Page 162 of Knot So Fast
The silence stretches between us, heavy with things unsaid. His jaw works like he's chewing on words he doesn't want to speak.
"What's going on, Lachlan?"
He sighs, the sound carrying three weeks' worth of exhaustion. "Lucius got first."
The words land like physical blows. Lucius. First. At Monza, one of the most prestigious races of the season.
"He replaced Dimitri on Ferrari," Lachlan continues, each word careful and measured. "The same team that was using him three years ago. The ones who belittled him, almost threw him under the bus, who play dirty every chance they get."
His hands clench into fists, the racing gloves creaking with the pressure. "I'll give it to Dimitri that him saving you gave him a clean streak in my books. But to see my own brother decide to join them out of opportunity, knowing they're not only competition but have tried to hurt us before? It's uncalled for."
"There's more to this, isn't there?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
He's quiet for so long I think he might not answer. Then: "Luke, Katie, and I have been gathering all the threats. The messages, the photos, the surveillance."
My stomach drops, already knowing where this is going but needing to hear it anyway.
"They're all leading to Lucius."
The words hang between us like a death sentence. Lucius. The man I've been on-and-off with for a year. The twin who could never quite commit. The one who's been circling our pack like a satellite that can't decide whether to crash or escape orbit.
"He's the one threatening me?" The words come out smaller than intended, disbelief and hurt tangled together.
It doesn't make sense. Lucius is complicated, stubborn, sometimes cruel in his indifference, but this? Orchestrating threats, surveillance, possibly even the sabotage? It feels wrong, like trying to force a puzzle piece into the wrong space.
Lachlan sighs, his arm coming around me carefully, mindful of my ribs. "We've always had tension. Him the bad twin, me the good one. It's always come down to commitment issues. But more than that..."
He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Lucius can't see himself sharing anything. Not toys when we were kids, not roles, not teams, and definitely not his Omega."
The implication sits cold in my chest. "So he'd rather me be... dead?"
"Never," Lachlan says immediately, vehemently. "He would never—" He cuts himself off, running his free hand through his hair. "But the evidence implies... it's pointing toward..."
"That if he can't have me, no one can," I finish quietly.
The silence that follows is deafening. Outside, Monaco continues its eternal party, oblivious to the way my world is reshaping itself around this horrible possibility.
"I remember we were arguing," I say finally, needing to fill the silence. "Before the accident—the first one. We were fighting about something, but I can't recall what exactly. But I remember how it ended. I told him he'd lose everything he loves and walked out."
"It could have happened," Lachlan agrees. "We never were able to figure out why you two were fighting before the accident. Your phone was destroyed in the crash, and Lucius claimed he didn't know what upset you."
Claimed. The word choice isn't lost on me.
"We think..." Lachlan pauses, then pushes forward. "We think we'll have to give up on Lucius. Cut him out completely. For everyone's safety, but especially yours."
The words should hurt more than they do. Maybe it's the medication, or the exhaustion, or the accumulation of too many betrayals, but all I feel is a kind of hollow acceptance. Lucius made his choice—has been making it over and over for years. The pack or independence. Us or them. Commitment or freedom.
He's chosen, and we have to live with that choice.
I snuggle deeper into Lachlan's embrace, careful of my ribs but needing the comfort of contact. His arms tighten around me, his chin resting on top of my head, and for a moment we just breathe together.
"If it means protecting the pack..." I whisper, the words barely audible even in the quiet of my room. "So be it."
I feel him tense, then relax, like he was expecting a fight and is relieved not to get one. But what's the point of fighting for someone who's already chosen to stand on the other side of the battlefield?
"The Grand Sphynx is in two weeks," he says quietly. "Final race of the season. Everything will be decided there."
The championship. The constructor's title. And, apparently, whatever game Lucius is playing.
