Page 119 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
The man in front of me is maybe five-eight, with black hair combed back in a style better suited to a boardroom than Front Street. His suit is sharp, tailored, the kind of expensive that doesn’t get dirt on it. Grayeyes study me with a cold curiosity, as if he’s deciding whether I’m worth his time.
Then his mouth twists. “If it isn’t the gold-digging whore.”
The insult snags me mid-breath. My stomach tightens. “Excuse me?”
His hand shoots out, gripping my upper arm with a pressure that warns me not to pull away. “You know exactly who I am.”
“I don’t,” I snap, trying to twist free.
Before I can step back, he drags me into the narrow alley between the drugstore and the hardware shop. My shoulder slams into rough brick, the chill seeping through my jacket.
He leans in close, whiskey heavy on his breath. “Ronan Blackwood. Rose’s actual grandson. Her blood.”
The name is familiar immediately. The lawyer told me he’d tried to contest the will.
I glance toward the street. No one’s looking. No help.
“Let go of me.” I keep my voice steady, but my pulse is pounding.
His lips curve into something almost amused. “That ranch isn’t yours. It’s mine. I’m family. You’re just some desperate Omega that an Alpha tossed aside.”
Anger burns away a sliver of fear. I lift my chin. “If Rose wanted you to have it, she would’ve left it to you.She didn’t. Probably because she knew exactly what kind of man you are. The kind who?—”
His hand clamps around my throat. My breath stops. My nails dig into his wrist, but he’s stronger than he looks. The brick at my back feels like it’s pressing in on me, the edges of my vision going dim.
“Don’t worry,” he hisses. “Things are going to be fixed soon. Then you can get out of my town. You and that rancid scent stinking up the place.”
He actually gags, like the idea of my pre-heat body disgusts him. His grip loosens just enough for me to move.
I don’t think. I drive my knee into his groin.
He curses and his hold breaks.
I run. Air scorches my throat as I gulp it in, boots hammering the pavement. His voice follows me down the street, sharp and furious, but I don’t look back. I just keep moving, searching for anywhere, anyone, that might be safe.
There, the real estate office. A painted sign swings in the breeze.Sweetwater Creek Realty. June’s family business.
I burst through the door, bell chiming frantically, and immediately lock it behind me.
“Sophia?” June looks up from her desk, and I can see she’s been crying. Mascara smudged, eyes red. But her own problems vanish the second she sees me. “Honey, what happened?”
I stand there shaking, hand at my throat, trying to find words.
“Sophia, are you hurt? You’re crying and—is that a hand mark on your throat?”
That’s all it takes. I break down completely, ugly-sobbing as I collapse into the vintage chair across from her desk. The office smells like vanilla candles and old paper, comfortable and safe, but I can’t stop shaking.
“Breathe,” June says, rushing around the desk. “Just breathe. What happened?”
“You first,” I manage, gesturing at her tear-stained face, trying to regain my own composure. “You’ve been crying too.”
“Just my parents being assholes.” She waves dismissively. “They called to lecture me again about selling the agency and moving to Dallas. That someone like me should get a job with my cousin’s investment firm and work in an office. Because, apparently, preserving the town’s history and helping people find homes isn’t important enough.”
“That’s awful,” I say, momentarily distracted from my own drama.
“It’s fine. I’m used to it. But you, Sophia, what the hell happened?”
The whole story pours out in a jumbled mess. I start with waking up in Ridge’s bed, the pre-heat beginning, seeing Cash with Brittany.
