Page 87 of Knotted By my Pack

I’m outside the assistant mayor’s office in my car, engine still running. I let the heat build inside me until I can’t sit still anymore, then climb out and head for the front doors.

Lockwood is waiting in the lobby, pretending he wasn’t hoping I’d cancel again. He straightens his jacket like that’s going to stop me from tearing into him.

“It’s still not approved?” I ask, no greeting. No patience left to fake.

He gives me a careful smile. “Well, there’s been some pushback from the council and the mayor himself?—”

I laugh once, low and sharp. Then I reach into my coat, pull out my checkbook, and flip it open right there in the middle of his polished lobby.

“Name your price, Lockwood. I’m done waiting on this town’s endless fucking meetings and moral committees.”

He clears his throat, looking everywhere but my face. “Julian, it’s not about money.”

“Bullshit.”

He flinches but holds his ground. “Some in the community are still upset about how fast the harbor was demolished. They think we’re moving too fast with this hotel, and?—”

“Fuck those meetings. And fuck the council. You gave me your word.” I take a step closer, jaw tight. “You find a way to push this through. Fast. Or you and I are going to have a different kind of problem.”

His mouth opens, then shuts again. Smart.

I rip the check from the pad, fold it once, and slide it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Make the zoning happen. I don’t care how.”

I don’t wait for him to respond. I’m already turning, already walking out.

The door slams behind me, but it’s not loud enough to match what’s unraveling in my chest. I don’t want to be here.

Not in this backwards little town that runs on coffee and gossip and whatever goddamn moodshedecides to wake up in.

I climb into the truck and yank the door shut hard.

My phone buzzes.

Brielle.

Of course. The last voice I want to hear is the Omega I used to fuck, but I answer anyway.

“What?”

“Well, hello to you, too,” she says dryly. “Nice to know you’re still a ray of sunshine.”

“What do you want, Brielle?”

She clicks her tongue. “Thought you should know. Your father’s planning a trip down there soon.”

I sit back against the seat, jaw working. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“That’s why I’m calling. He’s with Damien in Lafourche right now. Southern edge. Some land thing. But he’s asking questions. Wants updates.”

“Shit.”

She pauses. “Want me to smooth it over?”

“No. I’ll handle it.”

I hang up, then dial him immediately. He answers on the third ring.

“Julian.”