Page 26 of Knot a Tie
I stare at it and scrape my teeth together as I think. Eventually, I shake my head. I’m in no fit state to speak to my parents and make them believe everything is fine. “Later,” I mutter, but feel marginally safer knowing he offered. It goes a long way to making me believe they mean me no harm.
Moments later, we pull up outside a fancy mansion in Chelsea and William gets out first. Spencer watches him through the window and then opens the door. He gets out and holds his hand out for me. With only a slight hesitation, I take it, drawing in his fresh lemony scent. He helps me out of the car and with a protective arm around me, he rushes me up the few steps that lead to the front door and into the house with William right behind us.
“You’ll be safe here, Rayne,” William says softly. His voice is deep and growly. I think he is being quiet so as not to scare me anymore than I already am. I give him a weak smile and inhale a shallow breath so I can take in his scent. I nearly groan with hunger when I catch the faint aroma of freshly baked biscuits.
“There’s a room upstairs where you can rest, and maybe take a shower,” Spencer says, leading me through the white marble entrance hall and up the white carpeted stairs.
“I don’t have a change of clothes,” I say, shaking my head, mortified. I try to get a sneaky whiff of my pits in case I stink of sweaty fear-BO.
“You will soon enough. Jones, our go-to beta, has gone back for your car.”
“Oh,” I say in surprise, still feeling numb and out of it. “Thanks.”
Spencer smiles and then leaves me in a pure white room, all alone and wondering what the fuck my next move is.
It only occurs to me seconds later, how did they know where to find my car?
ChapterFifteen
Rayne
Figuring that Richard must’ve told them where my car is, which makes sense and also reassures me that he is okay, or alive at least, I disappear into the beautiful en-suite, which is all black, the exact opposite of the gorgeous pure white room. I flick on the light, and it illuminates the room in a low-level brightness, which my tired eyes appreciate.
Dumping my handbag on the countertop, I glare at myself in the mirror and then my gaze drops to the bag. “You are fucking amazing, my friend. You were worth the four hundred quid and more.” Feeling idiotic, but not caring, I give the bag a hug. Opening it, I fish around for my watch and lay it on the counter, then my bangle and then after a panicked root, I find my ring in the bottom corner attached to some fluff. I blow it off and lay it down as well. Since Spencer told me about my dad and his secret location, my brain has done nothing but recall small details. The ring, given to me four years ago when Dad suddenly declared we were moving from our modest 4-bedroom, detached Victorian house in Hillside to the country manor in Lakesview, a good half an hour’s drive away.
I pick it up and turn it around.
It was a payoff, so I didn’t ask questions.
I remember gushing over it as the movers came in, quick and efficient, packing up our house late on at night so we moved the next day. I thought it was weird at the time, but figured my dad was doing well in his job and wanted to give us nice things.
I slip the ring on my finger and pick up the watch. My eighteenth birthday present. I’d mentioned to Dad after my A-Levels that when I left school, I wanted to go to Uni and learn the law like he did.
Days after I got my exam results, which I’d aced like a boss and got into fucking Cambridge, I got this watch and a trip for me and my friends to Ibiza for the month of September, thus missing the start date. Figuring I’d take a gap year, which was suggested by Dad when he offered to extend my holiday with a shopping trip in Prague, two weeks on the Amalfi Coast, through Paris for more shopping and returning home via Oxford Street in London.
“Jesus, Rayne. You are the worst kind of woman alive. Distracted by shiny things.”
Shaking my head at myself, I put the watch back on then pick up the bangle.
The gold, Cartier bangle. I clasp it to my wrist, wincing as it rubs over the bite that Richard gave me. Dad gave me this four months ago, before I made my appointment with Doctor Fredericks for my heat suppressants. He was proud of me for making this decision because I was unmated, and he didn’t want me knocked up with no pack to love me.
But I see what it was.
He was relieved that I hadn’t found a pack yet. That I’d started to be a bit withdrawn when most of my friends ditched me and went off to Uni. He wanted me at home where he could keep an eye on me as his job grew more and more dangerous. Firstly, shipping me away and then keeping me close as the situation with the loose packs changed, swapping my cars every few months and being really anal about social media.
The Porsche. I was talked out of liking it, I know that now.
I wish he’d told me the extent of the danger. I was always careful. It was drummed into me as a child. I’d thought it was just one of those things with being the daughter of such a powerful man.
I feel like such an idiot, but more than that, I feel used.
Almost as a punishment, I don’t want to call my parents and tell them I’m safe.IfI’m safe.
Pressing my lips to the bite mark on my wrist, I sigh. Half of me wishes Richard had given me a mate bite now. It would anger Daddy, and I really want to hurt him right now.
It’s mean, and the thought quickly vanishes. I really hope Richard is okay and on his way here.
Sighing heavily, I reach for my bag and open it, peering inside for the small zip-up pouch in which I’d stored a weeks’ worth of the heat suppressant injections. Not finding it immediately, I frown and root around some more, scrabbling to find it.
