Page 19 of Knot for Me
“Put a notice out that no one is to come to the house, not until we know she can take care of herself.”
Cory taps on his phone, sending out a group message to the lower members of our pack. We trust our people, but when it comes to omegas and their pheromones, even the best of men can get overwhelmed.
“I’ll take her to the gym sometime this week to evaluate her skills.” I study the screen, trying not to notice the way her shirt molds to her curves.
Cory is right. She’s dangerous.
ChapterSix
REAGAN
I wake late the next morning, having stayed up into the early hours of the morning trying to convince myself why I shouldn’t run away. Living as a shunned omega would be hard but not impossible. Plenty of people live off the grid. Some people even go camping—gross—for fun. While I’m not a fan of digging a hole to poop in, I would do what needed to be done.
Who are you kidding? You don’t even like public restrooms. What makes you think you’ll be fine taking a shit in the woods with Bambi?
Groaning, I rub my hands over my face and roll out of bed. The bathroom tiles are cold, and once I’m done peeing and washing my hands, I race to the bedroom for socks. You would think with all this money they’d invest in heated floors, but I guess they can’t be rich, hot,andsmart. Speaking of them, I’m dreading running into Lucas again. Cory and Marco have been kind. If I can figure out how to avoid the alpha-prick most of the time, my life will be a lot easier.
I brush my hair, redoing the messy bun so it’s more cute than strung-out-druggie, stick my phone in my pocket, and head to the kitchen. The house is so quiet it’s eerie. Mansions seem cool and everything until you have to live inside of one. I miss the coziness of my house growing up, and my apartment. I’ve never lived in a house bigger than 3000 square feet, so to say this place is a major upgrade is an understatement. Most omegas would be prancing around and cooing about all the fancy woodwork, the expensive abstract art, and the way the house smells so fresh and clean. The last maid did a damn good job keeping things tidy… no pressure, right?
I notice a black air filter plugged into the wall near the front door and a package lying next to it. There’s a note sitting on top. I go read it.
Reagan, this is the air filter for your room. I set up the other ones already. Hope this helps - Cory.
Sniffing, I test the air. I don’t smell much, but the guys aren’t here and I’m not excited, so I can’t tell if the air purifier is actually doing its job. Guess it can’t hurt though. I’ll set that up in my room later today. After breakfast and exploring.
The kitchen is empty but there’s a plate of muffins that are still warm to the touch. I look around to see if there’s any sign of life, but whoever made the muffins must have cleaned up their mess too.
If I’m supposed to keep up after these guys, my job is going to get boring real quick. I take a bite of the muffin, humming in appreciation when the berry flavor bursts across my tongue. I love mixed berry muffins. They’re far superior to blueberry if you ask me. Going to the cabinets, I open a few until I find a glass and set it on the counter. The fridge is fully stocked. I grab the oat milk and pour myself a bit. Oat milk is what I drink too, but I studiously ignore the fact that these guys have similar tastes to me.
It doesn’t mean anything.
I grab my milk and muffin and head to the island, sitting in one of the tall chairs. A clock somewhere in the house ticks obnoxiously loud, and the longer I sit alone, the louder it seems to get. I polish off another muffin—it would be a shame to waste a perfectly warm one—then wash my cup and set it in the metal drying rack on the side of the sink where a few other glasses sit. There’s an industrial style dishwasher, but there’s no reason to use it.
Tick, tick, tick.
“Fucking clock,” I mutter, pulling out my phone and leaning against the counter. I power it on, watching the screen go through the start-up. As soon as the device connects to the mobile network signal, several alerts flash across the screen. Six missed calls, twenty texts, and four voicemails. I grumble and unlock the phone, noticing my email has a few notifications too.
Starting with the voicemails, I wince when I see all of them are from my mom’s number. I click the first one, putting the speaker on.
Reagan Mae, you better call me as soon as you get this. Camila called me and told me what you did. I can’t believe you. I raised you better than this.
“Apparently not,” I say, rolling my eyes and listening to the next one.
Reagan. Call me. What happened? Where are you? Camila wouldn’t tell me what pack got you. Fucking cunt. Call me.
I snort, at least Mom and I agree on one thing.
I click the next one, smiling a little at her exasperated sigh. My mom is obnoxious, but I love her. She’s always tried to push me toward theGreat Omega Dream, but that’s because she wants me to be taken care of. I can’t fault her for that, no matter how frustrated I get with her sometimes.
Reagan, baby. Are you okay? Call me if you need help, I’ll send your dads. They’re old but strong—one of my dads cuts in and grumbles something about her being rude—shush. I’m leaving her a message. No, you can’t have the phone, I’m not done talking yet. Lionel! No. Give me the—
The message cuts off. I chuckle because of all my dads, Lionel is the most like me. He’s funny, doesn’t mind a good verbal spar, and has the tendency to cause trouble. My siblings and I never learned who our father was—omega culture doesn’t really care about that sort of thing—but I have a sneaking suspicion Lionel is one-hundred-percent responsible for me. Well, fifty-percent if you consider Mom.
Hey, Rea. It’s Lionel. You’re making your mom crazy. Do me a favor and call her when you can, okay?There’s some noise against the speaker, like he’s shifting to keep someone from taking the phone.If you need help, let me know.
If anyone were able to bail me out, it would be him. My eyes mist, and I blink, shoving down the tears. Big girls don’t cry. Next, I check my messages. It’s more of the same from Mom, a few texts from my other two dads, and one from Megan.
Megan: Mom is losing it. Did you really hook up with a beta in a supply closet? You’re crazy. Love you.
