Page 27 of Knot a Tie
When I don’t, even in the depths of the handbag, I tip it up on the counter, my heart pounding in panic.
“No, no, no, no, no!” I exclaim as the contents scatter across the black granite. Everything from various tubes of lip gloss, to a half-eaten packet of Polo mints, an open packet of pocket-sized tissues, some gum, my purse, a roll-on deodorant, some perfume, more fluff than I care for…but no pouch.
“Fuck!” I roar. “Fuck!”
It must’ve been part of the stuff that fell out on the pavement when I was struggling with Tree-man.
I lean on the counter, tears pricking my eyes. This is bad. Really, really bad. My twenty-first birthday is next week. I’m supposed to be doubling up my injections for the next few days to ensure their success at suppressing what is, naturally, a very powerful part of my biology. Without them, the build-up over the last three months is for nothing. They will fade and I will enter my heat, maybe a bit late, and probably not so intensely, but the suppressants will fail.
Ineedto get home. There are no two ways about it.
I scoop up all the crap and dump it back in the bag, glad that I’ve carried around so much junk. If the bag had been lighter, it wouldn’t have saved my arse earlier.
Marching out of the en-suite and through the white room, I gather up my courage. I’m going to have to tell these alphas to get knotted, and that I’m going home.
Leaving the room and heading down the stairs, I find Spencer sitting on the third to last, flicking through his phone.
“Going somewhere?” he asks with a droll tone that despite my fear, anger, disappointment and whatever else I’m feeling, I smile at.
“Home.”
“Yeah, nope, BM. Can’t let you do that?”
“BM? And why not? Am I a prisoner here?”
“Blueberry-muffins is a bit of a, err, mouthful,” he says, looking over his shoulder at me with a dazzling smile that really lights up his eyes. “And no, of course not, however, if you fancy your chances with the three cars of loose alphas out the front there, be my guest. Train station is on Sloane Square.”
I hesitate. “Three cars?”
“Yep.”
“And you are just sitting there checking the football scores?”
“Chelsea played a friendly at home,” he replies.
“Why aren’t you doing anything?” I shriek.
“They haven’t done anything. What would you like me to do?”
“They were going to…”
“Going to isn’t the same as doing…our hands are tied. We are biding our time. As soon as one of them sets foot on the property, they are toast.”
“Ugh,” I groan, scrunching up my nose as I flop down next to him on the stairs. “These must be such a bitch to keep clean.”
“That’s why we usually insist that guests remove their shoes.”
I stare down at my white Vans and cringe. They are pretty scuffed up after the day’s events. I kick them off with a sigh. “So, I’m stuck here with you or I’m omeganapped again by them.”
“Looks like. And by the way, there are worse people to be stuck with.” His mildly insulted tone makes me giggle like a stupid fool.
Hysteria.
Definitely hysteria setting in.
I let out a loud guffaw and slap my hand over my mouth, meeting his amused gaze. “Sorry,” I cackle. “I have no idea what’s so funny.”
“You’re in shock, probably. You should rest.”
