Bent Knot Broken (The Omegas of WITSEC #1)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Willow

“Lucy, sit.”

“Down.”

“Good girl.” The ink-black Rottweiler mix tilts her head to the side, letting her tongue loll out while she waits for my next command. This sweet dog is so bright and intelligent. I hold my hand up, flat and straight, signaling her to stay. When she does, I toss her a treat.

Lucy knows the drill, so she lies down beside my behemoth of a dog, Bruce.

Both pups remain alert as I turn my back to set up a blanket under the cool shade of an enormous oak tree.

Knowing I have them allows me to beat down the anxiety that comes from being around so many people.

Still, the sunny spring weather is just too damn perfect to pass up, and with two trained protection dogs, the park is a safe enough option.

Once I get settled with my Diet Coke and a muffin, I whistle them over to join me on the blue-checkered blanket.

After a few spins, they relax, content to enjoy the spots of sun breaking through the trees.

A light breeze rustles my hair, so I tuck it behind my ear and lean against the rough bark to people-watch.

The top of my soda bottle releases with a hiss, and I take a gulp, watching the joggers run past. No, thank you.

While I understand the concept, running for fun has never appealed to me.

Though I guess it would come in useful if I were being chased.

The dark thought slithers through me, stirring up a whirlpool of memories that want to drag me under.

Blood. Rain. Pain.

I’m nearly swept away, but then a big, warm body settles its weight along my side. Bruce. My fingers grasp at soft fur, which grounds me in a way that nothing else does. My soul dog brings me back from the brink, helping me push away the darkness.

All around me, the park is teeming with life. There are so many people out and about, enjoying one of the first warm days we’ve had in a while. Not that it ever gets truly cold here in Texas.

The small town of Broken Ridge is a cheerful, welcoming community, though I never expected to find myself in this type of place.

I’ve always been a big-city gal at heart, but it seems I’m here for the foreseeable future.

This area—hell, this state—wouldn’t have been my first choice, but then again, it’s not like anyone asked me.

The breeze shifts suddenly, and Bruce’s head snaps around.

He emits a low, menacing growl that makes all the hair on my neck stand on end.

As always, his instincts are spot-on. A man is approaching me.

Lucy clamors to her feet, ready to greet the intruder with snarls and teeth, but she glances back at me, waiting for my command.

“Hold.”

Just because he’s coming over doesn’t mean he’s a threat.

From this distance, I can’t even tell if the man’s an Alpha.

Unfortunately, even though I’m on heat suppressants, they don’t block my omega scent, which often makes me a target.

However, big dog privilege is so real. Usually, the sight of my pretty pets is enough to send even the most interested Alphas running.

And as always, his eyes widen, and his steps falter.

“Are they friendly?” he stutters out, halting immediately.

Good dogs. Now, leave us be. I take a moment to scan my gaze over the man before answering.

He’s not overly large or aggressive, and nothing about him feels imposing.

Yet another Alpha who can’t walk past an omega.

There’s no reason for me to chase him away with more than my charming personality.

“No.” That word is a complete sentence, and I don’t feel any need to give him more. As if in agreement, both dogs growl but remain where they are. The sandy-haired Alpha shakes his head before walking back the way he came. Crisis averted.

It takes a few moments for my heartbeat to slow after the interaction, but when Bruce comes back, circling and then lying down with his head on his paws, my body fully relaxes and allows the moment to pass.

Reaching forward, I pull my book out and settle against the tree once more, determined to enjoy the great outdoors.

In public. Staying inside, or just lying in the backyard, is always easier; however, well-trained dogs need exposure.

Plus, my therapist says it’s important to be part of the world, even after everything that’s happened. Everything that’s been stolen from me.

My fingers throb, and I grit my teeth before focusing on my novel again. Lucy snuggles in next to Bruce, and the story takes me far away. It’s just getting good when aggravated barking yanks me unceremoniously from my reading.

Bruce and Lucy shift but don’t stand. No threat. My eyes dart around the park, searching for the ruckus. A little old lady with snow-white hair walks quickly with her Bichon clasped against her chest. The fear radiating off her catches my eye, bringing me to my feet.

“Get your fucking dogs under control,” she shouts, glaring behind her, where two angry pit bulls are dragging a man who can’t seem to stop them.

The animals are loud and boisterous, enjoying a game of chase.

Their posture isn’t aggressive, but the old lady’s movement is stirring their natural prey drive. What a mess!

The man holding their leash struggles to slow the extra-large bullies, his face turning paler with every lunge.

Fuck. I pause for a moment, debating whether I should step in.

Women are hustling their children away; joggers have stopped to stare.

But while everyone is helplessly observing, not a soul bothers to help.

Although this is not my problem, if I don’t get those two dogs under control, there’s no telling what they’ll do when they catch up to the Bichon.

I can’t live with any more pain on my conscience.

“Down. Stay.” My well-trained pups do exactly as I say, and I stride quickly down the little hill as the large male pit bull breaks free of his handler. Shit. Moving on instinct, my hand reaches for the air horn on my belt, and I rush toward the woman clutching her floofy white dog.

Without hesitation, I move between the predator and his prey, raising the air horn and keeping my eyes trained on the looming threat.

I raise it high and shout, “No!” while pressing the top.

The blast echoes loudly throughout the park.

In an instant, the onlookers’ eyes snap over to me, but I don’t have time to panic.

No. My entire focus is on the male pit bull. He loses speed quickly, slowing as he gets closer. He’s already lost all interest in the Bichon, now completely focused on me. Taking a deep breath, I stand tall and use everything my boss, Bert, has taught me about dogs.

I project all my dominance toward the incoming pup.

And he quickly abandons everything to stop at my feet.

He sniffs at my pants, and I step forward, hoping he won’t tear into my leg angrily.

If he’s truly an aggressive dog, this might set him off.

However, if he is more bark than bite, as I suspect, he’ll retreat a pace or two and give me space.

Instead of lashing out, his eyes jerk to mine. Then, his tail gives a playful wag.

“Good boy,” I coo. Surprised at how quickly his demeanor has shifted from psychotic attack dog to sweet little pittie. “You are not so scary, are you?”

Seeing his calmness as an invitation, I slowly reach out and let him sniff my fingers.

The pup’s long, wet tongue slurps at my hand, so I pull out a treat and offer it to him.

The pup’s butt wiggles, and he uses his head to bump my hand for more pets.

When I give him scratchies, his whole body relaxes until he flips on his back for belly rubs, and I happily oblige.

Seeing his calm state, I smoothly pick up his leash and look around for the owner. When I spot him, I hesitate.

The man is large and muscular, standing at least a foot taller than me, in a leather vest and dark pants.

Everything about him screams danger. From a distance, I assume he’s an Alpha.

But as I get closer, the soft, powdery scent identifies him as a beta.

Not that it matters. Alpha or beta, all men are threats. Women, too, for that matter.

Dogs are so much better than people.

“Hey, I think you lost your dog.” Obviously, Willow. You sound like an idiot.

His proximity makes my stomach clench with anxiety, but I tilt my head back and square my shoulders. Gathering myself, I step forward and hold the leash out, as though it might bite me.

A desire to scold him bubbles up inside me. This entire situation could have been a disaster if I hadn’t stepped in. Bad handling isn’t the dog’s fault. But, of course, I say nothing. The old me would have ripped into him, but this new version is much less sure of herself.

“I’m so sorry about that. Thank you.” His apology takes me by surprise, and all at once, it brings me a sense of safety that I haven’t experienced in forever.

“No problem. He seems like a sweet dog; he just needs a bit of training.” It’s not exactly what I want to say, but it’ll have to do.

The man’s cheeks grow red, and he grabs the lead from my hand.

The awkwardness of the moment makes my skin crawl.

Turning on my heel, I walk away, heading for my dogs.

I’ve nearly reached them when his voice calls out, “You’re good with him. Do you know a lot about training?”

With an internal sigh, I pivot back around. “I’m actually studying to become a dog trainer.” The words slip out of my lips, shock registering in my brain. I don’t share information about myself, and certainly not with hapless, bumbling betas in the park.

But as the man continues, I can’t walk away. “They’re not my dogs,” he admits, shrugging. “But I know they’ve been a real problem. Snarling, biting, and just kind of running amok at the clubhouse.”

When I look at the man’s outfit again, I’m surprised that he would be part of a country club, especially one that allows dogs, but I’m still fairly new to the Texas culture. Perhaps things run a bit differently around here.

“You see, my… boss… he saved these dogs from a terrible situation and thinks they need some time and love to learn to behave. But I bet they could use a touch more than that.” He chuckles awkwardly, and I take pity on the poor guy.

From the pouch at my waist, I pull out one of Bert’s cards.

Although I’m also carrying my own, I don’t know this man, so giving him my boss’ information is the safest option.

After slowly making my way down the hill, I press the card into his palm. It’s huge and warm, but thankfully doesn’t set off any flutters low in my belly. My scent stays steady.

“If you’re interested in training, use that number. My name’s Willow. I’m sure we can help.”

He grins widely and shoves it in his pocket before trying to wrestle the dogs away. “Thanks, Willow. Hopefully, I can get their daddy to agree.”

I give him a hesitant finger wave and head back toward my blanket and my waiting dogs. That’s enough outside time for me today; my cozy, little sanctuary is calling.

But as I walk back to my car with my dogs in tow, the sense of eyes makes the hair at the nape of my neck stand up.

Still safe? Or…