Page 116 of Knot Like Other Girls

CHAPTER 33

BELLA

"It's just a private plane," I whisper to myself in the back of the black SUV, fingernails digging half-moons into my palms. "People fly on them every day."

The rational part of my brain knows this is true. The anxious part, however, keeps reminding me that no matter how many times I've flown—commercial or Braxley's luxurious private jets—I still hate every second in the air. Each flight is spent clutching armrests and focusing on breathing exercises to keep from hyperventilating during takeoff.

"You alright back there?" Troy calls from the driver's seat, his blue eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

I force my fingers to unclench. "Fine."

Cole shifts beside me, taking up more than his fair share of the backseat. His thigh presses against mine, warm and solid. He doesn't say anything—words aren't really Cole's thing—but his presence alone steadies my nerves.

"You're a terrible liar," he finally rumbles, quiet enough that only I can hear.

"I am not," I protest weakly, then immediately contradict myself by gnawing at my bottom lip.

Cole's mouth quirks up slightly, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "Your heart's racing. I can hear it."

Of course he can. Alpha hearing. And the way his nostrils flare slightly tells me he can probably smell my anxiety too.

"I don't love flying," I admit, keeping my voice down. Admitting weakness has never come easy to me, especially not in a car full of elite former military alphas. "The whole defying-gravity-in-a-metal-tube thing freaks me out."

A large, rough hand settles over mine, calloused fingers dwarfing my own. "Safer than driving," Cole says simply.

"I know that statistically?—"

"Not statistics," he interrupts. "Our jet. Top of the line. Roman wouldn't put his pack in anything less. Triple redundant systems. Savva checks it personally before every flight."

Something about the matter-of-fact way he says it, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, makes me believe him.

"Besides," he adds, voice dropping even lower, "we've got you."

The simple statement shouldn't make my chest feel so full, but it does. I turn my hand beneath his, linking our fingers together. His thumb rubs soothing paths against the back of my hand.

It's admittedly difficult to stay anxious when he's doing that.

Troy pulls the SUV through a security gate, bypassing the main terminals of LAX and heading toward a separate area where sleek private jets sit waiting on the tarmac.

We pass a gleaming white Gulfstream with the Worthington Industries logo emblazoned on the tail. A subtle reminder of what I'm permanently leaving behind at the end of the deadline I gave Braxley. The world of pristine surfaces and carefully curated appearances. The lifestyle I never truly wanted but had resigned myself to.

Two more freaking weeks.

And somehow, I have to make a decision about my entire future where the Vanguard Pack is concerned in that same timeframe.

Troy maneuvers our SUV toward a smaller jet at the far end of the tarmac. It's sleek and matte black with no visible markings or logos, a shadow among the ostentatious private planes surrounding it. If the Worthington jet screams "look at me," this one whispers "you never saw me."

"That's yours?" I ask, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.

"Home sweet home," Troy confirms, pulling up beside it. "Not as flashy as what you're used to, but she gets the job done."

Cole's hand tightens around mine. "Military spec," he says, as if that explains everything. Maybe to him, it does.

My stomach lurches as we come to a stop. Not just from the SUV's movement, but from the reality of what I'm doing. I'm leaving everything behind—my family obligations, my almost-fiancé, the life that had been mapped out for me since I presented as an omega.

And yet, as I look at the black jet waiting on the tarmac, it feels less like running away and more like running toward something. Something that's been missing my entire life.

Roman steps out of the front passenger seat, immediately scanning our surroundings with the practiced vigilance of someone who's survived by anticipating threats. Savva emerges from another SUV that pulls up behind us, followed by Liam, who unfolds his massive tattooed frame from the vehicle.

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