Page 110 of Knot Made to Break: Part One

The vehicle skidded to a stop outside the back entrance of the club. Marco didn’t bother parking properly; he left the car sitting haphazardly where it was, engine running as we all piled out. As one, we moved with a level of coordination that came from years of operating as a pack. Gio cradled Kit in his arms, her small frame looking even more fragile against his hulking, muscular build. Her blood smeared against his skin, and thoughhe’d been careful not to jostle her too much, a wince pinched her features. She was biting her lip again, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill over.

The Raven, a popular nightclub owned and operated by Dimitri, was one of our strongholds, a place where we could let our guard down—at least a little. While the primary space was dedicated to public use, the back rooms were for ‘family’ only. Tonight, it seemed quieter than usual, but still buzzing with the low hum of conversation, clinking glassware, and music.

All eyes turned to us when we burst through the doors, sending immediate tension through everyone inside. Our last name automatically garnered us respect, but it was our calmness under pressure, our level heads, and our adept leadership that kept it. Seeing us like this—desperate, disheveled—had to be a shocking sight.

“Get out of the fuckin’ way,” Giovanni growled, his voice cutting through the room like a hot knife through butter.

The crowd parted as we rushed through, making a beeline for the largest table in the joint. Dimitri cleared it with a violent swipe of his arm, sending everything clattering to the ground. The doctor was already there, pulling supplies from the medical bag he always kept with him. Gio gently laid Kit on the tabletop, her eyes fluttering shut from the sheer exhaustion of pain.

“Don’t sleep,” I commanded, taking her hand. “Just hold on, Butterfly. We’re going to get you patched up in no time.”

Doc examined her wound with quick, practiced motions. “Good job on the tourniquet. It looks like a clean through and through,” he said, more to himself than to us. “It’s bleeding heavily, but she’s lucky. No major vessels hit.”

Relief washed over me in a nauseating wave, but it was short-lived. Doc continued, “I need to sanitize the wound and do my best to repair the damage before stitching her up. She’ll also require a tetanus shot. Who has the strongest stomach?”

“I do,” lied Dimitri. While he had no problem with blood and gore in a general sense, we all knew deep down he hated when someone he cared about was injured.

Being lead Alpha, he took our protection and wellbeing personally. On some level, that was who he was as the oldest brother—a leader, a provider, a protector. But the responsibility he felt grew after Mom died. D had stepped in and looked after us when our dads couldn’t—too lost to their grief.

“Bullshit,” Marco challenged with a shake of his head. Like me, he seemed to pick up on how close D was to the edge. One cry from Kit and the man would lose his carefully honed composure. “I’m always the one to patch up Tommy and Gio after a sparring session or a fight. I’ll do it.”

Doc eyed us warily. “Maybe I should find someone else to assist me. An Omega’s scent during high levels of pain can trigger her Alphas’ protective instincts.”

Understatement of the year, buddy.But I knew he was walking a fine line between being respectful of us and our position and warning us to hold it together. We couldn’t lose our shit. Not now. Not yet. The last thing we wanted was to hurt Kit worse—and going into an Alpha fueled rage would only prolong getting her the care she needed.

That was enough for me to rein it in.

Glancing between us, he continued, “If one of you loses control—”

“We won’t fucking lose control,” Dimitri snapped.

Doc raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned to Marco and instructed my brother on how he could help while he prepared a syringe and a bottle of clear liquid. “First, I’ll numb the area and give her something to slow the bleeding before cleaning the wound. It’s not a miracle. She’ll likely experience some discomfort. You need to hold her still.”

I moved back, allowing them room to work. Marco helped Doc with steady hands, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with grim focus. We all watched in tense silence while Doc cut Kitania’s sleeve off before injecting the area around the wound, explaining each step in meticulous detail to keep our inner Alphas calm. Kit’s breaths were shallow and rapid, her chest rising and falling like a frightened bird’s. Her eyes were pinched, her lips a tight, bloodless line. Tears dripped down her temples, dampening her hair.

“That should take effect in a few minutes,” Doc promised, then peered at Marco. “I need you to apply pressure to slow the bleeding while I prep the suture kit. I won’t sugar-coat it. It’s going to hurt her.”

My brother paled, but nodded once. I could see the conflict in his eyes as his doc handed him a stack of gauze to use. He wanted to be gentle, but he also knew half measures wouldn’t cut it.

“Need me to step in?” I offered, a little queasy about the idea of how much pain this might cause her. But I’d do it because, in the end, it was for her own good.

“Hold on, Angel. This will all be over soon.” With a pleading, silent apology in his eyes, he did what Doc had instructed.

Kit’s cry ripped a low, rage-induced growl from my throat. I turned away, unable to handle the overwhelming combination of her visible agony and the sound of her suffering, which threatened to shatter my self-control. My hands fisted so hard I could’ve crushed diamonds to dust.

My Alpha was on the edge, and I was about to lose it.

“Here.” Enzo approached and held out a bottle of vodka. “Have her drink some of this. Maybe it’ll help with the pain.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Doc conceded.

Grabbing the bottle, I brought it to Kit’s lips. “Can you drink a little, Butterfly?”

Weakly, she tried to lift her head, and I helped support her so she could swallow. She spluttered and coughed as the alcohol burned its way down her throat, and a derisive scoff had all of us freezing in place.

“This is the Omega? Pathetic little thing can’t even protect herself, let alone handle a little pain.” The mocking voice belonged to one of our men—Alec, a surly middle-aged Alpha who’d always been loyal to our dads but hadn’t hidden his displeasure in the upcoming regime change. He was on my short list of assholes to watch. Something about him had always rubbed me the wrong way, and I wouldn’t put it past the bastard to cause trouble for us when we finally took over.

I handed the bottle to D, and I knew he caught the psychotic glint entering my eyes. That familiar veil dropped over me, the dangerous side of myself slipping into place. I didn’t let this part out often, but when I did, there was hell to pay.

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