recap...but ugh. That makes my head hurt.

My thoughts spiral in a confused whirlwind as I try to piece together the fragments of memory – the crash, the forest, the gunshots. Everything blurs together in a kaleidoscope of violence and rain, making my temples throb with renewed intensity.

The gentle touch of Rhett's hand on my cheek anchors me back to the present moment. Our eyes connect, and suddenly I'm drowning in those artificial emerald depths that haunted my teenage dreams. The color is even more striking up close – like precious stones catching sunlight, transforming his gaze into something almost otherworldly.

Before I realize what I'm doing, my hand rises to cup his cheek, my thumb grazing along his skin just as I did during our last interaction. The gesture feels both familiar and new, loaded with years of unspoken words and buried regrets.

The memory hits me with devastating clarity –my father's men dragging him away while I screamed, knowing in my heart I'd never see him again. The sound of flesh meeting flesh, the sight of blood spattering on concrete, the way they treated him like garbage to be disposed of rather than the precious gift he was to me in the short instance of freedom and thrilling wonder.

Tears well up in my eyes before I can stop them, hot and heavy with years of guilt. Rhett frowns, his own hand coming up to cup my cheek as he whispers.

"Don't cry. Please don't cry."

But those softened pleas only make the tears fall faster.

"They dragged you away..." My voice cracks on the confession, years of suppressed pain breaking free. "All because of me...I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Riot."

His eyes soften at the old nickname, and before I can say more, he pulls me into his arms. The embrace feels like coming home –safe, warm, and perfect.I bury my face against his chest, letting out all the tears I've held back since that terrible night.

His body remains calm beneath my storm of emotion, with no tension or anger evident in his muscles. But that control only makes me cry harder, knowing he must have endured so much because of my father.

It seems like my past is a plague, infecting anyone who dares get close enough to care.

Everyone I love ends up suffering.

First my mother, forced to watch helplessly as her daughter was groomed for sale. Then my grandmother, whose attempts to protect me resulted in her own isolation. Astraea and Velvet risk everything just by offering me sanctuary, and now Rhett...

His hand strokes my back in soothing patterns, letting me work through the emotion without trying to stop it. He holds me like I'm something precious rather than the burden I know myself to be. His touch is gentle despite the strength I can feel coiled in his frame.

Only when my sobs quiet to occasional hiccups does he speak.

"Are you in pain?"

The question carries layers of meaning, but I focus on the physical aspect, trying to assess my body's condition. A careful shift reveals various aches, but nothing severe except...

"Just my head hurts a bit."

He nods, propping himself up from his side-lying position.

"I'll get you some water and meds for that."

His movements are fluid as he helps me sit up, every action carrying that same careful gentleness that makes my heart ache. The change in position gives me my first real chance to observe the room I've been resting in.

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