Page 42 of Knot Broken

“I didn’t know omegas could purr.” Fox murmurs.

I laugh softly, the sound cutting off. “Neither did I.” It's quiet for a while as we relax. A thought comes to me, I should have asked before. “How did you guys find us?”

Dare chuckles. “Romano. You’d have to ask him for the technical whatever. Basically, he caught the vehicle they used on security cameras around the house and did some mojo thing to track it through traffic cameras.”

I laugh softly. “Sounds complicated.”

Fox

May 28th

6:02 P.M

The movie flickers on the screen, and the volume is turned down low, just enough to fill the silence with background noise. I’m not really watching. I don’t think she is either.

Violet’s stretched out on top of me, her head tucked under my chin, one of her thighs hooked over mine like she’s staked her claim. She smells like lemon frosting and clean skin, like comfort and home, and I swear if I could bottle this moment, I’d carry it in my pocket for the rest of my damn life.

She’s in one of my t-shirts—oversized and practically swallowing her—and a pair of those tiny shorts that drive me crazy every time she shifts. My fingers trail lazily up and down her spine, over the cotton and warm skin, keeping us both grounded.

I could stay like this forever. Just her. Just peace.

Her fingers play absently with the chain around my neck, and then, soft as anything, she asks, “Fox… will you tell me about your life? Before all this?”

I stiffen for half a second. It’s not her fault. No one really asks me that—not because they don’t care, but because most people figure the past is better left buried.

But Violet isn’t most people.

I exhale slowly, fingers drifting down her back as I answer. “My parents were… the kind of people even the worst criminals wouldn’t piss on if they were on fire. Addicts. Liars. Thieves. They sold information to the highest bidder, no matter who it hurt. No lines. No loyalty. Just survival.”

I feel her hand pause, resting over my ribs, like she’s bracing for what comes next.

“I called CPS on myself when I was fifteen. I knew if I didn’t, I’d end up exactly like them. Or worse.”

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t interrupt, but I feel her shift closer, like she’s trying to ease the chill that settles under my skin when I talk about it.

“Foster care wasn’t much better,” I admit. “Bounced around a couple of homes, but eventually landed in this group place. Violent. Loud. Miserable.”

There’s a pause, and then the smallest smile tugs at my lips. “That’s where I met Kingston, Jace, Romano, and Voss. They weren’t a pack then—just a bunch of older, angrier assholes trying not to fall apart. We weren’t friends at first. Hell, Voss punched me the second day I was there.”

I chuckle quietly, and so does she.

“But… I don’t know. Eventually, they started watching out for me. I wasn’t part of their pack. But they became the closest thing I’d ever had to brothers. People who gave a shit if I lived or died. That was new.”

Violet lifts her head just enough to meet my gaze. Her eyes are shining, soft and fierce all at once. “I’m glad you found them. And I’m glad you got out.”

I nod, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. “Yeah. Me too.”

She kisses me then—slow and careful, like she’s trying to speak without words. Her lips taste like warmth, paint, and sugar, and I kiss her back with everything I’ve got.

When we finally pull apart, she rests her head back on my chest, her fingers curling into the hem of my joggers like she needs to stay tethered.

And for the first time in a long time, I realize I’m not drifting anymore.

With her, I’m finally still.

I look down at her, and gods, she’s beautiful. Her curls are a mess, falling across her face, and her lips are soft and a little swollen from kissing. She’s in one of my shirts, legs tangled with mine, and even with everything we’ve seen… she looks at peace.

And I don’t want to keep it in anymore.

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