Page 50 of Knot Going Down (OlympicVerse #3)

KNOX

A va’s heat breaks a few hours before we reach Bermuda. The first and only port this cruise will hit before it ends in Fort Lauderdale.

And now, I’ve got a decision to make.

Drunk on sex hormones, it was easy to think this could work, but now, who fucking knows if Declan will ever let me be a part of this. Can I really stick around and watch this pack form without me?

If I’m gonna run, this is the time. This is my window. I could slip off the ship, find a burner phone, and call Glenn. He’d have me on a one-way flight out of here before the others even realize I’m gone and not just wandering around the duty-free shop.

Clean exit. Minimal collateral. I could disappear.

But it would mean leaving Emily. Leaving Ava. Leaving Lucas.

And it would prove Declan right about me.

He thinks I’m a flight risk. That I’ll bail.

And maybe I would’ve. A few days ago, I would’ve sprinted off this boat without a second thought. But now? Now, I sit here with a storm under my ribs, staring at the ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows, knowing I’ve already made my choice.

Still, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it.

“Who else is starving?” Emily’s voice cuts through the quiet as she drops onto the couch beside me, loose-limbed and glowing from her post-shower clean-up.

Her short hair is still damp at the ends, and her skin’s scrubbed pink and fresh—no longer layered in heat-slick and alpha scent. No longer layered in my scent.

The possessive part of me snarls. I tamp it down.

“Starved,” I say, grabbing her by the waist and tugging her into my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because it is.

She comes willingly, smiling as she curls against my chest, and I feel the subtle exhale of her trust in me. Like she’s never doubted I’d catch her.

That’s what gets me.

Not the sex. Not even the bond we almost share. It’s this quiet, unthinking ease she offers me. Like I belong here.

I hold her tighter than I probably need to, my palm spread across the flat of her stomach. The same stomach I’ve kissed. Bitten. Laughed against.

I should feel full after the last few days. Emotionally wrecked. Sexually drained. Instead, I feel… tethered.

“I missed this,” she says softly, pressing her face into my neck.

“What, sitting on my lap?”

“No.” She laughs, then nods. “Okay, yes. But also the normal stuff. Talking. Being together without someone begging to be knotted every five minutes and coming through screams.”

“Speak for yourself.” I squeeze her hip. “You also begged.”

She shrugs, unrepentant. “I was polite about it.”

And just like that, I’m smiling. Genuinely. So wide my cheeks hurt

She looks up at me with those wide, open eyes, so trusting, so Emily . If I run, I’ll never forgive myself.

Because this right here? This feels like home.

I pull her close, rubbing along her neck and marking my girl in my scent.

Ava comes down the stairs right as I’m scent marking Ly.

“Get over here.” I reach for my omega, voice edged with command. I need her, too.

She hesitates—arms crossed, chin tucked down slightly. It's the most uncertain I’ve seen her. Before her heat, she was distant and restrained, even a bit pissy. But during it, I saw a different side of her, stripped bare and begging. She was raw, wild, unfiltered.

Now, she’s shuttered. Like she’s not sure where she fits anymore. And I hate it. Hate seeing her pull back.

“Get. Over. Here.” It’s not quite a bark, but it’s damn close.

Ava takes slow steps toward me. When she’s within reach, I grab her by the hips and pull her down into my lap, half on top of Ly. Both women make a noise somewhere between a huff and a squeak. I spread my knees wider, adjusting them so Emily is perched on one thigh and Ava on the other.

Then I scent mark the hell out of them. Neck, jaw, behind the ears. My omega. My beta. Mine. They relax into it, soft sounds of contentment easing from their lips, loosening some tight coil inside me.

Until Lucas steps out of the downstairs bathroom.

He’s freshly showered, damp curls and clean skin still steaming slightly from the heat.

Just like the women in my lap. All of them, scrubbed of the slick, of the knot-heavy haze, of me .

I know the scent was getting overwhelming.

I know we all needed the reset. But the alpha in me—territorial, hungry, still half-feral from days of sex—reads it as rejection.

Like I’ve been washed off. Replaced. Too afraid that’ll become real when they choose Declan over me.

The growl that comes from my chest makes all three of them freeze. I straighten, as tense as a predator about to pounce, gaze locking on Lucas.

“I think he needs to scent mark you,” Ly says, a slight laugh in her voice at my expense, but not unkind. Understanding.

Lucas meets my eyes, then leans forward over the back of the couch, bringing his face close. Close enough to offer.

Close enough to claim.

I nuzzle into his neck, rubbing my scent all over his jaw, under his ear. He smells like soap and steam and me. A delighted purr fills my chest now that my betas and my omega smell like mine again.

“So, are we going on an excursion?” Lucas asks. “I have already paid for the tour, and I think we could all use some fresh air.”

“Declan’s on a call with his boss,” I reply.

Not really an answer, but for some reason I feel like I need to defer to him on this.

Maybe if I let him know I can obey outside of the bedroom, he’ll let me into this pack.

His pack. Because it’s clear that’s where this is headed.

Pack McLaren. There’s no way the three of them are going to choose me—a criminal with nothing to offer—over Declan.

He’s smart, established, safe, and hot as fuck.

Speak of the devil.

Declan opens the sliding door from the balcony and strolls back into the room.

His gaze lands on the women on my lap and Lucas beside us, nostrils flaring.

I can see the alpha in him clawing to the surface, fighting for control.

He doesn’t move toward us, doesn’t lunge or growl, but it’s there.

The part of him that wants to erase me from their skin and cover them with his scent.

Turning toward the kitchen, he proves he has more control than I do.

“Is there still coffee?” His voice is smooth—too smooth—like he’s trying to smother something sharp, and it gives me a cocky smile.

“Should be,” I say. “I put on a fresh pot when Ly started growling at the room service menu.”

“I was growling at the prices,” Emily corrects. “Not the food.”

“You do not need to worry about the prices,” Lucas says, dropping a quick kiss on her forehead.

Declan grabs a mug from the cabinet and pours. He doesn’t look at us, but I can feel him thinking. Assessing. Calculating risk.

“We getting off the boat today?” he asks, still facing the window. “Stretch our legs, get some real food?”

“Depends,” I answer. “Bermuda’s not a bad place to disappear.”

Declan turns slowly, coffee cradled in one hand, his expression unreadable. “You thinking about disappearing?”

I hold his gaze. “Not unless you think I should. Cinder blocks tied to my feet. Throw me off a bridge perhaps?”

His eyes narrow slightly, then he blows on the coffee and takes a sip. “We’ll talk.”

“No murder, please.” Ava dismisses my not-quite-joke with a wave of her hand. “At least not until we’ve eaten something that didn’t arrive under a silver dome or come from under a buffet’s heat lamp.”

“I heard there’s a café right by the dock,” Emily suggests, pulling her hair into a messy bun. “Real food. Chairs that don’t smell like sex.”

Lucas snorts. “Speak for yourself. That chair has earned my respect.”

The things the furniture in this suite witnessed requires a trip to the confessional.

Ava stands, stretching like a cat. “I’m gonna grab my purse. Try not to do anything too exciting while I’m gone.”

“I make no promises,” I mutter.

She leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek, a tiny act of affection that makes my heart fucking soar, then saunters toward the stairs with Ly in tow.

Lucas plops down onto the couch. Declan watches our girls go, then flicks his gaze back to me.

We share a look. Not quite easy. Not quite hostile. Something in between.

A sharp, unmistakable ringtone cuts through the room—the one I set for Glenn. Not a default sound, but a ringtone I had to actually pay for, a short burst of techno chimes he always hated.

Declan’s already moving before I even register it. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out my confiscated phone, thumb pausing on the screen.

His eyes flick to the caller ID.

Then to me.

“If I don’t answer, he’ll know something’s up.” I hold my hand out for the phone, the outside world finally catching up to the ship.

“And what if you are busy?” Lucas asks. “Surely you do not always answer.”

“If Glenn calls, you answer.” I don’t know how much Lucas knows about my situation, probably little to nothing, but hopefully he gets the seriousness of this.

I could use his help to convince Declan.

“Look, you’re right next to me. I’ll put it on speakerphone.

But if I don’t answer, he’ll get suspicious. ”

Declan doesn’t make a move to give me the phone. My heart rate rises with each chime of the tone.

“Come on, man! We just went through a fucking heat together. We’re scent matched to the same woman. That’s got to earn me some trust!”

Declan slowly swipes his thumb over the screen and puts it on speakerphone.

“Hey,” I say, aiming for breezy, but landing closer to strained. My heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Declan stares at me hawklike. Assessing. Judging. Maybe daring me to mess this up.

“Where the hell have you been?” Glenn’s voice crackles through the speaker, sharp and pissed.