Page 30 of Knotted By my Pack

I slam my fists into the bag again. Harder.

I didn’t want her to see me like that.

I didn’t want her to see the monster I’ve tried to keep buried.

And now?

Now there’s no taking it back.

9

JULIAN

This town is fucking cursed.

That’s the only conclusion I can draw as I stare at the busted knuckles on my right hand, blood already drying in the creases.

I rinse them under the faucet in my office, ignoring the sting. Of course Elias had to show up here.

Of all places. Of all goddamn towns. After years of silence, the bastard barrels back into my life with fists, accusations, and enough hatred in his stare to burn through steel.

I should have expected it. Nothing about Driftwood Cove is simple.

The day started off with bullshit and it hasn’t let up. I was out before dawn, driving around to see if any of the local crews would finally take the job.

The docks are a mess, and the demolition needs to start, but apparently no one wants to work for me. Not surprising. The people here are pack loyal and stubborn as hell.

They don’t see they’re only hurting themselves. But this won’t stop me. I’ll just bring in crew from elsewhere.

First, I met with Jonah. I spotted him leaning against the railing near the harbor, his two packmates, Rhys and Declan, beside him like some kind of territorial wall.

I gave him the pitch, offering more than fair compensation, even threw in an upfront bonus. He barely let me finish before shaking his head.

Said it wasn’t about money. Said it was about loyalty. A dig, of course. I pushed harder, offered more. He didn’t budge. Neither did his boys.

By the time I drove across town to meet with Noah, I already knew what the answer would be. The man practically worships Cora, and Cora has made it painfully clear where her loyalties lie.

Noah wasn’t even polite about it. Just leaned against his truck, arms crossed, spitting sunflower seeds like I was wasting his time.

The rejection doesn’t sting. The inconvenience does.

After my encounter with Elias, I spent the next hour on the phone with Brielle. Told her to forget these backwoods hillbillies and call up the out-of-town crew we’ve worked with before.

They’re more expensive, but at least they don’t spit in my face when I ask them to do their job. She said she’d see what she could do. I told her to make it happen fast.

That was six calls ago. I haven’t looked up from my laptop since.

So when there’s a knock at the door just after three, I’m not expecting anything good. I open the door, ready to snap.

It’s her.

Cora stands in the doorway, her curls pinned back in that messy way that looks entirely too intentional. She’s wearing an oversized flannel shirt, clearly too big for her, with Alpha scent lingering on it.

Her eyes flick over my bruised cheek. She holds a tray.

“May I come in?”

I step aside, watching the way she walks past me like she owns the room. She places the tray on my desk. Croissants. Of course.