Page 80 of Tangled in Knots

“I don’t think I’ve been able to keep track of how many people are staying here,” I say as we pop out of the alley and take a right.

“Roughly about twenty-five women right now,” Aisling says so softly I almost don’t hear her. “It fluctuates, too. Some people stay longer than others. It all depends on when they’re here and how much they need.”

“I never would have imagined that this existed,” I tell her honestly.

“It didn’t until about a year ago,” she says. “Wren and I met and the idea took flight. It was difficult to find a building at first, my age was a big factor in getting people to take me seriously.”

Aisling appears to be in her early twenties, but it’s hard to tell with her face bare of makeup and her hair in a high ponytail. She’s wearing cute earmuffs over her ears and a gray coat over a dress, and looks to be warm.

I may have a coat, mittens, and boots, but the wind is finding every available place to whip through and freeze me. Ugh.

“I don’t know why age makes you any less capable,” I admit.

“Well, there are also people who like keeping omegas vulnerable,” Aisling says. “All of that made it very difficult to find the responses we needed, and it was very frustrating. My father finally had to step in when our grocer kept delivering spoiled food or nothing at all.”

“Your father?” I ask.

She’s keeping a steady, slow pace, and I find that the longer I continue to stay in motion, the easier it is. I may want to fall over afterward, but I’ll deal with that. For now, it’s nice to be able to enjoy a walk.

It’s so simple, but I haven’t been allowed to do it in months. Forcing my mind away from the reason why I haven’t, I focus on Aisling’s answer.

“Cian Sullivan,” she says. I vaguely remember my father grumbling about someone by that name, and realize he’s in the mafia as well. “I don’t like to drag him into things I think I should be able to do alone. He reminded me that I’m very stubborn.”

I can see that, and I think it’s one of my favorite parts about her. I barely know her, but neither her or Wren blinked or flinched away from my story. I have a feeling they have stories that are similar in some ways to mine, along with really stupid alphas.

“There’s a women’s group who seems to be funneling omegas who are difficult to the auctions,” Aisling explains. “The bitch who runs it decided I should be shipped out and hired alphas to do her dirty work. Instead, I killed them, and went right back to being a thorn in her side.”

“Woah,” I murmur. “She’s still an issue?”

“Emilia is protected by people. I have a feeling it may be Rock and Ophelia, which means their auction is just the tip of the iceberg,” Aisling says. “My dad said he can’t kill her, even though he wants to. He’s very protective.”

My heart cramps at the thought of a father who actually did things to protect their daughter. I have no idea what that looks like. While he had men around the property, it was to keep him and his belongings safe. I was someone he could use for his own selfish purposes, not someone he loved. I will die on that hill.

“The auction I was sold at was moved up,” I remember. “It was supposed to happen a week later, but authorities were beginning to get wind of things. I wonder if things are getting harder for Rock.”

“I hope,” Aisling growls. “Ophelia should be ashamed for selling omegas when she is one.”

“I don’t think she cares about anything other than the money,” I say. “I have a feeling she’s afraid of Rock, but that’s the only person keeping her in check.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she says. “My dream is for more people to open organizations likeOmega’s Havenin other cities. There are so few services for omegas. What if an omega finds themselves with stalkers and she or he is kidnapped? No one cares. Or if there’s a domestic violence situation and the omega runs? Where is she supposed to go? Don’t get me started on foster care, because I’ll talk your ear off.”

“What’s wrong with it? Aren’t they supposed to place people with families?” I ask, though she told me not to.

“The families who want omegas sometimes do so they can run a business of selling them to people,” Aisling says, eyes glittering with anger. “They’re not safe, which is why I did everything possible to make sure I didn’t end up in the system.”

We’re at a business called Finnegan’s Bar now, which is tucked into a busy street. It’s a brick building with a wooden sign to announce itself. It has a rustic feel, and my heart starts to pound a bit as Aisling climbs the steps to the door and knocks.

“Caleb is one of the best alphas I know, and he and his brother helped keep me out of the system. They may not have known that when I was sixteen and homeless, but they did,” she says as the door opens to reveal a large man with brown hair and green eyes.

His arms show off colorful tattoos despite the cold, and I can feel the full weight of his stare as it falls on me.

“You look like a stiff breeze is gonna bowl you over,” he complains, glaring at Aisling.

I finished my snack on the walk here and I straighten my back as I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat.

“I’m working on that,” I say instead with a shrug. I’m not going to apologize for something I can’t control.

Caleb grunts as he stomps back into the bar and Aisling rolls her eyes.

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