Page 51 of Knot a Bad Idea

“Fuck that,” my best friend says. “Let me talk to them. Give me five minutes with that asshole Donovan.”

Devyn pouts. “You deserve better than that, April.” Her bright eyes sparkle with sincerity, and I close my eyes and groan.

I don’t want to deal with any of this.

I can’t explain why I still have to attend their events, and that the reason Devyn still has a job is because of a contract I signed.

It’s all so fucked.

“I know what I’m doing,” I murmur, playing with a cracker on a plate.

Skylar even splurged for the fancy olive rosemary crackers. I should pay her back.

In fact, I should buy her a whole fucking house, because the amount of money in my bank account isinsane.

I tried to reverse the transfer Donovan did, but Ican’t. I can’t even send it back to him.

It’s infuriating.

He says I’m not good for his pack, but he gives me more money than I could ever dream of having.

Why?

Every app on my phone has credits on it. The rideshare app, my music subscription, and even my food delivery app has a ridiculous amount of money placed into the accounts.

Is it because he feels guilty?

I don’t want to think about it anymore. The words Donovan said to me burn in my chest and make me want to throw up.

Liam would fall in love with anyone that showed him attention. Hunter gets obsessed easily.

I’m not special.

I’m not good for them.

“I think we should stop talking about it now,” Landon says gently.

A jolt of longing pierces my chest.

Skylar’s pack is perfect for her. River is wild and unhinged, just like her, while Landon balances them both out with his logic and patience. Vincent is quiet, strong, and loves Skylar with a devotion I didn’t know was possible.

And Iwantthat.

But Donovan has made it clear that Pack Axton will not be able to do that for me.

The front door unlocks, stopping my train of thought, and Vincent walks in. His gaze falls to me, and he frowns.

“Hey, April,” he says, his voice low. “Do you have a second?”

Everyone turns their heads to Vincent.

“What do you mean,killed?”River demands.

Vincent shrugs. “I mean killed. Jumped by three guys with shanks made out of tape and sharpened plastic forks. They did a pretty good job, too. He bled out in less than a minute.”

I’m at Skylar’s kitchen island, perched on a stool, picking at an apricot-flavored macaron.

Dead.