Page 20 of Shaken Knot Stirred

She gave a small laugh and punched the code into the keypad. Surprises from our pack lead were never good. The door clanked shut between us. I banged my head softly on the wall, letting my fingers trace the quickly fading warmth of where her body had been.

Chapter 11

Alistair

The sound of mykeys hitting the marble countertop echoed through the airy space. I pulled the fridge open. It was full of bottled water and nothing else. I hadn’t been here in months, so I wasn’t expecting canapes and caviar. I pulled the bottle of water out and rolled it against the back of my neck. The dull ache pushing through my eyes hadn’t gone away, even after throwing gas station aspirin and suppressants at it.

I carried my weekender duffle to the bedroom and shouldered the door open. The air smelled of climate control and pheromone suppressants. That was a dirty little secretof property management. They doused their HVAC with mild suppressants to keep all us alphas from getting too rowdy and breaking things.

Throwing the bag on the foot of the bed, I struggled out of my jacket and pulled my belt off. It wasn’t late. I just needed to rest my eyes for a second after the drive. I moved the bag to the closet, pulled the duvet off the bed, stripping the sheets and balling them up. Amber and her housekeeping crew did a fine job, but I was sure no one had changed the sheets since I left.

Once the bed was made, I couldn’t get in. I was too wound up. I had gone back to the bar to talk to Marty and give him all the cash I had on me. They were going to do their best to keep the Delta Lounge running until Moxie came back. There wasn’t much more I could do after that.

I should just let this all go. Chasing after a beta bartender wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I wasn’t a fucking detective. I didn’t have resources like that. Someone took her, and that was the end of the line. I had suggested calling the police, and Marty melted down over that. A dull throb in my head roared to life just at the thought of someone putting hands on Moxie.

I cracked the bottle of water open and wandered out to the living room. The space was lofty. High ceilings, a wall of windows, huge black leather couches arranged in a U shape. Big enough for an entire pack to come together. And it was just as devoid of personality as Moxie’s trailer.

But I had a reason. An excuse. This place technically wasn’t mine. It was Payton’s. More precisely, it belonged to Pay’s pack and company.

I moved down the hall to one of the bedrooms. There were five. Pretty standard for a pack apartment in a luxury building. This one took up half a floor. Even I wasn’t worth the floor-through duplex penthouse.

The first bedroom was empty, like they all were, just basic furnishings. Even my own room looked exactly like it did the first day I saw the place. I circled the space, leaving the door open like I needed an exit. It was pretty standard fare for a pack bedroom. A sitting area was marked by a change in carpeting, keeping it separate from the bed. The couch here was a chocolate brown color to coordinate with creams in the room. The identical room across the hall had an armchair and desk set up instead of a couch.

The bed was massive. All the beds were massive. But whatever stylist had set this place up had been stingy with the pillows. No picture-perfect mountain of puffy squares. I snatched one of the pillows up and smashed my face into it. No scent lingered on it.

Pillow in hand, I wandered into the next bedroom. It only differed in its furniture color and arrangement. The height of pack living. Each pack member with their own bedroom, their own personal space. The ensuite bathroom was massive. A half a dozen shower heads took up an entire marble wall. No pesky shower curtains to get in the way.

I tucked the first pillow under my arm and snatched another from the bed. It had a slightly different density, a little more firm. But no scent.

I started for the last bedroom, two pillows in hand. This one was the odd man out. The bed was taller, higher off the ground, and made the room seem cozier. It was also considerably larger than the other beds. I trailed my fingers across the back of an armchair. The leather was finer and had a sheen to it, presumably to make it easier to wipe away slick.

This was an omega’s room. A nest. Cozy so your omega could feel safe, yet spacious so everyone had room during heat. Instead of big structured couches, the room had oversized chairs and chaise lounges. Everything designed with heat in mind. I circled behind one of the comfy chairs. It would make a great place toread, but it was the perfect height to bend your omega over, to knot her standing. It was sturdy yet supportive; the leather would be easy to clean.

A purr ran through me as I pictured Moxie holding herself up as I pushed into her from behind. The armchair would be much more comfortable than the ratty pool table. She was a beta, so the slick-proof leather would be overkill. Then I would move her to the bed. Right here, I would lay her out, make her come on my tongue, before asking how hard she wanted me to fuck her. I’d have her on her back, up to my knot inside her, working her clit until she begged me to stop. Some betas could take a knot, but it wasn’t the same as knotting my omega.

My omega.

I added another pillow to my collection, willing myself to imagine Moxie’s perfume on it. My phone r. Distracted, I answered and then cursed softly as Win’s voice rumbled.

“Pay is apoplectic.”

“Oh hey, girl, hey, how are you?” I retorted. I knew he’d just plow through the mild rebuke at the lack of greeting.

“Do we need to go over phone etiquette again?”

“No, sir.” I said it in the exact same tone our grandmother required of us. I heard Win take in a sharp breath. He wasn’t any more fond of all that shit than I was.

“Alistair…” his tone softened.

Great. We were using proper names. Right back to childhood, being the baby brother needing big brother to set him straight.

“Everything’s fine, Win. No need to get your dick all tied in a knot.”

Silence stretched between us, with decades of things unsaid.

“I get not wanting to publicly participate in the races…”

“That’s not what this is about.”

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