Page 41 of Knot Made to Break: Part One

His hand tightened around my throat, cutting off my air supply as he pinned me against him, my back to his chest. I clawed at his powerful fingers, trying to loosen his old, desperate to breathe.

“Are you going to behave, pet? Or will I need to use my bark on you to force your obedience?”

I tried to speak, to beg, but no words came out. He pressed the gun in deeper, and I closed my eyes, silently praying for it all to end.

I shot up in bed, gasping for air. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst through my ribcage. Sweat clung to my body, making the sheets stick to me like a second skin.

“No, no, no,” I whimpered, clawing at the fabric wrapped around my legs, restraining me, holding me down. I thrashed wildly, my mind still caught between nightmare and reality.

In my panic, I tumbled off the bed, landing hard on my hip. A cry of pain bubbled up in my throat, but I swallowed it down, biting my lip until I tasted blood. Years of training had taught me to stay quiet, to endure. Tears freely tracked down my cheeks, leaving thick, wet trails.

I sat up slowly, rubbing the sore spot. It throbbed, and I knew it would bloom into an ugly bruise by morning. Just another mark to add to my collection.

“Get it together, Kit,” I whispered to myself, running a shaky hand through my sweat-dampened hair. My heart was still racing, and I could feel phantom hands encircling my throat. I swallowed. Hard.

Looking around the bedroom, I tried to ground myself in the present. The penthouse. I was in the Cristenello brothers’ penthouse. Safe. I repeated the word in my head like a mantra, but it felt hollow.

Safety was a luxury I’d never known, not really. Even here, in this opulent room with its silk sheets and plush rug, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all temporary. That at any moment, the other shoe would drop, and I’d be back in that nightmare—only this time, I wouldn’t wake up. There’d be no rescue. No saviors. No escape.

I hugged my knees to my chest, rocking slightly as I tried to calm my breathing. The city lights filtered through the sheer curtains, casting eerie shadows across the room. In the dim light, every corner seemed to hide a threat.

“You’re okay,” I murmured, digging my nails into my palms. The sharp pain helped clear my head a little. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

But was I? The nightmare refused to fade into obscurity, clinging to the recesses of my mind, haunting me. I could still feel the ghost of that gun, the cold metal threatening to end me with the pull of a trigger. I shuddered, squeezing my eyes shut against the flood of memories trying to overwhelm me.

The things I’d done. That I’d been forced to do…

Oh God.

I didn’t want to think about it. Aboutanyof it.

I needed... something. A distraction. Comfort. The thought of staying in this room, alone with my thoughts, made my chest tighten with anxiety. But the idea of seeking out one of the brothers terrified me just as much.

Trust didn’t come easily. How could it, after everything? But a small part of me, a part I tried desperately to ignore, craved connection. Warmth. The feeling of safety I’d glimpsed in fleeting moments since coming here.

I stood on shaky legs, wrapping my arms around myself. No… Staying in this room wasn’t an option, so I compromised.

“Just go get a glass of water,” I whispered, trying to convince myself. “That’ll help. Then back to bed.”

Grabbing my new favorite blanket, I pulled it over my shoulders and left the room. As I padded down the hallway, though, I knew I was lying to myself. I was too scared, too shaken. Sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight, if at all. The shadows of my past were too close, too real.

My bare feet were silent against the cool marble as I headed downstairs. The penthouse was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the city far below. I made my way to the kitchen, my heart refusing to settle to a normal pace. Every shifting shadow had me on edge, making my breath ragged and uneven.

On the verge of a panic attack, I hyper focused on what I was doing. I opened the cabinet and reached for a cup, the glass clinking softly. It had been four days since the guys had taken me shopping, and though I’d only been here a week, I was already learning where things were kept. The thought sent a confusing mix of comfort and unease through me. I hadn’t had a home—arealhome—in ages, and it felt surprisingly good to be settling in here with these enigmatic men. But my growing familiarity seemed like a double-edged sword.

How many times had I let myself long for something only for it to be ripped away?

This is only temporary.

Once the guys realized how broken I was, they wouldn’t want me, and I’d be out on my ass again. Just the thought of it sent a fresh wave of tears blurring my vision.

Blinking them back, I blew out a breath, pushed down the thoughts, and focused on filling the cup from the fridge dispenser before taking a long sip. The water was cool against my parched throat.

I took my time, lingering in the kitchen, knowing sleep would probably evade me for the rest of the night. Tapping my fingers along the glass, I debated exploring.

I didn’t have to go back to my room if I wasn’t ready. Right?

Decision made, I padded deeper into the penthouse, trying to get my bearings.

---