Page 115 of Knot Going Down

“Prove it,” Georgie says.

“Upstairs?” Knox keeps the question light.

Georgie hesitates, glancing down the hallway. It’s empty.

“When was the last time someone came down here?” Knox asks, like it’s idle conversation.

“Been at least twenty minutes before you two.”

“All we need is five,” I say, a challenge in my voice.

Georgie smirks. “I’ll be shocked if that’s true, but I’m game.”

He turns and bounds up the stairs like a man already thinking with the wrong head.

The upper level is quieter, darker, lit only by wall sconces. Thick carpet muffles every step.

We wait until Georgie’s a few paces ahead. Then I lunge.

One hand on the back of his neck, the other grabbing his jaw, I slam his head into the wall with athudthat rattles the light fixture. He goes limp instantly. Knox catches his legs, and we drag him into the nearest side room. I cuff him to the exposed pipe under the sink, shoving a hand towel in his mouth for good measure.

“Alright,” I say, breathing hard, “where’s Glenn’s office?”

Knox gestures down the hall, and we slip into the study at the end of the corridor. Dark mahogany walls, sleek moderndesk, liquor cart in the corner. Not exactly subtle. This is a room designed for power plays and dirty deals.

I move fast, crossing to the desk and flipping open the laptop. Not my specialty, but I know enough, and Curtis was able to get me a drive preloaded with decryption tools. I slot it in. The program launches. Password cracked in under a minute. I’m no tech genius, but we’ve got a few of them on payroll, so after a couple clicks, files begin transferring directly to Curtis and his guys. They’ll get immediate access and hopefully have something on Glenn before the party even finishes. We figure he’ll go more quietly with a bunch of people around, counting on lawyers and dirty cops to get him off.

“Start looking for anything physical,” I mutter, worried Glenn’s computer might not be enough. “Ledgers. Flash drives. Paper trails.”

Knox nods and moves to the filing cabinet, opening drawers.

Just as I start searching the desk, I hear footsteps.

Shit.

I do the only thing I can think to do. I grab Knox and shove him back against the bookshelf. Our mouths collide, and I kiss him hard—hands in his hair, body pressed flush to his—just as the door swings open.

“Well, isn’t this a pretty show?” Glenn growls, voice cold as ice.

I don’t move. Don’t blink. Just smile against Knox’s lips. “You caught us. We were hoping to christen the honeymoon suite.”

56

LUCAS

“Idislike this plan,” I say as Emily drives past Glenn’s place for the second time.

Ava’s fingers twitch nervously in her lap, clutching a small pile of clothes she smuggled out—Declan’s shirt, Knox’s boxers, even one of my socks. I didn’t realize she’d taken our things until we were leaving Emily’s place. Our omega’s been quiet, but the tension radiating off her is sharp.

Emily’s jaw tightens, hands gripping the wheel a little too hard. Both of them are wound tight, their worry for our alphas raw enough to make me uneasy. It’s endearing, sure, how fiercely they want to protect Knox and Declan, but it’s also terrifying. Whatever we built on that cruise ship means everything to them. So much so they’re willing to risk their lives just to stay close.

And I get it. The churning in my gut hasn’t stopped since the guys went silent. But this won’t help Declan and Knox. If anything, it’ll just distract them.

Ava snaps her head toward me, eyes blazing. “We should’ve worn white blouses and black pants. Pretended to be caterers. Snuck in unnoticed.”

I glance at the pile again. She’s got enough of their things to start an impromptu laundromat. But nothing that would pass for catering attire. Which is a relief.

There wasn’t really a plan when we left Emily’s. The girls were acting on pure instinct, and nothing I said would dissuade them. They were both convinced our alphas needed them, and that was that.