Page 189 of Hard Knot

I lift my head slowly—both for dramatic effect and because quick movements seem like a terrible idea right now—to find Marissa and Victoria emerging from the shadows like discount movie villains. The sight of them draws an annoyed groan from my throat that seems to catch them off guard, their synchronized strut faltering slightly.

"Really?" I ask, unable to keep the disdain from my voice. "This is what we're doing?"

Victoria's perfectly plucked eyebrows draw together in confusion.

"You should be afraid. Your precious pack has no idea where you are."

I look between them, waiting for the punchline.

When none comes, I have to ask.

"Is this some kind of elaborate joke? Like, am I about to get proposed to in some weird, stalker-aesthetic way? Because honestly—" I shift in my bonds, testing their give, "—I've been reading a lot of crime fiction lately thanks to Felix, and this is giving very basic cable drama vibes."

"What are you talking about?" Marissa demands, her voice pitching higher with frustration.

"I mean, I get the appeal from a narrative perspective," I continue, warming to my topic. "Helpless Omega gets stalked by obsessed Alphas, kidnapped by rivals, only to be dramatically rescued by said Alphas in masks and matching outfits. It's very Wattpad circa 2015." I squint at them in the dim light. "Please tell me you at least coordinated your kidnapping outfits. It would be embarrassing if you didn't commit to the aesthetic."

Marissa's face contorts with rage.

"Victoria hit you too hard. She’s lost her damn mind."

"Whatever," Victoria cuts in, her patience clearly wearing thin. "She's bait. If she dies in the crossfire, who cares?"

I blink at them, the reality of the situation finally starting to sink in.

They're actually serious.

My adopted sister and this bargain bin Regina George wannabe have actually kidnapped me as some sort of trap.

And here I thought my family dynamics couldn't get more dysfunctional.

I straighten in my chair, ignoring the bite of rope against my wrists. The throbbing in my head has settled into a dull ache, making it easier to focus on what needs to be said.

"Why don't we clear something up while we're here?" My voice carries through the space with surprising steadiness. "Since we've got time to kill—pun absolutely intended."

They both turn to look at me, Marissa with confusion, Victoria with growing impatience.

"First of all," I continue, channeling my father's particular blend of casual condescension, "Papa taught us to use proper manners when addressing people, Marissa. It's just embarrassing at this point."

Marissa's face scrunches in confusion.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You need to stop calling her Victoria." I nod toward the blonde who's trying very hard to look bored rather than unsettled.

"That's her name," Marissa snaps, but there's a note of uncertainty in her voice.

A laugh escapes me, the sound echoing off the warehouse walls. "No, it's not. Her name is Vivian Sinclair." I watch the color drain from Victoria—no, Vivian's—face. "Her sister wasthe real Victoria Sinclair. You know, the one who died a few years ago? Tragic accident, if I remember correctly. Fell off a cliff while taking a selfie."

"What bullshit are you making up?" Marissa demands, but her eyes keep darting between me and Vivian, clearly catching the way the other woman has gone completely still.

I keep my eyes locked on Vivian, watching as her carefully constructed facade begins to crack.

"Such a shame about that cliff incident, right, Vivian? No cell service in the area, no cameras to catch what really happened. Just a terrible accident that the police had to write off as a 'slip.'" I lean forward as much as my bonds will allow. "But that's what you wanted, wasn't it? For everyone to think it was just a tragic accident. Because Victoria deserved to die, didn't she? She was trying to take what was rightfully yours."

Vivian's breathing has become shallow, her designer outfit suddenly seeming like a costume that doesn't quite fit.

"She was going to take everything," I continue, my voice soft but relentless. "The man you were promised, the life you were supposed to have. Your own sister—your twin at that. Must have been exhausting, living in her shadow all those years, watching her effortlessly claim everything you thought should be yours."

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