Page 97 of Rot In Knotty Pieces

“We’re compromised,” Bonnie whispers in my ear. “Where is your omega, Pix? Is she safe?”

I shiver, the thought blooming in my mind, leaving a trail of terror in its wake.

I close my eyes. “What do we do?”

“Well, I’m sick of running,” Bonnie says and pulls back. I see the lineup of the Prince Pack; the similarities between their relatives in my pack aren’t easy to notice unless you actually know to look for them.

But all of them wear identical expressions of cold murder.

“We’re going to stay here and do what we do best: kill anything that comes at us. You go and take care of your end.”

I take her hand, squeezing it hard. “We’ll end him.”

“Of course, you will. You are Pix O’Connell. No one can stop you.”

I step back away from her, and it’s hard, so hard.

“Mark will find Sari and make sure she’s safe. The girls are safe. Everyone is prepared for this; we always have been. But you look good, Pix. You look healthy, happy. Something is changed. Being in a pack suits you,” Yvonne says softly.

I’m not sure why I needed to hear her approval, but hearing it allows something in my chest to loosen.

I take another step back. This is my family. I might be leaving them to die. She needs me.

“Be safe. Be smart. Be deadly.”

I turn on my heel and walk out of the house. We have a much bigger problem than we ever thought. I pull my phone out, twirling it between my thumb and index finger. I do that in the car for hours, and then I press the electric window button and hurl my phone into the random woods.

My alphas do the same.

When we get to a town we've never been to, we steal another car. In the middle of nowhere, King dumps the old car, lights it on fire, and gets into the stolen one with the rest of us.

Now, we’re ready to head back.

I’ve been waiting for the attack to come, but he’s already made his moves. I underestimated him, I got distracted.

“We need to make a stop!”

I get them to turn around and drive to the town Raven took me to. I find the cottage. It’s empty. There’s no one there. I knew there wouldn’t be.

The neighbour comes out and looks at me.

“Are you Leonie’s son?”

I nod, lying through my teeth.

“I’m sorry for your loss. It was a terrible, terrible crime, and the whole neighbourhood is shook.”

I stare at the woman; her grey curling hair, the weather-aged lines on her face, but more importantly, the shock and grief. The honesty.

Not running.

Dead.

I exhale and have to grab hold of the fence to hold myself up.

“And the child?”

“The police are looking for her, but there was so much blood. They don’t think she survived.”