Page 47 of Knot My MC
A spike of cinnamon perfumes the air.Chill out, Kiki. You’re acting unhinged.Growling softly under my breath, I clench my fists and force the anger down. I leave Jag’s room and quietly make my way to the kitchen. I notice three things all at once. One: There’s a woman passed out on the couch. Two: Her scent is everywhere. Three: It’s omega.
“Oh, hey, Kiks.” Jag smiles at me from where he stands near the fridge, blue eyes lit with mischief.
Hey, Kiks?Hey. Kiks.That’s all he has to say? They brought a fucking omega back to their apartment, knowing full well I’d be here. That anger I had managed to bottle up explodes like a rocket, and a haze of red clouds my vision. My feet try to move in her direction, the omega hormones telling my body the easiest way to deal with this situation is to eliminate the threat.
No, no. She’s not the problem.
I spin on my heel and head directly to Jag. His gaze is curious, but as I pull my arm back, palm splayed open and ready to smack that dumbass smile off his face, there’s a flash of concern. Before my hand can hit its mark, he catches me by the wrist and tugs me closer. I shove against his chest but he captures that arm too and spins me around, pinning my front to the cool stainless steel.
“Get the fuck off of me,” I snarl, bucking against his hold.
“Why are you mad?” he asks, mouth brushing over the shell of my ear.
I slam my head back and he barely dodges the hit. “Fuck you.”
“Why are you mad, Kiks?” he asks again, gripping both wrists with one hand and pressing his other to the back of my head to keep me from head butting him. He presses his front against my back. A ripple of desire rushes over me. My body likes this. Can’t say the same for my brain.
Clamping my mouth shut, I ignore his question and try to twist out of his hold. That doesn’t work, so I bring my foot up and stomp on his instep. He hisses in pain and loosens his grip ever so slightly. I take advantage of the space and shove my arms apart, breaking free from his grasp and slam my fist back into his junk.
“Shit,” he wheezes as he falls to the floor.
I move away from the fridge and glare at the other two alphas in the room. Knox is full on beaming at me. Crow is watching me with a silent, unreadable expression. The omega on the couch moans—straight up moans—only she sounds pained. I narrow my eyes at the alphas.
“There she is,” Knox whispers.
The fire alarm suddenly blares and Crow jolts, lunging for the stove top where a pan of bacon is sizzling. He turns on the air vent and flips the bacon. I edge toward the couch, lip curling as that god awful lilac scent invades my nostrils. Under that is a trace of antiseptic. She better not be sick.
“Kiki.” Crow’s deep voice rumbles over my skin.
The omega whimpers.
“Don’t talk.” I glare at the back of the couch again. “Did you hurt her?”
No one answers me. I turn and level all three of them with an annoyed look. Knox holds up his hands and mimes zipping his lips. Crow’s mouth is clamped shut. Jag is still recovering from the junk punch. Maybe the other two should join him since they think they’re so funny.
“No! Stop!” The omega’s scream rips through the air, and I flinch at the violence in her cry.
“What the hell did you do to her?” I step closer to the couch. She’s a mess. Covered in fading bruises. Her hair is filthy. She’s wearing... “Why is she wearing a hospital gown?”
“She was at the hospital.” This from Knox.
It’s almost like they’re trying to piss me off.
“No shit, dickbag. Why?”
“Dickbag?” he asks with a chuckle, smoothing his palm over his short beard. “That’s a new one.” I step toward him, and he flinches, probably scared of getting hit in the nuts. “She’s high.”
“I’m not stupid, Knox. You don’t go to the hospital because you’re high.”
“She’s Kody Thornhill’s little sister.” Jag’s voice is slightly pained. “She wound up in a bad situation and we got her out of it. She’s only here because the doctor got a flat tire. Once he gets here, she’s gone.”
Kody. That name is familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve heard it before. My perfume is rank with bitterness. There’s no hiding how I’m feeling. I scowl at the three men responsible for my foul mood then move around the couch. The woman is covered in sweat and there’s a slight tremble to her body. She’s not in good shape. The hospital identification band is still secured to her wrist. The guys move to stand at the back of the couch, wisely giving me a wide berth.
I lift my gaze to meet Knox’s. “She should be in the hospital.”
“No.”
“She’s not safe there,” Crow adds. “Her pack sold her to a shit bag who owned a strip club. He drugged her.”
