Page 147 of Knot So Fast
He shares a look with Luke over my shoulder, some kind of silent communication that ends with Luke saying, "Why don't we go back to our place?"
The two of them smirk like they've already won something, but I'm not done with my night of public claiming. I press a kiss to each of their cheeks—promises of what's to come—before making my way to where Lachlan is holding court.
He's at a corner booth, engaged in what looks like serious business with some heavy hitters I vaguely recognize from sponsor events. CEOs, team principals, the kind of men who sign checks with too many zeros. They all pause when they see me approaching, their eyes tracking my movement with an appreciation that's just shy of inappropriate.
The alcohol makes it easy to be nothing but confident as I lean in close to Lachlan, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper that we're leaving first.
His arm hooks around my waist immediately, completely relaxed as he tugs me down onto his lap like it's the most natural thing in the world. The businessmen are watching with barely concealed interest, and I know tomorrow there'll be discussions about Wolfe's omega, about pack dynamics, about whether this is real or performance.
"Repeat that," Lachlan murmurs, positioning me so our lips are barely brushing, his voice low enough that only I can hear despite our very public display.
"I'm leaving with Kieran and Luke," I tell him, letting my lips ghost over his with each word.
His hand tightens on my waist, possessive and approving in equal measure. "You gonna be a good little Omega and behave when you get home?"
The question sends heat spiraling through me, made worse by the way his fingers are tracing patterns on the exposed skin of my thigh. But I'm not backing down from this game we're playing.
I close the distance between us, kissing him properly despite our audience. When I pull back, my smile is pure sin. "I'll bea good Omega for my Alphas. At least until you're done with business and come home to continue the festivities."
His grin is sharp enough to cut glass. "Go ahead then."
As I stand to leave, he delivers a slap to my ass that's definitely louder than necessary, the sound cracking through the music. "Don't cause trouble."
I giggle, the sound bright and provocative, because we both know that's exactly what I'm going to cause. Trouble is my middle name, my calling card, the thing that makes life interesting.
I'm back with Luke in a heartbeat, his hand finding mine while Kieran takes the other, the three of us moving toward the exit like we're magnetized. But just before we leave, something makes me glance toward the corner of the club.
Lucius is there, alone at the bar, a glass of whiskey held loosely in his hand. He's watching me from afar, his expression unreadable in the shifting lights. For a moment, I wonder if I'm more lucid than I think, if the alcohol is playing tricks with my vision.
But no, it's definitely him. Sitting there in his expensive suit, looking like sin and bad decisions and everything I'm supposed to be avoiding.
I smirk proudly, letting him see exactly what he's missing. He could have this—could be part of this pack, this family we're building—if he wasn't being such a stubborn prick about commitment. I want him to see that I'm the grand fucking prize, that what we're offering isn't consolation but constellation, all of us burning bright together.
My smile only grows as our gaze breaks, his jaw tightening as I disappear through the door with Luke and Kieran on either side of me.
By the time we get back to my apartment, my phone is already blowing up with notifications. The tabloids work fast—there's already a blurred shot of the dance floor with captions like "Omega in Overdrive" and "Pack Dynamics Heat Up Monaco Night."
I scroll through my inbox, seeing more threatening emails mixed in with the usual hate mail. The threats are getting more specific, more graphic, but I know Katie will handle it. She always does, creating a buffer between me and the worst of humanity's offerings.
I switch my phone to airplane mode with decisive satisfaction, tossing it onto the counter just as Luke emerges from the kitchen. He's already shirtless because apparently that's his default state in private, his Beta build on full display as he carries a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and a bottle of wine that probably costs more than most people's cars.
"Thought we could use a good appetizer before... other things," he says, his smile suggesting those other things are going to be worth the wait.
"Only if it comes with whipped cream," I counter, already knowing exactly where this night is headed.
Kieran appears with glasses and—because the universe loves me—a can of actual whipped cream, the expensive stuff that comes in a metal canister and tastes like clouds made of sugar.
The three of us share a look that's all heat and promise and the knowledge that we're about to cross lines that can't be uncrossed. But that's the thing about lines—they're only boundaries if you let them be. Otherwise, they're just suggestions, and I've never been good at following those.
"So," Luke says, setting down the strawberries with deliberate care, "how should we start this?"
I pick up a strawberry, biting into it slowly, letting the juice run down my chin just to watch them both track the movement. "I have a few ideas."
Kieran steps closer, crowding into my space in a way that should be intimidating but just makes my pulse race. "We're all ears."
"Among other things," Luke adds, and the heat in his voice makes it clear those other things are exactly what we're all thinking about.
The night stretches out ahead of us, full of possibility and promise and the kind of trouble that makes headlines. But right now, in this moment, with these two men looking at me like I'm everything they've ever wanted, I couldn't care less about tomorrow's tabloids.
