Page 95 of Knot All That Glitters: Part 2

“This is what happens when you defy me, girl,” my father’s voice rumbles through the phone, just before the sledgehammer swings in an arc. Florence screams, but I can still hear the sickening crack and crunch of her knee shattering. I watch as her leg bends at an unnatural angle, as red blood spills as a shard of bone punctures her skin. I watch as her scream cuts off and she passes out from the pain, slumping in the chair, head dipping toward her chest.

I bend over, vomit spilling from me as I heave.

There’s a thundering in my ears. My heartbeat, I think as I crumple to my knees and heave again. Tears spill down my cheeks, mingling with the mess on the floor. A hand tangles in my hair, holding it back. Another big palm makes a soothing motion up and down my back as I tremble and cry and wretch. I have no control over my body. None.

“We’ve got you, baby girl,” Creed soothes low and soft. “We’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I gasp out. “I made a mess.”

“We don’t care about that, angel. You’re fine.”

“Tell us what happened, Haven. Are you sick?”

I shake my head, still trembling. “Ren.” That’s as much as I get out before I see the sledgehammer swing and I’m heaving again. Bile splatters on the floor.

Creed curses and scoops me up, carrying me into the nearest bathroom. I need to get it the fuck together because every moment I don’t is a moment where my father could hurt Ren even more.

Creed sets me on the floor next to the toilet and then turns to flick on the shower. Tic kneels in front of me, his brown eyes soft like melting chocolate, but I can see the tension riding him. Our bond is open and they can no doubt feel my fear. It has tobe driving them crazy, not knowing what caused it. “Tell us what happened, angel. Please.”

I shake my head in denial, and his brow furrows. I don’t want to say it, because maybe… Maybe… it won’t be true if I don’t.

A scream rips through the air, and I jump. My fingers lose their grip on my phone—was I still holding it?—and it clatters to the floor, face up, showing Ren slouched in the chair, her knee bent at an unnatural angle.

Tic sucks in a sharp breath and scrambles to grab it up, to hold it closer to his face. A sob leaves me, and Creed pushes his pack mate out of the way, scooping me up into his arms. “Get that out of here,” he orders Tic. “Haven doesn’t need to see that again.”

I’m not even sure he knows what it is, but he recognizes whatever is on that phone is what’s upset me.

“What the fuck happened?” Hale shouts, slamming into the doorjamb. His frantic eyes search the small space until they land on me. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Jude stumbles into his back, also seeking me out, scanning over me to make sure I’m not injured.

“Not our omega,” Tic says, thrusting the phone toward them. “Florence. The asshole got his hands on Florence.”

I whine, but it’s more like a keen, a wail of grief and pain.

“Not the fuck in here,” Creed growls, arms tightening around me as steam fills the room.

Hale’s fingers curl around my phone, brows drawn low. “We’ll handle this, mouse, I promise.” He disappears down the hall with Tic and Jude on his heels. I can feel their urgency, the need to make this right to save my best friend. I believe them when they say they’ll help her. Of course they will.

They’re my pack, and Florence is my best friend. My soulmate. They know I need her.

Creed sets me on the counter and carefully removes my clothes, not wincing the slightest at the vomit splattered on them or clinging to the strands of my hair. His motions are gentle, caring. Once I’m fully naked, he picks me up again and sets me under the hot stream of water, making sure I’m steady before he strips out of his clothing and then joins me.

He spends the next few minutes cleaning me, efficiently. No lingering touches, no caressing. It’s almost clinical, and I appreciate that. I don’t have the time or the wherewithal to give him more than this, standing mutely while he cleans me of my sick, a low purr humming from his chest the entire time.

I stare straight ahead until he’s finished. He wraps me in a warm fluffy towel and carries me back to my nest, setting me gently on the edge of the bed. I sway slightly when he pushes to his feet, leaving me only briefly to grab clothes from the closet. I’m numb, limp as he dresses me in a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, fuzzy socks on my feet. He braids my hair back and then slips my arms into a sweater that smells like Jude.

The entire time that he’s doing this, taking care of me, I’m shouting at myself to get it together. Florence needs me. The one person I’ve always been able to count on fucking needs me, and I’m just sitting here like a doll, letting Creed dress me.

Anger bubbles in my stomach. At myself, at my father. She should never have been a part of this. He should have just left her alone.

Why didn’t he leave her alone?

“He shattered her knee,” I say quietly, and Creed pauses in the middle of pulling on a pair of jeans. “He shattered it. She’ll never dance again.”

He frowns and kneels in front of me. “You don’t know that.”

My eyes drift closed, the image of her leg twisted at the wrong angle flashing through my mind. Creed hasn’t seen it. Hewas more worried about me, about taking care of me, than about figuring out what made me so upset. “She won’t,” I say with certainty.

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