Page 20 of Knot Forgotten

It’s late and the dorm is silent when I push open the door, letting myself in. I’m surprised they didn’t change the locks.

Holding my breath, I push into my bedroom, suddenly having a craving for a nest, some place to feel and be safe. I knew I'd be giving up that sanctuary by enrolling here. I just didn't know that admissions would place me in the same room as the guys.

The shadow of Riley beneath his covers has me tiptoeing to my side of the room. Not that he can hear me. I could scream, and he wouldn’t hear a thing without his implants in. It's the first time he's been here since that first night. The plastic of the bed squeaks loudly beneath my ass as I sit down. At least I won't wake him if he's asleep.

I drop my shoes to the floor and slip beneath my covers before shimming out of my jeans, my bra following quickly. I toss them both on top of my shoes, making a mental note to keep P.J.s on top of my dresser for easy access.

For tonight, it is panties and a T-shirt for sleeping because I didn't want to risk running into any of the others by changing in the bathroom.

Sleep comes easier than I expect, dreams pulling me under effortlessly.

I'm jarred awake by someone flipping on the light and banging drawers open and shut.

Groggily, I blink over at Riley.

He's not attempting to be quiet. When he catches me staring at him, he allows his gaze to drop down to my panties peeking out above the comforter. It's the same pair Matt retrieved the first day.

My cheeks heat with a fire of their own. Snagging the blanket up, I tuck it beneath my chin, hiding my body's reaction to his open perusal. I swear his eyes darken before he slams another drawer shut. But he doesn't sign or say a word.

Okay.

So that is how this is going to go. He obviously knows. Flinging the covers off, I slip my feet down to the cold floor and close the distance. I touch his arm to gain his attention, and he spins on me, quickly backing me into my bed.

“Don't touch me,” he growls, not bothering to sign it.

“I…I'm sorry–” I lean away from the anger on his face. Not that I fear Riley. I could never fear him, at least the boy he used to be. It probably isn’t wise to keep thinking of them like that because it is clear they are not the same.

He rakes his gaze over my face before he backs up and his green eyes land on my bare legs. The way my T-shirt fell leaves little to the imagination. Including the absence of a thigh gap, which honestly never bothered me before right this second with his hungry attention focused on where my legs meet.

He creates a B with his hand and swipes it across the bottom of his chin before, pairing it with his other hand and flowing toward the floor.

Liar.

Quickly I sign back, my emotions too thick in my throat to say a word. I point at myself before curling my fingers and dragging them toward me only to push them away and swipe my hand across the bottom of my chin. I can feel tears in my eyes as I tell him, ‘I don’t want to lie.’ I didn’t mean to lie.

He shakes his head, his lip lifting in a sneer that looks unnatural on his handsome face. He signs, ‘You should run again. Leaving us is what you are good at.’

“You think I ran? I was fourteen, Ri, I couldn’t have gone anywhere if one of my parents didn’t take me.” I throw out my arms. The past hitting me square in the chest. That night, coming back into clear focus.

Arguing slows my steps. I can hear them from outside the backdoor, and I almost turn around and go to the treehouse. Something stops me.

“We are not selling our daughter to the highest bidder, Eugene!” my mom screams.

Selling me? What?

“She’s an omega. Packs pay good money for untouched omegas.” The sound of glass shattering makes me jump. My palms are clammy. My father wants to give me a pack that is willing to buy an omega. “But with those boys hanging around, she won’t be untouched for long. Every single one of them is sniffing around, waiting for her first heat.”

“I said no.”

“That’s real fucking rich. You’re saying no? Do you like the roof over your head? Food in your fucking stomach? This will provide it. Or would you rather it be you?”

More crashing of something fragile reaches me in my frozen spot on the back porch. If my legs could move, I would run back to the treehouse, to the safety of my guys and the sanctuary they have given me. But they are cemented to the wooden porch. My father storms into the kitchen. I can see him through the back door window. He goes to the pantry and pulls out a box of pasta. Opening, it he dumps it on the floor.

“Is this what you want, Gwen? All of my hard work to be tossed on the floor and crushed?” He starts stomping on the noodles, making his violent point all over the floor. All while opening another box and adding it to the mess. My stomach twists painfully with fear. When he gets like this, it’s bad.

“Stop! Stop it!” My mom pushes at him. He pushes her back, slamming her into the fridge and lifting her by her throat against it. Choking her. She gasps, turning red, and I can’t move fast enough.

Trembling, I fumble with my phone in my pocket. I have to call for help. Clumsily, I type out 9-1-1. When the operator answers, I whisper into the phone, afraid my dad will hear me through the door and come for me next.

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