Page 24 of Knotting the Cowboys

My lungs seize as time fractures. I'm not in a warm kitchen anymore. I'm?—

Handcuffed to a bed.

Metal biting into my wrists as I pull, pull, pull until blood makes everything slippery.

Blake's cologne mixing with gasoline, his voice calm as he explains why this is necessary.

"You should have just been a good Omega, Willa. Should have known your place."

The fire starts small.

Just curtains at first, fabric I'd chosen because they reminded me of my grandmother's house.

Orange flames licking up, up, up while Blake watches from the doorway.

"The insurance money will help the pack," he says conversationally. "Your death will be tragic but necessary. Omega who couldn't handle pack life, decided to end it all. They'll believe it. They always believe the Alpha."

Smoke fills the room faster than seems possible.

I'm screaming but no sound comes out, my damaged throat already closing.

The handcuffs won't give, won't break, and the bed frame is solid oak that Granddad made?—

No.

That's wrong.

This is wrong.

But the memories cascade anyway, mixing truth with fiction with terror.

"Should have mated properly." Blake's voice floats through smoke. "Should have been grateful for what you had instead of asking questions. Looking at bank statements. Threatening to leave."

My chest burns.

Inside and out, fire everywhere.

In my lungs, against my skin, the whole world orange and black and pain.

I can't breathe.

Can't think.

Can't—

"Please." The word tears from my throat, but Blake's already gone.

Just me and the flames and the certainty that this is how I die.

Inappropriate Willa finally put in her place, permanently.

The bed catches.

Sheets I'd washed that morning going up like tissue paper.

Heat blisters along my arms as I fight the cuffs, metal now burning hot against my wrists.

Everything hurts.

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