Page 11 of Knot Like Other Girls

Troy, bless his heart, is trying his best to mimic Liam's pronunciation, but with his all-American southern accent, it's clear he's fighting a losing battle. Troy may be the Pack Vanguard alpha I get along with least, but perhaps that’s part of why it's so amusing.

I can't help but smirk as I make my way to the small bar tucked in the corner of the room. These men, my brothers-in-arms, are a far cry from the refined company I used to keep in my previous life. But there's a raw authenticity to them that I've come to appreciate.

Even if they do sometimes remind me of cavemen discovering fire for the first time.

As I pour myself a generous measure of scotch—because if we're going to be embroiled in a mafia war, we might as well do it with style—I cast my gaze around the room. Roman has retreated to a corner, his phone pressed to his ear as he speaks in low, urgent tones. No doubt trying to gather more intel on our situation.

Cole, as usual, has found the darkest, most secluded spot in the room to occupy. He's cleaning his weapons with a single-minded focus that would be admirable if it wasn't so... unsettling. The right side of his face, a mess of burn scars, is cast in shadow beneath his bone-white hair, making him look like something out of a gothic novel.

White from shock, from what I understand.

Whatever happened to him occurred before he became part of the fucked-up brotherhood. I was the last alpha to join Roman, Liam, and Troy, and I thought I was the last period. Then Cole came along, just two years ago.

I've never quite known what to make of Cole. While the others wear their damage like badges of honor, Cole seems to use his as armor, keeping everyone at arm's length. Even after two years of being with us, he remains an enigma, a ghost drifting at the edges of our pack.

Taking a sip of my scotch, I savor the burn as it slides down my throat. It's a far cry from the vintage I have stashed away in my secret Paris apartment, which I haven't seen since joining Pack Vanguard because visiting would mean they'd visit, too. But it'll do for now. I lean against the bar, content for the moment to observe.

Troy has given up on his Gaelic lessons and is now engaged in what appears to be an arm-wrestling match with Liam. It's a comical sight—Troy, with his golden boy looks and easy charm, straining against Liam's tattooed bulk. I'd put money on Liam, but Troy might win just based on sheer stubbornness.

"Come on, you fuckin' bastard," Troy grunts, his face red with exertion. "I've taken down bigger guys than you."

Liam just grins, not even breaking a sweat. "In your dreams, maybe. This is what happens when you focus too much on working on your abs and not enough on building strength."

I chuckle into my glass. For all their posturing and alpha male bullshit, I know these two would die for each other without hesitation. It's one of the things I've come to admire about our little group. The unwavering loyalty, the bond that goes beyond blood.

My gaze drifts back to Cole, and I find myself wondering, not for the first time, what's going through his head. Does he feel the same camaraderie? Or is he always on the outside, looking in? I know I felt that way for a while.

The sound of shattering glass pulls my attention back to the center of the room. Troy is on the floor, having apparently lost his battle against Liam's massive biceps and taken a side table down with him in the process.

"Shit," Troy mutters, looking sheepishly at the broken lamp. "Sorry."

Roman, who's just finished his phone call, pinches the bridge of his nose. "Just... clean it up, Troy. And try not to break anything else. We're guests here, remember?"

I push off from the bar, deciding it's time to join the fray. "Allow me," I say, crouching down to help Troy gather the larger pieces of glass before he cuts himself. "Your hands are too meaty for such a delicate operation. You'll cut yourself. Wouldn't want you to have something new to bitch about."

Troy rolls his eyes. "Ha ha, very funny. Not all of us can pull off the whole 'disheveled artist with sculptor's hands' look, bro."

I peer thoughtfully at my strong yet elegant hands. "No," I muse. "These hands would look strange on you, wouldn't they?"

Troy snorts. "Yeah. Like a doll's hands sewn onto a goddamn gorilla's arms."

That earns an arched eyebrow. "That isn't the burn you think it is."

Our banter is interrupted by a low chuckle from Liam. "Shit, would you two just fuck already and get it over with?"

I straighten up, giving Liam a tired look as I stack the glass shards neatly in my palm, gently enough I don't apply enough pressure to cut my smooth skin, and drop them into my glass for safekeeping. "While I'm flattered by your interest in my love life, I'm afraid I have no interest in men. And even if I did, Troy would be at the bottom of the list with the rest of you barbarians."

Troy clutches his chest dramatically. "And here I thought we had something special."

Liam cackles. Even Roman cracks a stiff smile, though it doesn't reach his dark hazel eyes. It's moments like these that make me grateful for this odd little family we've cobbled together. In the midst of chaos, we can still find reasons to laugh.

And really, what more could a man ask for?

CHAPTER 5

LIAM

Savva and Troy keep bickering as they clean up the broken glass, shaking my head. It's like watching two alley cats circle each other, neither willing to back down.

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