Page 7 of Knot Going Down (OlympicVerse #3)

DECLAN

S tuck in a hotel room with a criminal is the last place I want to be.

Especially when my girl is god-knows-where, doing god-knows-what, with god-knows-who.

I’m a selfish fucker—a possessive one too—and want her here with me.

It’s a big part of why I’ve never packed up.

Working too much, never finding the right fit, and never being good at sharing.

“Shouldn’t I be eating baguettes in a French prison right now?” Knox rubs a hand over his head. His hair is so short I wonder if he cuts it himself with a razor.

I’ve got him cuffed to the headboard in my hotel room.

For an alleged dealer physically attached to furniture, Knox looks way too calm about the situation.

Sprawled across the bed with his feet crossed at the ankles, getting whatever shit’s on the bottom of his shoes all over the end of the white hotel comforter.

Gunner wags his tail while he watches Knox from the floor, like he’s hoping for an invitation to jump on the bed even though he knows he’s not allowed up there.

I ignore them both, sitting at the tiny desk while I shoot off an email to my Parisian counterparts, letting them know I won’t be able to make it to the closing ceremonies tomorrow. Not with Knox.

This morning, I left him to go watch Meggie’s final water polo match with Emily.

Even with two French policemen guarding the door, Knox almost made it out the window.

Not sure what he planned to do after that, since we’re four stories up, but the man’s clearly a flight risk.

I’m not foolish enough to leave him again.

I convinced them to let me keep Knox in my custody by explaining he’s essential to an ongoing investigation. He doesn’t need to know how hard I worked to make that happen. I have no intention of letting him figure out how important he really is.

Glenn Plansky ruined my life, and we haven’t had a break like this in his case in years. I’m not about to let anyone else handle this, and I’m definitely not letting Knox Carrick out of my sight. Even if that worn leather scent of his keeps splintering my focus.

“Yeah, pretty sure I should have been deported back to the U.S. or something—is deported the right word if I wasn’t living here in Paris?

Extradited?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Huh, doesn’t matter.

Still pretty sure you should have thrown me on a plane the second you read me my rights.

So, why am I not back in the good ol’ U.S. of A.?”

He’s right, but I wasn’t about to leave without Emily. Not when things are still so uncertain between us. And I don’t want her to miss the closing ceremonies of her first Olympics. So I’m stalling.

The only reason my director’s okay with it is because I didn’t tell him Glenn’s already back in the States. As long as he thinks Glenn’s here, he’s fine with me staying.

The sleeve of Knox’s tee rides up as he shifts positions, the awkward angle of his cuffed arm making the Mercy scrawled on his flesh in black ink more noticeable. I hate that the tattoo catches my eye. Mercy like sympathy? Mercy like a woman’s name?

“You gonna answer me, officer dipshit?” Knox tosses a pillow at my head with the hand not cuffed to my bed, beaded bracelet on his wrist rattling with the movement.

I easily knock it off course, and it lands on the floor. “No. I’m not.”

We’ll be on a plane out of here soon enough.

I moved up Emily’s ticket—with her permission—so she’s flying home with me as soon as the closing ceremonies are over.

I think she only agreed because she’s under some false belief that this ends once we get home.

Flying together gives us more time in her mind.

Plus, the little beta seems to like when I make decisions for her.

A knock has me straightening up. I’m not expecting anyone. Knox’s gaze flicks to the door with unmasked curiosity. Did the asshole somehow get off a text? Did Glenn find out he’s here and send someone to get him? Or take him out?

I draw my gun, pointing it at the floor as I take off the safety.

“Don’t you think that’s overkill?” Knox asks.

I shoot him a look that can only be interpreted one way. Shut. The fuck. Up. Moving to the door, I glance through the peephole. Whoever’s in the hall is facing away, so all I can see is the back of their head. In one smooth motion, I swing open the door and lift my gun.

Emily turns, yelps, and throws her hands up, dropping the bag she was carrying. It makes a flat squelching noise as it hits the floor.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby.” I lower my gun, putting the safety on before sliding it back into the holster. Her eyes are still wide when I pull her into my chest and kiss the top of her head. “What are you doing here?”

“I t-thought maybe you’d want something other than room service.” She’s shaking in my arms. “Meggie and my brother aren’t answering their phones, and I don’t know where Ava is, and I thought…”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m sorry I scared you.

” Rubbing her back, a soft purr rattles my chest. “I just wasn’t expecting you, but I’m glad you’re here.

” Her scent is tinged with fear, but that amaretto smell hits me right in the chest. It would be so easy to get drunk off her.

I swear every time she’s near I feel a little loopy, all my muscles relaxing in the same way they do with a good stiff drink.

“The food probably spilled everywhere.” She pulls back and picks up the bag at our feet, opening it to release the scent of buttery garlic carbohydrates and basil tomato goodness. “Oh, it actually looks okay.”

Her gaze flicks behind me into the room and lands on Knox. I’m too observant to miss the way her forehead creases and lips turn down.

“Hey, Emily,” Knox says, his voice softer than I’ve heard it before. He looks a little too smug considering he’s handcuffed to the headboard. “How you been, gorgeous?”

“You two know each other?” Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised since Knox was clearly Emily’s best friend’s dealer, but I can’t seem to picture the innocent bubbly woman in front of me knowing a drug dealer, even secondhand.

“Just through Meggie,” Emily answers quickly. A little too quickly. The words nearly slur together. She holds up the bag of food. “Should we eat?”

I don’t want her anywhere near Knox Carrick, but I can’t bring myself to tell her to leave.

We’ve only known each other a few days, but already she has me wrapped around her finger.

I don’t know what it is about this woman, but the moment I saw her, she captivated me, and once I caught a whiff of her scent, I knew she was mine.

Sure, she’s a beta, and technically betas don’t scent match—or at least, not often—but she’s mine.

Even if she’s made it clear she doesn’t date alphas and this is just a flirty fling for her.

Besides, wouldn't a true fling have more flinging going on? We’ve kissed—with tongue—and the fact I have to specify with tongue signals just how hard up I am for this sweet little thing.

I’d fling her properly if she voiced that desire, but my girl doesn’t seem vastly experienced in that realm, and I don’t want to rush her.

But damn, I’d relish the opportunity to be the one to give her a proper education.

First, though, I’ve gotta get her to see this is something real. This isn’t a Parisian make-out hook-up. This could go the distance if we’re both all in. And I’m going to prove it to her.

Her bringing me dinner is a great place to start.

“Come on in.” I hold the door open, waving her in, but when she goes to step past me, I grab her around the waist, pull her against me, and scent mark the hell out of her. If she’s gonna be near Knox, I want her to smell like she’s mine.