Page 51 of Knot All That Glitters: Part 2

Protect the omega. Provide for the omega.

I can’t escape it.

My former packmates can’t either.

Hale shakes his head again, with more force. “No, we can’t take her father down. Not until she’s at least closer to forgiving us. There’s a reason forced proximity is a romance novel trope. It works.”

Tic’s mouth quirks into a half smile. “So you want to wear her down with our presence?”

Hale’s jaw tightens and releases. “Yeah. I do. She fell for us once. She can do it again. Shewilldo it again.” He says it with such certainty, like it will happen because there couldn’t possibly be any other outcome. He won’t allow there to be.

I want to believe him. Jude and Tic do too.

But Haven’s scent is still hanging bitter in the air, and she hasn’t softened toward us.

“How long?” I ask.

Hale arches a brow at me. “How long what?”

“How long until we call it and give her what she wants?”

I think he’s going to deny that we’ll ever do that. But I stare at him steadily until he sighs. “A month. We’ll hold off on her father for a month, and if she hasn’t gotten any closer to forgiving us…” He trails off, unable to voice the words that Jude was brave enough to utter.

I realize Hale is fucking scared. Scared of a tiny five foot two omega who has spent her life under the thumb of a monster and who’s put us firmly in the same category of monstrous. He’s terrified that she’ll walk away and we’ll lose her, like we lost Janie. Only this time, we won’t have anyone to blame but ourselves.

That little omega has the power to ruin us more than we’ve ruined ourselves.

She doesn’t even realize it.

Chapter 17

I’m Not Bitter

Despite their foot dragging with my father, the Calloway pack moves swiftly in taking down Brian Coogan. It didn’t take much. A few leaked emails to the press, a few contracts and banking documents that make it clear Brian was taking bribes from lobbyists and companies with an agenda and three days after they agreed to go after him, Brian Coogan, my fiancé, is taken away in handcuffs.

I watch the news gleefully, raptly as he emerges from his house, head bowed, hands in front of him, two big burly cops on either side guiding him down the stairs and into the back of the cop car while the reporter talks about the crimes they’re aware of so far but that they’re sure the investigation will continue.

There’s speculation over how much my father was aware of his actions. But that he hasn’t released a statement yet.

I honestly don’t know if he remembers how to do that for himself. Brian’s handled all of that for him for years. In fact, I’m fairly certain my father doesn’t trust the other members of his staff, so he’s kept them as far from him as he possibly can. Makes sense. The more people who know about your shady dealings, the more likely you are to be caught.

Later that afternoon, I’m not at all surprised to see that “Senator Frederick Bell has distanced himself from Brian Coogan, stating that he had no knowledge of his aide’s activities. The senator has condemned his former aide and is helping in any way he can with the investigation, giving the police full access to his office and his documents.” Of course he wouldn’t say he’s sure that there’s been some kind of mistake, that Brian would never do that. My father doesn’t have a loyal bone in his body. He would never support someone he knows is guilty, so long as he might get in trouble as well.

I am surprised he’s being so ‘helpful’ though. He probably cleaned up every bit of evidence that he was aware of Brian’s activities. There’s a reason it took almost a full day for his statement to come out, and it’s not because he was looking for the right words after what he’s now deemed a betrayal of his trust.

A week later, and the Calloway pack, while still always present in the house, has made no move toward taking down my father. I haven’t left the house or its grounds in almost a month and it’s feeling a little claustrophobic.

Or alotclaustrophobic.

“Can we go for a hike today?” I ask, looking up from my bowl of oatmeal. I’d been disappointed when Tic told me this was what was for breakfast, but then he covered it in pecans and dried cherries, butter and brown sugar and I found I didn’t mind oatmeal so much.

“A hike?” Creed asks from where he’s hunched over his own breakfast.

I nod. “Yeah, you know? The great outdoors, fresh air in our lungs, surrounded by trees, muscles screaming from the incline.”

All four of them blink in surprise at me. “Its December, mouse.”

I shrug. “So? People do outdoor things in winter all the time.”

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