Page 2 of Tangled in Knots

“Do you want me to come in the kitchen window on the side, Jed?” Damon murmurs, staring at the tender morsel inside. I would love to play with her, fuck with her a little, but?—

Wait, there’s no but, I’m the boss here. All my dad said was to make sure she is at the auction in four days. A pretty little omega like her will go for big money, and since he works closely with Ophelia, they’ll simply split the profits 80/20.

Ophelia is a hard, tough omega, but that doesn’t mean she’s willing to tango with my father. She’d much rather take the smaller percentage and live to see another day. Omegas without a pack rarely live to see old age, but Ophelia is smarter than most and has a crack team of security guards that are loyal only to her.

Turning my mind away from the auction organizer, I hum into the com. I don’t purr, but it’s as close as I ever will come. We’re all alphas, and our best friend is a beta, keeping watch and stashing the car until we’re ready to leave.

But for now?

We have a little time to play before the snowstorm is supposed to come in.

“Take the kitchen window, surround her, and see if the princess will run, or show us her throat like a good girl. Either way, let’s get her to scream for us,” I growl.

“Yes, brother,” Damon murmurs, melting into the shadows. Most people call him Demon, because of his love of knives in the torture chamber and his obsession with guns. He’s a crazy, unhinged fucker, and is older than his twenty-four years.

I’m alone now in front of this expansive home, but there are times I prefer it that way. While my brothers infiltrate Adira’s coveted space, I’m going to fuck shit up.

Don't get too comfortable, little girl, we’re coming.

ADIRA

There’s a smash as the door splinters. How is that possible? Dad always told me the house was impenetrable. It sounds like someone is kicking their way in though.

“Hello little omega, we’re coming!” a deep, deranged voice yells. “Daddy’s dead, your protectors are gone, and it’s time to pay.”

“Pay for what?” I yelp, jumping up onto the couch. There’s so much to process from what he said, and my eyes want to tear up at the thought that my dad might be dead. I can’t do that though. I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do. I need to survive, anything else will keep until later.

Inhaling deeply, I try to parcel out what’s happening. Now isn’t the time to panic, despite the pounding heart beats demanding to burst from my chest, or my racing thoughts. I need to use the resources I have at my disposal.

I spend a lot of time fighting my designation as an omega, beating down my natural instincts, who I am. Everything I know about being an omega is from what I’ve read on chat forums or tutors because my dad didn’t want me to go to school.

He always told me that it was dangerous outside of the house for omegas, but he never bothered to tell me it could be dangerous inside either.

Dammit Dad.

Taking another deep breath, I shudder as I smell a hint of cedar, leather, and strawberries. Alphas. There’s a curl of danger in the scents, and something else that I don’t want to think about.

Something familiar lives inside of the cedar scent, but I push it away. Any other time I would want to roll over and invite them in.

I’m very good at shutting things down and boxing it up. I’m twenty-two years old and haven’t had a heat yet. Dad told me not to worry about it though, so I didn’t.

He insisted that some omegas are late bloomers. I trusted him too much. I thought I could trust someone who raised me, loved me, and cared for me.

The joke’s on me now that I can feel people coming. They’re silent, but their scents are infiltrating my space. A heavy boot isn’t slamming into the door anymore, which means time is up.

Gotta move, or they’ll catch me.

There are wide windows on the side of the house, and when I look outside of them, everything is dark. Same with the front windows. There’s usually security lurking in the shadows, not trying to hide, so I know they’re there. This means I’m royally fucked right now.

Yanking down on the handle, I shove it open, jumping out. The smells of the night fill my lungs as I push the window closed with a snick and then begin to run as if my life depends on it.

Legs pumping, I race toward the back of the property. There’s a small omega-sized hole under the fence that’ll let me crawl out on my belly. I’m not prideful, I’ll do it.

Then there’s so many things I want to do, so I’m never in this position again. I need to learn how to fight, shoot, and then I’ll find a tiny cottage where no one can find me. Yes, exactly in that order.

I fucking hate to run, but I have a treadmill that I was forced to use every day by my dad. He told me that once I ran for an hour, I was allowed to do whatever I wanted. I guess I’ll never have to run again if I don’t want to, if what the alpha said is true.

Trees whip past me as I run. I could be in better shape, but I can’t complain now. There’s too much at stake. Bad men want omegas for bad things, terrifying things. Dad always told me I was safe, but I still read about atrocities on the forums. Sometimes I even woke up in the middle of the night, sweat drenched, the acrid scent of burned cookies filling the air.

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