Page 9 of Knot So Fast
Kieran Locke Cross ended up as a racing instructor at some fancy driving school, teaching rich kids how to handle supercars instead of setting up the perfect race strategies that used to make us unbeatable.
And Dex Ryder—fuck,Dex became a sports commentator, talking about races instead of winning them.
All because of the accident.
All because we almost lost Auren, and in trying to save her, we lost everything else.
I'm on my feet before I fully realize I'm moving, drawn to the bathroom by an invisible force that I've never been able toresist. The sound of running water calls to me like a siren song, promising temporary relief from the chaos in my head.
I'm naked by the time I reach the glass shower door, and I can see the way Auren's head lifts slightly, her enhanced senses picking up my approach before I even cross the threshold.
"I can smell you, you know?" she points out, not bothering to turn around.
Her voice is matter-of-fact, like my presence is both expected and inevitable.
God, I know she can smell me.
That's one of the most devastating things about Auren's enhanced Omega senses—she can pick up on everything.
Emotions, intentions, lies, arousal.
It's a trait most people wouldn't think was important when it came to racing cars, but they'd be surprised. She used to leave grown men stunned and nursing massive hard-ons after she'd outsmart them using nothing but her nose and her ability to read their tells.
Before I can spiral into jealousy over all those other men who've experienced her particular brand of torture, I open the shower door and slip inside to join her. The steam envelops me immediately, thick and warm and scented with her body wash—something floral and feminine that shouldn't work with her personality but somehow does.
Her back is to me, and I take a moment to drink in the sight of her spine tattoo written in elegant characters that I still can't identify as Chinese, Japanese, or Korean despite months of trying to “figure it out”. What I do know is the meaning, because she told me once during a rare moment of vulnerability: "Knot Too Fast For Any Of You."
Any of you.
Meaning our pack.
A saying she used to throw around constantly when we were younger, usually right before she'd race past us and leave us choking on her exhaust. Whether it was video games or real life, Auren had a way of making it clear that she was faster, smarter, and generally better than any of us gave her credit for.
The tattoo does its best to hide the obvious scar that saved her from being paralyzed—a thin line that runs from her shoulder blade to the base of her spine where the surgeons had to operate to prevent permanent damage. The burns have healed nicely over the past year, now just blemish designs along her back that she's covered with other tattoos, turning her skin into a perfect canvas that I'm positive she's nowhere near finished with.
I take those final steps to close the distance between us, unable to resist the magnetic pull that's always existed between us. My hands move of their own accord as I lean down to kiss the side of her neck, right over that spot that I know makes her knees weak. The moan that escapes her goes straight to my dick, which is apparently ready for round two despite the thorough workout she just gave me.
She leans her head back against my shoulder, water cascading down both of us as our eyes lock in the reflection on the glass door. When she speaks, her voice is soft and challenging at the same time.
"I didn't let you in, Sir."
The title hits me like a freight train, bringing back a flood of memories that I've been trying to suppress. The way she used to say it when we were together before—breathless and needy and so fucking sweet.How she looked at me like I hung the moon and could do no wrong.
And then the memory that destroys me every time: waking up in that hospital room to find her staring at me with absolutely no recognition in those beautiful eyes. The first words out of hermouth when she saw me weren't "I love you" or "I'm glad you're okay" or even my name.
They were:"Who the fuck are you?"
I ignore the heaviness of that memory by kissing her instead, pouring all my desperation and regret and love into the contact. The moan that echoes through the shower stall vibrates through my chest, settling into those hollow spaces that only she can fill.
I push the past away forcefully, not caring about the pain or the guilt or the way it threatens to drag me under.
I don't want to recall the past that ruined us.
I just want to focus on the present, even if it's built on lies and half-truths and the kind of hope that's probably going to destroy me.
Even if she doesn't remember loving me, she's here now.
She's choosing to be here, choosing to let me touch and taste her; to pretend that we can find our way back to what we used to be.
