Page 122 of Knot So Social

My smile fades. Just because I’m now a free man doesn’t mean I get to be with Willow.

Chapter thirty-eight

Alessandro

I drift into consciousness wrapped in a cloud of heavy wool. My mouth crackles, drier than a desert, and my head aches something fierce. What happened? Adrenaline spikes through my body as I blink at the unfamiliar space. Where am I?

The room, with its long, draping curtains in a tan hue, thick cream carpets, and gold accents, belongs to a world far removed from me. Likewise, the sheets feel so smooth I can’t be sure this is a bed at all. Warmth seeps into my waist from a single line draped over me, and when I squirm, I discover a woman’s arm wrapped around my hips.

I flinch.

Miranda. The water bottle. Getting shot at.

I throw the blanket off me, trying to escape the smothering sensation.

“Easy there.”

The warm male voice comes from close by and I freeze.

The familiar alpha sitting in a chair nearby leans over and rests a hand on my shivering shoulder. “You’re safe. Looks like you were drugged, but we brought you to Willow’s house.” He nods toward the arm draped over my hip. “She’s still asleep.”

I glance down again. Willow’s pretty, healthy nails brush the sheets in front of my belly button. I suck in a deep breath as the world’s orientation settles into place. Every lungful of air brings me her sweet floral scent.

My hammering heartbeat settles.

I glance back at the alpha. My lips stick together, semi sealed with dryness and mouth scum, so I scrub one hand over them.

“Jeremy?” I croak.

He sits back with a smile. “That’s me. How are you feeling?”

“Ugh. Like I’ve been drinking rum for two days straight.” I swallow down a groan and ease myself out from under the omega’s hold. Pain throbs through my head as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My skin feels clammy and sticky and when I stand up, the room spins.

“Take it slow,” Jeremy says, rising to steady me while he leans on one crutch.

“Thanks,” I mutter, leaning on him. My limp cock slaps my thighs, and I discover I’m stark naked. “Merda.”

Jeremy follows my glance. “No one washed you, sorry. We weren’t sure if . . . you might have evidence on you, and if you plan to press charges . . . Do you remember what happened?”

I shake my head. “I remember. She didn’t get that far, and it would be her word against mine anyway.”

I press the heel of my hand into my buzzing head, trying to push away the pain.

His grip tightens. “Fucking bitch.”

Well, now that I sort through my fragmented memories, I recall Miranda coming on to me, and her husband shooting at me as I drove away, but nothing after that. “My car?”

“My brother drove it here. It’s parked in the driveway outside.”

A shiver works through me. I slump over the bathroom vanity, the strength leaching out of me. “Grazie. Thank you for helping.”

He nods. “Think you can stand on your own?” His thumb twitches toward the door with uncertainty. “I’ll go find something for your headache.”

I straighten to show I can take my own weight. The man’s still on crutches but I’m leaning on him. “Appreciate it.”

Once he hobbles out, I take care of the piss that’s threatening to explode my bladder and turn the shower on. I pause in the doorway, thinking about Jeremy’s words. Should I press charges?

I scoff and step under the waterflow. As if I can hire lawyers and go up against people like the Warkows, who keep legal counsel on the payroll year-round. The best I can hope for is that they don’t press charges on me.