Knot Broken (Hiddenverse)

1. Lilah

CHAPTER 1

Lilah

A sigh works its way up my throat, and I sag back into the comfort of my blankets. It takes everything not to roll my eyes at the TV screen. Not that the girls and guys fawning over the most recent eligible bachelors would see it.

“No! Erica, can't you see she's not your friend?” I fling my hand out, tossing my Twizzler at the television. “She wants the same alphas you want!”

The licorice bounces off the side of Sarah’s face, currently taking up the whole screen with her fake smile, before falling the rest of the way to the plush carpet of the living room floor. Eyeing it, I debate retrieving it.

Never throw your last snack.

Rules to live by.

My sister, the Ashlyn Robinson —the one with all the luck and fame—pops her head into the room, efficiently stopping me from acting on my thoughts.

“Hey, want to go to the club? Owen said he'd take us.”

I groan, rolling my eyes. Hanging out with my sister sounds fun, adding Owen into the mix not so much. He’s terrible in general, one of those alpha’s that thinks they are big and bad, but come off like they are covering for a small knot. If Jared was a jerk, Ashlyn’s boyfriend’s worse, and I wish she could see that.

“I'd rather continue being a couch potato. Thank you very much.”

She laughs as if I'm joking. I'm not. Being a third wheel isn't something I'm interested in.

“You need to get out of this dark room. Did you put blankets over the windows?” She peers across the room at the darkened windows with dismay.

I sink further into my cocoon of blankets and shrug. “Maybe I'm a vampire.”

She opens her mouth to say more, and I shush her.

“Xavier is going to overhear Sarah being a bitch to his one true love.”

Ashlyn turns to watch the television for a moment. She crosses her arms and shifts on her heels. “It would be more interesting without the scent blockers.”

“A house full of scenting omegas fighting for the same alphas would kill each other,” I say with a snort. I don’t mention they do that once the numbers are lower. She’s never going to watch this show anyway.

“Maybe. It would still be fun to watch.” She stands there for a few minutes in silence as a near-miss plays out on the TV. Xavier strides into the room seconds after Sarah reveals her true colors to the viewers.

“What a bitch!” My fingers curl around the remote, ready to launch it across the room in the same trajectory my snack took.

“Okay, get up. We're done sulking for the day. It's not good for you.” She yanks the comforter off of me, holding it out of my reach.

“I'm not sulking.” I give a half-assed attempt of grabbing the warm blanket back, but she shifts on her heels further away from me.

She huffs. “It’s like you’ve forgotten you have a life.” She drops the blanket behind her on the ground and moves closer again.

“That's not true.” I slap her hand away before she can take my pillow.

“It is, Lilah. When's the last time you brushed your hair?”

Mentally counting, I wince.

“That's what I thought. He isn’t worth your tears, neither of them are.”

I open my mouth, and she holds up a hand. She’s talking about Tabitha, my ex-best friend, also known as the one that helped my ex-boyfriend show me that happily ever after doesn’t exist.

“You know it's true.”

She crosses the room and pulls the blankets off the windows, allowing the bright summer day to shine into even the darkest corners. It's cheerful, and something pangs inside my chest. She's right. I'm a mess.

“Fine, I'll go. But only for a few hours.”

I pause Omega in Paradise and stand up. Then I set the couch pillows back where they belong and fold the blankets into a neat pile.

When I stand straight and turn back to my sister, she’s looking at the paused screen. “You should do that.” She points at the TV.

“Do what?” I flick my gaze over to what she's looking at.

“Apply to be on Omega in Paradise .”

I laugh. Love isn’t real. At least not for people like me.

“I'm serious.”

“Ashlyn, how many times do I have to tell you, I'm not interested? Being bonded isn’t something I ever want.”

She snorts .

“What would your fans think of you making that sound?”

“They'd love it. Now go get ready.” She pushes me to the door with a laugh. “And make sure you wash everything. Twice.”

Once we are past the bouncers and paparazzi lining the front of the building, I breathe a sigh of relief. The flashing lights and intrusive questions are my least favorite part of my sister's job.

A beta steps forward with a welcoming smile on his face. “Ms. Robinson, we have a VIP room ready for you. If you'll follow me.”

He only has eyes for my sister. It’s kinda cute until Owen releases a low warning growl as he steps between them, staking a claim like she’s a piece of meat. “Eyes off, beta.”

The poor man flushes three shades of red. “I didn't mean—” he stutters.

“Of course you didn't,” I say, stepping around them both to save him from himself and Owen’s temper. “You were going to show us to a private room?”

“Right!” He explodes into action, quickly leading us along the edge of the club and its massive dance floor.

Metal, human-sized cages hang from the ceiling with dancers working their special kind of magic inside them.

I'd be envious if I liked that kind of attention. I don't.

I watch them regardless of that fact until we enter a hallway that leads to a set of stairs up to the second floor.

A soft scent of vanilla lingers in the air as we climb the stairs, indicating they use a scent smoker in the club. Otherwise, the perfume and musks of all these bodies would be overwhelming. The beta pushes open the first door we come to and gestures inside. Windows are floor to ceiling on one side of the room, showing the dance floor below, full of the crush of bodies we passed. Black leather couches line the other wall, with a stripper pole in the middle of the room. Nice touch . I roll my eyes and follow him over the threshold.

“Wet bar’s over here. It’s fully stocked, but if you use the phone, they will bring anything up for you,” he’s rambling.

I ignore the beta as I move to the window and watch the dancers in the cages, now at eye level. I’m entranced by a guy in the cage closest to me. His golden irises make my stomach flip with nerves before I shut that shit down.

Of course, being attracted to alphas, or anyone else for that matter, doesn’t equate to love or forever. Maybe what I need is to fuck Jared out of my system. That’s an idea. That asshole doesn’t deserve any part of me he left behind.

With that thought firmly in mind, I drop my gaze down his oiled-up body. Man, he’s a work of art. He moves like he’s made to dance, his muscles bunch and release in a rhythm that has me transfixed. Something about him is familiar, but I can’t place it.

The tattoos etched into his skin wrap around his torso and into the waistband of his low-rise jeans. When I drag my eyes back to his face, he winks at me. Gripping the bars above his head to show off more of his rippling muscles, he dips low, keeping his attention fixed on me. His curls flop over his forehead in a dark, untamed mess that makes my fingers itch to push it back.

I smile, or drool… the same thing right?

I’m sold. My libido has woken up, and it’s ready to climb him like a tree. I turn back to my sister to tell her I am going down to the dance floor, but she’s wrapped in Owen’s arms, and they are clearly lost in each other. Gross. He kisses like he’s trying to eat her face. A shiver of distaste runs down my spine.

Crossing to the wet bar, I pour myself a shot for courage. Downing it, I take a second and third in rapid succession. It’s now or never.

Reaching the dance floor, I scan the cages for the mystery man. He’s gone. Disappointment filters in, but I push it away. I can still have fun. I’m here, out of the house for the first time in more days than I can count, I owe it to myself to enjoy every second.

It helps, I’m sure, that the three shots I took are loosening my muscles and making me feel great.

I make a beeline for the bar. A cute blonde with a ponytail is working, and I wave her down. “Mai Tai, please.” I pass her a twenty, and she mixes my requested drink before sliding it over the counter. She pops open the register to get my change, and I shake my head. “Keep it.”

Moving closer to the thrumming crowd, I sway to the music. Just because I can’t dance doesn’t mean I can’t feel the beat as it pumps through me. I sip on my drink, the shots from earlier making me loose.

Then I see him through what feels like a haze. The guy from the cage. He’s put on a shirt, and he’s dancing with a few girls in slinky dresses. I watch him for a few songs and a couple more passing shots. He moves as fluidly on the dance floor as he does in the cage. And the women love him it seems. I down the Mai Tai I bought in one last bitter gulp and set the glass on a passing shot tray. I feel like superwoman with the alcohol running through my veins.

They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.

Threading through the crowd to get closer to him, I trip over my heels, almost fall, but I totally got it under control. No way I’m gonna break my ankle tonight! Nice save . I ignore the weird tilt of the ground, throw my arms up, and sway to the music. This is definitely dancing... right?

When he spots me, it feels like a fire is lit in my stomach. Then he leans down and says something to the girl currently molded to him. She glances back at me with a pout, following his line of sight before she moves away. He crosses the space between us effortlessly, his gaze running down to my heels that make me six inches taller to the hem of the short blue dress my sister convinced me to put on. And back up again.

It makes me feel powerful. His full attention is just for me, like I’m the center of his world. I hold back my eye roll. At least for now I’ll be the center of his world. But that’s what I want. One night in the arms of a stranger to wash my ex out of my system.

I run my palms down his shirt, and he glances down at my hands. Cupping them with his own, he peers at me.

“Are you okay?” he shouts over the crowd.

“Yeah,” I yell back.

It’s pointless to try to carry on a conversation with our voices, so I press against him, hoping he’ll get the message. His hands go to my ass as he steadies me. Wait, what? Steadies me? Did I almost fall?

“Whoa, I think you’ve had too much to drink. Come on, let’s get you a seat,” he says. His words ghost over the shell of my ear and make my hormones go haywire.

At that moment, I will go anywhere he wants to lead me. He presses me into an open seat, and my world spins. Ugh. I shake my head, and it makes it worse. I need the bathroom.

Lurching to my feet, I slam into him, knocking my head against his chin. He swears and steps back as I straighten. My head pounds where we hit, so I know his jaw has to feel it. I open my mouth to apologize and proceed to lose the contents of my stomach all over him.

He blinks down at his puke-covered outfit in stunned silence as heat crawls up my neck and over my cheeks. Another wave of nausea hits me, and I turn away from him this time, adding more of my stomach to the floor next to his feet. It splatters across his shoes, as it seems to bounce off the floor, intent on embarrassing me further.

“Christ,” he swears as he stumbles back a step.

I do the only thing I can think of and grab the damn napkin holder off the table, but the stupid thing won’t budge. I fumble with it, muttering, “Come on, you piece of crap,” and swearing under my breath.

Finally, the top pops off, and I yank out a stack of those useless thin napkins. I try to wipe the vomit off his shirt, but it’s not working at all. It’s humiliating in the worst way because he just stands there, staring at me like I’m some kind of alien. He doesn’t even stop me, just watches as I uselessly smear the mess around. A waitress rushes over, clearly horrified, and hands him an actual towel. He takes it and starts blotting his jeans, probably wishing he was anywhere but here.

My sister appears next to me, her face a mixture of horror and concern. “Lilah, what happened?”

I swallow, my throat hurting from the acid I just expelled. I have no words, so I gesture at the man in front of me. Ashlyn glances at him before doing a double take.

“Rafe Carson? Oh my God, what happened?”

His name. It’s familiar. Because it’s in the tabloids right next to my sister's name all the time. At one time, they said they were a thing. But he does not look like this on the magazine covers; no, in person he’s so much— more. Or at least he was until I puked all over him.

Can I die? The room spins, the faces blur, and I’m drowning in it all. I can’t do this. I can’t stay here. I need out. I need air. Without thinking, I lurch forward, my feet tangled beneath me as I stagger toward the front doors. I trip, catch myself, and keep going. The lights outside blind me, and the paparazzi's shouts turn into a chaotic roar. I can’t make sense of the words. My head’s pounding, my stomach’s churning, and I just push through them, stumbling down the street, barely aware of where I’m going.