Page 39 of Hard Knot

"Is that why nothing's maintained?" Carter asks, stepping around a large puddle of questionable origin. "Part of the punishment?"

"Kind of," Elizabeth says, and there's something resigned in her tone. "But the real difference is that this section of campus is...accessible."

Hmm?

"Accessible?"

"To Alphas. And well, anyone really. The administration turns a blind eye to who comes and goes here. It's like a..." She pauses, searching for words. "A pressure release valve, I guess. Let the predators have their hunting grounds, keep them away from the 'valuable' Omegas."

Through my drone's camera, I watch Carter's jaw tighten. But before he can respond, movement catches my attention – a figure detaching itself from a shadowed doorway, moving to intercept them.

Carter sees it too.

In one smooth motion, he tugs Elizabeth closer to his side, just as a voice calls out.

"Hey." The man stepping into their path is tall, and muscular, with the kind of scars that come from street fights rather than training rooms. "Interested in sharing that toy you got there?"

Shit.

I move my hand to the gun holstered under my jacket, calculating how quickly I can close the distance between us.

But something in Carter's posture makes me pause.

He's smiling.

It's not his usual smirk, or even the dangerous grin he gets before a fight. This is something else entirely – the kind of smile that reminds me why the Giovanni family has ruled the underground for three generations.

Carter tilts his head, a gesture I've seen countless times before. It always precedes violence – elegant, precise violence that leaves lasting impressions on those lucky enough to survive it.

And let’s be honest…most don’t survive what comes after his merciless deliverance.

"Really not the sharing type," Carter says, his voice carrying that dangerous playfulness that makes my hand twitch toward my gun again. "But thanks for the offer."

The man's face hardens, muscles flexing beneath his dirty t-shirt.

"Wasn't asking."

"Funny," Carter shrugs, the movement deliberately casual. "Neither was I."

Without taking his eyes off the threat, Carter gently guides Elizabeth behind him. From the look in her eyes and the slight parting of her lips, I can tell she wants to say something — to interfere in some way, but Carter gives a slight glance over his shoulder. The two share a short glance, and whatever exchanges between their locked gaze encourages Elizabeth’s silence.

My gut is telling me that’s not something she’d normally do, especially when her exterior gives off rebellious with a capital R. If she’s able to be cooperative with a simple look from Carter, maybe she wouldn’t be as difficult to work with as our temporary Omega.

Through my drone's camera, I watch him begin rolling up his sleeves with methodical precision. Each movement is calculated; a show of confidence that borders on arrogance.

But it's not arrogance if you can back it up.

The crack of his neck echoes in the quiet street, and that's when I see it – the flash of ink on his wrist as he finishes with his sleeves.

The Giovanni family crest, rendered in black and gold, impossible to mistake for anything else.

Elizabeth notices it too – I can see her eyes widen slightly. From the way her eyes are blinking, I guess she’s not registering the inked piece as though she’s supposed to have noticed it beforehand.Then again, I have a strong feeling Carter wasn’t in that changeroom just ‘getting’ to know her.

What now has my attention is the would-be attacker's reaction that's most fascinating now that he’s acknowledged the very vivid crest that’s probably the very few markings anyone who’s merely got a taste of the underground would recognize.

Or you might as well dig your own grave and lay inside it, waiting for your demise to come faster.

His face drains of color so quickly that I think he might pass out.

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