Page 14 of Break Me Knot

I hear the sudden interest in her voice, “Of course, Mr Blackwood. Thank you, sir…and our cleaning contract?”

The woman is a shark.

“Consider your cleaning service to be Pinnacle’s cleaner of choice. I’ll have Elliot send you a contract as soon as he’s in the office this morning,” Adrian says.

“Thank you, Mr. Blackwood. You won’t be disappointed with our service,” the female says, clearly eager, the address of her employee forgotten in light of a lucrative contract.

Adrian ends the conversation politely to lessen Stacey’s doubts. The muscle works his jaw as he reins in his turmoil. “How can any female, let alone anomega,live there?”

I grab my keys from my pocket and head toward my car. “We’ll find out. Come on. We’ll drive and look for her on the way.”

My bond brothers follow as I make my way into the reserved undercover parking bays to my car and slide behind the wheel. The tires squeal on the smooth concrete as I pull out of the space and into morning traffic.

I take the turns too fast, and weave through traffic as we head into the Fletcher District. The neighborhood deteriorates with each block… broken windows, graffiti-covered walls, people huddled in doorways despite the early hour. The fact that our omega lives here, has been surviving here, makes dread pool low in my stomach.

“How long?” Cole asks from the backseat, his voice tight. “How long has she been living here?”

“And how?” I mutter. She’s clearly unbonded. And in heat. A beacon for any scum alpha to take advantage of her. Not for the first time, I curse our unjustsystem. It should be alphas behind bars. They should be the designation taught control. Not omegas.

Omegas should be cherished. Honored. Adored.

Not locked away behind bars and hidden from society.

“Black market suppressants. It has to be. Dangerous ones, unreliable…” Adrian’s voice trails off. It’s not uncommon. This is the crux of why we want to expand, or at the least allow more businesses to manufacture legal suppressants and other medications omega’s need, even if it does mean competition for us. We welcome the competition because Gods knows the supply we manufacture is not nearly enough for demand because the crippled legislation hasn’t changed in years.

“She’s not the only one out there risking everything, either,” Cole says.

Omegas should be able to visit a pharmacy and purchase over-the-counter suppressants, birth control and scent blockers, no alpha needed. No matter how rare they are, it’s their body, their choice. Not like the archaic laws we have today. If only it were like that. Omegas like Mira wouldn’t be cheating bad health. They’d be living openly. Freely. As they should.

We’re not stupid enough to think there aren’t omegas in hiding. That others don’t turn up dead because of black market pills that aren’t made to standard, cut with fillers that poison and kill. There are desperate families who can’t afford the mandatory government-sanctioned omega facilities across the country. No one wants to hand over their sixteen-year-old, vulnerable child to a faceless facility, but as hard as we push the Senator to relax the legislation, the more red tape she creates.

I slow down when we pass groups of people, searching for auburn hair, for that small frame. Our bond thrums with anxiety. An unmated omega in heat wouldn't just attract alphas, but every predator in this cesspit of a neighborhood.

“Whereisshe?” Cole rasps when it’s clear she’s not in that group.

The panic rises with each empty street we pass. She could be anywhere, collapsed in an alley, or caught by another pack, lost in the maze of this godforsaken district. In her state, she might not even make it backto her apartment. I keep driving. Keep searching because I must do something—anything—I can.

The Marx Street Apartment block looms before us, a crumbling six-story walkup that should have been condemned years ago. Mold creeps up the exterior walls, windows are patched with cardboard, and the front steps are crumbling. The smell of garbage and urine hits us as we pile out of the car.

“Third floor,” Adrian growls, already moving toward the entrance. The lobby reeks of stale cigarettes and despair, the elevator marked with an “Out of Order” sign that looks older than I am. We take the stairs three at a time, the concrete cracked and dangerous.

Unit 3C is worse than we imagined. The door has multiple locks, smart for this neighborhood, but a stark reminder of the danger she lives with daily. Cole bangs on the door, not that I expect her to answer. I press my ear to the wood but hear nothing inside. I shake my head at Adrian and Cole. “She’s not in there.”

A baby wails from somewhere in the building. Adrian’s expression darkens. He rips off his tie that was already askew as he looks around before pinning us with a thoughtful stare. “If she sees us waiting outside her door, she’ll run yet again.”

“And we risk her disappearing for good.” I don’t want to move from here, but he’s right. She wouldn’t have run from us if she wasn’t afraid. She’ll disappear for good, and we’ll never find her. We have one chance only.

“At least now we know where she lives. She’ll come back at some stage. At least, I have to believe that,” Adrian says,

“We’ll wait outside in the car. It’s the only thing we can do,” Cole says, his tangled fringe dangling over the side of his drawn face. His lips compress as he looks around at where she’s been living.

Not finding Mira is his worst nightmare, but he won’t risk an omega because of his own fears. Instead, he’ll distance himself if we do find her, but that’s a problem for another day. I have to hope that he'll be able to move past Lily's ghost, that he'll see Mira isn't just another omega to protect. She's ours, meant to complete our pack in ways even Cole's trauma can't deny.

But first, we have to find her. And pray we're not too late.

Chapter Seven

Mira

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