Page 62 of Knot for Sale

TWENTY-EIGHT

Emma

AS A MODEL, I’D never before felt this self-conscious about the amount of luggage I hauled around with me. Today, as our rented sailboat sat placidly in its moorings, surrounded by blue water and equally blue sky, the pile of suitcases and garment bags sitting on the scuffed wooden planks of the old dock looked borderline obscene.

Maybe it was the state of the port itself. Overflowing baggage carts seemed way more appropriate when being wheeled into five-star hotels by attentive bellhops wearing neat uniforms. Here, the five of us had needed to lug everything down the gangplank ourselves. Well, Isaythe five of us... in reality, the others had barely let me carry an overnight bag. And that somehow made it even worse.

I still felt like week-old leftovers, and I still needed to sleep for, like, twenty-four hours straight. There was a definite ache between my legs, even with the liberal application of painkillers. That ache would have been more tolerable if it didn’t bring the memory of overpowering pleasure with every fitful throb.

At least being in open air meant the scent of the five of us together was less concentrated—almost, but not quite, disappearing beneath the smell of brine and fish.

No... there would be one more trip inside a closed-up taxi as we made our way to Athens’ airport, and then I could get back to the inexorable destruction of the life I’d built for myself as a beta. A brief stop in New York, followed by a bus trip to some random Midwestern city surrounded by lots of soybeans and pigs. Or maybe somewhere in the Southwest. The desert could be pretty, I supposed.

Some sad little voice of omega instinct screamed in denial. I ignored it.

Maybe the ridiculous pile of luggage would require multiple taxis, and I could ride in a different one than the alphas.

“You okay, dove?” Elijah had sidled up to stand next to me and was watching me with concern.

“P-peachy.”

For now, I was utilizing a strategy of denial when it came to the knowledge that saying goodbye to New York would also mean saying goodbye to Elijah. It was for the best. I’d known going in that letting other people get close to me was a recipe for disaster. And here was poor Elijah, on the run from my psychotic relatives after having been bought and sold like a piece of meat.

It was safer for him if he was far, far away from me.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. I’d get away and start a new life.Alone.

“You don’t look peachy,” Elijah shot back. “Just saying.”

There was no way to answer without making everything worse, so I kept silent. Farther down the dock, Gabriel and Curran were engaged in what appeared to be an animated discussion with an olive-skinned and weather-beaten man, who I gathered was the owner of the rented sailboat. It seemed to consist of approximately equal amounts of broken Greek from Gabriel and broken English from the old sailor. Onyx, who’d been staying out of it, crossed their arms and ran a wary gaze over our surroundings—which, admittedly, weren’t the best.This out-of-the-way dock was a far cry from the high-end marina where we’d embarked on the Titania a little more than a week ago.

I stood stoic, waiting patiently until the conversation wound down; doing my best to ignore the unhappiness rolling off Elijah in invisible waves. Eventually, Gabriel nodded and shook hands with the boat’s owner. He, Curran, and Onyx returned to join us by the small mountain of luggage.

“There should be a couple of vans coming here to pick us up and take us to the airport,” Gabriel said, looking mildly harried.

I imagined billionaires weren’t accustomed to having to wrangle last-minute transportation for themselves. He was probably used to having a chauffeur waiting for him with a limousine wherever he went.

Curran grunted. “Be glad we managed to find a boat for you at all on such short notice. Door to door transportation costs extra.”

Onyx was still casting a watchful eye around us. “Just so it doesn’t take long. This isn’t exactly what you’d call a secure location. Especially not with Mount Luggage sitting here in the open screaming ‘rich tourists’to anyone who happens to see it.”

Curran’s expression implied that he fully agreed with the assessment.

“I’m well aware,” Gabriel said. “Are you two armed?”

Curran’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? You ever tried smuggling firearms through customs? The only people with handguns in Greece are the criminals.”

“We picked up a couple of fake ancient daggers at a tourist trap and put a decent edge on them on the trip out to you,” Onyx added. “That’s it for weapons.”

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