Page 140 of Knot So Fast
"It's bullshit is what it is," I contribute, which gets me shoved playfully from both sides.
The banter is easy, comfortable in a way that speaks of familiarity I might not fully remember but that my body recognizes. These are my people. This is my pack, even if we're still figuring out exactly what that means.
Lachlan appears above us, blocking the sun with his body and casting us all in shadow. Before I can complain about the loss of warmth, he leans down and steals a kiss that tastes like champagne and grilled seafood and sunshine. It's quick but thorough, leaving me slightly dazed when he pulls back.
"Just checking," he says with a grin that should be illegal.
"Checking what?" I ask, though my voice comes out more breathless than intended.
"That you still taste like trouble."
The laugh that bubbles out of me is pure joy, uncomplicated by the pressures waiting for us back on shore. Out here, we're just a group of friends enjoying a perfect day on the water.
Luke ends up joining us, and somehow Dex gets evicted from his spot with good-natured grumbling about Beta privileges. I end up laid across both Luke and Kieran's laps, my back to the sun and a pillow of their thighs that's surprisingly comfortable.
Their conversation flows over me—discussing race strategy, arguing about tire choices, Kieran complaining about the modifications needed for the Montreal circuit coming up. Luke's fingers card absently through my hair while Kieran's hand rests on my ankle, thumb tracing absent patterns that are definitely going to leave weird tan lines.
I'm drifting into that perfect space between sleep and waking, where everything feels soft and safe and possible, when someone asks, "What the hell is that speedboat doing?"
The question penetrates my tequila-and-sun haze, making me lift my sunglasses and head to see what the commotionis about. A delivery speedboat is approaching, which is weird because we're anchored in the middle of nowhere, at least three nautical miles from the nearest marina.
Kieran and Luke help me up, their hands steady on my arms as I find my balance on legs that have forgotten how to work properly after lying still for so long. We all move to the rail, watching as the speedboat pulls alongside.
The delivery guy looks like he'd rather be anywhere else, probably because he's surrounded by several very protective Alphas who don't appreciate unexpected visitors. He holds up a massive bouquet of roses—and when I say massive, I mean it's the kind of arrangement that requires its own zip code.
Red roses. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. The kind of excessive gesture that's meant to make a statement.
The card is unsigned, but we all know that signature. The way the roses are arranged, the specific shade of red, the overwhelming nature of it all—this has Lucius written all over it.
I take the bouquet because the delivery guy looks like he might cry if someone doesn't, and it's surprisingly heavy. The roses are perfect, not a single blemish or thorn, probably genetically engineered for maximum impact. They're beautiful in an aggressive way, demanding attention and admiration.
I carry them to the rail, feeling everyone's eyes on me. The Mediterranean stretches out endless and blue, and without really thinking about it, I start pulling roses from the arrangement and tossing them overboard.
One by one, then in handfuls, I watch red petals scatter into the water. They float for a moment, vivid against the blue, before the current takes them away. It's probably terrible for the environment, and I'll feel guilty about it later, but right now it feels like a necessary statement.
This is my pack. My choice. My life.
Lucius doesn't get to intrude on our perfect day with his grand gestures and his inability to commit.
Dex whoops when the last rose hits the water, raising his beer in salute. "That's our girl!"
Kieran's grin is feral pride, all teeth and satisfaction. "Better than he deserves."
"Good choice," Luke says quietly, his hand finding mine and squeezing gently. The warmth in his voice makes the approval mean more.
"You shouldn't be littering," Lachlan notes, but his eyes are dancing with amusement. "But I'll make this one exception." He throws in a saucy wink that makes me laugh.
I smirk and head back to my sunbathing spot, ready to reclaim the perfect laziness of the afternoon. The sun is starting to angle toward evening, painting everything gold, and I want to soak up every last minute of this peace before we have to return to the real world of press conferences and training sessions and?—
My phone buzzes.
I almost ignore it, but the pattern is wrong for a normal notification. It's the specific buzz I've set for social media DMs, which should all be filtered through Katie unless something gets through her security protocols.
I glance at the screen and feel my blood turn to ice despite the warm sun.
It's a DM from a burner account—random numbers and letters that scream fake profile. But it's the photo that makes my stomach drop.
Me and Kieran at the kart track last night. The image is grainy but clear enough—us on the tailgate sharing churros, him draping his jacket over my shoulders, the kiss before I went inside. Everything timestamped, locations circled in red, and a caption that makes bile rise in my throat:
