Page 63 of Ruin Me Knot
In the darkness, I can pretend escape is still possible.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gabriel
It’s 2:03 a.m. when I finish lacing the last rung of my black rubber-soled boots. The laces bite into my palms but it’s a welcome sting, grounding me in the way only ritual can. The room’s blue shadows pool under my feet, thick with the hush that clings to every hour after midnight. Black cargo pants, black long-sleeved tee, black jacket. Every inch of me is built for blending into late night shadows. My gun is army issue. It’s not the biggest, but it slips perfectly into its holster at my hip. I check my knives, making sure they're secure. My vest is lined, lightweight but fitted like a glove, offering protection if I run into trouble. I tug on my gloves and securethe Velcro.
We have five more facilities to scout. With any luck, I’ll knock over two tonight. Ronan leans on my doorframe, crosses his arms and watches me prepare. "Jax is with Leah. She’s sleeping at least."
I nod, rolling my shoulders and making sure my balaclava is in my pack. "Good. She needs as much rest as she can get."
She’s still locked in her fight-or-flight hypervigilant state. She’s already so fragile and fighting her instincts every damn second. I just want her to trust herself enough to trust us, so she can start to heal.
If she were any other Omega, one untouched by Hardwick’s cruelty, she’d have recognized us as scent-matches and bonded with us already. She’d know beyond doubt that the world couldn’t wedge a single heartbreak between us, but she’s too traumatized to let herself go there.
The glimmers I’ve seen before she snatches herself back keep me strong. At least there’s hope. Her trauma has twisted knot upon knot inside her, distorting everything into a state of confusion and survival. We’ve kept up the skin-to-skin contact. One of us is always touching her, but the truth is she’s struggling, and I hate that.
"Did you hear what she said before? She hasn’t been outside in…" I want to say ‘years’. She hasn’t been outside inyears, but the full horror locks the word in my throat. "She thinks we’re her jailors too. I don’t want that for her. I want her to turn to us and know if she asks anything of us, we’ll say ‘sure’. How high? How fast? How much can we get for you?"
His jaw shifts and he looks away for a second, my words landing heavy. "You know healing is never linear. She’s only been with us a handful of days."
"She needs to be able to make achoiceabout something, brother. She needs agency in her life." Everything was taken from her, including rights to her own body. I work to keep my rage banked, because that is the most basic sovereignty in life. And she didn’t even have that.
An oily undercurrent travels through our pack bond. None of us like seeing Leah like this. Trying to be tough when she’s suffering so badly. All of us are beyond worried, bordering on terrified. I keep replaying images of the cell shewas kept in, the gurney we found her tied to, her sinking into that tainted heat consuming her.
"She went back into heat when she thought she saw someone she recognized outside." I shoulder the strap of my pack when I’m sure I have everything I’ll need before I look back to him. "Do you think shedidsee someone?"
Ronan rubs his sternum, his thumb dragging under his collarbone as his frown deepens. "If she did, then we’re compromised. But how? We’re off grid, and on constant surveillance."
And we’re very good at our job. None of us have seen anything out of the ordinary in any of the cameras we have set up and Jax saw nothing when he went to investigate, but fear nips at me, gnawing my gut. "Something set her off badly enough to send her spiraling into another heat spike."
"We could move to another safe house, but that might be even more detrimental. She hasn’t said a word about the couches we put together. If she really didn’t like it, she would have been out of there within seconds," Ronan says.
She’s fought us, but she’s also allowing us to take care of her in the nest. Touch her. Scent us. That’s something. Ronan is right. Taking her to another unfamiliar environment could set her back.
"The weather report says it’ll be sunny tomorrow. We should take her into the garden, have a picnic. Do something fucking normal. Something enjoyable," I say.
The building complex’s garden sits right at the center of our building, open to the sky but boxed in on three sides by the U-shape of the apartments. It’s ground level, with a patch of grass bordered by low hedges and a few small trees planted years ago. There are a couple of raised flower beds and a picnic table under the biggest tree. It isn’t fancy, but it’s quiet, shielded from the street, and is perfect for our purposes. We’ll have to be vigilant with that open side, but she should be safe enough here. It’s the best kind of haven we can offer.
Ronan chews my suggestion over. There’s a long beat where the silence is full and heavy with everything we haven’t done right. "We’ll be careful. If she shows any signs of her heat returning, we’ll bring her back inside. But… it might be exactly what she needs."
The tightness in my chest loosens a fraction. She deserves something more than four walls and more bars. Even if it’s only for a few hours. And then when this is all over, I’ll buy her a park of her own and she can go outside and do whatever the fuck she wants whenever the fuck she wants to do it.
Ronan clamps his hand on my shoulder. "Good luck, brother," he says.
"I just hope I find where the bitch has holed up," I say.
Ronan’s chest vibrates with a visceral, animal edge that’s nothing like the sound he gives our Omega. I move through the living room on my way to the front door. Leah is tangled with Jax, both of them half-buried under a tumble of throw rugs and clothing, Jax’s arm a heavy band around her waist. Her face is turned into his chest, mouth slack, breath slow and deep. Jax’s cheek rests on her hair, but his eyes slit open as he senses me pass.
I drag in a lungful of her perfume like the junkie I am for her. It’s so pure. So fresh. So alive and sweet it’s stepping into a spring garden after rain, rosebuds just beginning to open. It’s so real I hear bees buzzing around each blossom.
I stare at the scene, taking it in and committing it to memory while I’m out. There’s a quality bakery near here. I’ll stop by when I’m finished. I’ll bring home something flaky and sweet, with the kind of sugar that sticks to lips.
I can’t wait to spoil her with a round of firsts. The kind of firsts that should never have been taken away from her. I’ll go out of my way to give them all to her, starting with pastry, fresh air and sunshine. I’ll do what it takes to heal wounds that have scarred too deep.
I slip out the door, my steps silent as I make my way down to our SUV. The night is still, cold and quiet. I pull out into the street and drive toward my destination, the city’s bones visible only in slices of sodium-orange streetlight. The roads are empty, the world in that liminal hush between last call and first alarm. I drive with one hand on the wheel, city lights flickering across my knuckles as I head to the industrial district.
The train yard I’m aiming for sits on the city’s old artery. A stretch of derelict concrete and iron bones that’s been forgotten no doubt due to Hardwick’s machinations, and framed by tall cyclone fencing crusted in rust and graffiti. Theempty station rises out of the ground. I take in the arches of blackened girders, glass long since smashed out, the ticket hall gutted and open to the night. Old metal tracks split the earth, disappearing beneath weeds and oily puddles, tangling through the yard in a silent labyrinth.
