37. Bait And Switch
Bait And Switch
~ E LIZABETH~
Consciousness returns slowly, like wading through molasses.
The first thing I register is pain—a dull, persistent throbbing at the back of my head that makes me want to crawl back into the darkness. The second is the rough scratch of rope against my wrists, tied behind what feels like a metal chair.
"Fantastic," I mutter, my voice hoarse. The word echoes slightly, suggesting a large, empty space. Warehouse maybe? How original.
Memories start filtering back in fragments: the plane ride — o h god, the plane ride — Holmes's hands, the airport bathroom, changing into my Lululemon set because comfort was supposed to be the priority for our three-hour drive, and then... nothing.
"Holmes is going to kill me," I groan, letting my head fall forward despite the protest from my aching skull.
After all his paranoid security measures and protective hovering, I go and get myself kidnapped in an airport bathroom.
He's never going to let me live this down.
"Not unless we kill you first."
The voice emerges from the darkness before my eyes have fully adjusted, but I'd recognize that particular blend of entitlement and daddy issues anywhere.
You've got to be kidding me.
I lift my head slowly—both for dramatic effect and because quick movements seem like a terrible idea right now—to find Marissa and Victoria emerging from the shadows like discount movie villains. The sight of them draws an annoyed groan from my throat that seems to catch them off guard, their synchronized strut faltering slightly.
"Really?" I ask, unable to keep the disdain from my voice. "This is what we're doing?"
Victoria's perfectly plucked eyebrows draw together in confusion.
"You should be afraid. Your precious pack has no idea where you are."
I look between them, waiting for the punchline.
When none comes, I have to ask.
"Is this some kind of elaborate joke? Like, am I about to get proposed to in some weird, stalker-aesthetic way? Because honestly—" I shift in my bonds, testing their give, "—I've been reading a lot of crime fiction lately thanks to Felix, and this is giving very basic cable drama vibes."
"What are you talking about?" Marissa demands, her voice pitching higher with frustration.
"I mean, I get the appeal from a narrative perspective," I continue, warming to my topic. "Helpless Omega gets stalked by obsessed Alphas, kidnapped by rivals, only to be dramatically rescued by said Alphas in masks and matching outfits. It's very Wattpad circa 2015." I squint at them in the dim light. "Please tell me you at least coordinated your kidnapping outfits. It would be embarrassing if you didn't commit to the aesthetic."
Marissa's face contorts with rage.
"Victoria hit you too hard. She’s lost her damn mind."
"Whatever," Victoria cuts in, her patience clearly wearing thin. "She's bait. If she dies in the crossfire, who cares?"
I blink at them, the reality of the situation finally starting to sink in.
They're actually serious.
My adopted sister and this bargain bin Regina George wannabe have actually kidnapped me as some sort of trap.
And here I thought my family dynamics couldn't get more dysfunctional.
I straighten in my chair, ignoring the bite of rope against my wrists. The throbbing in my head has settled into a dull ache, making it easier to focus on what needs to be said.
"Why don't we clear something up while we're here?" My voice carries through the space with surprising steadiness. "Since we've got time to kill—pun absolutely intended."
They both turn to look at me, Marissa with confusion, Victoria with growing impatience.
"First of all," I continue, channeling my father's particular blend of casual condescension, "Papa taught us to use proper manners when addressing people, Marissa. It's just embarrassing at this point."
Marissa's face scrunches in confusion.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You need to stop calling her Victoria." I nod toward the blonde who's trying very hard to look bored rather than unsettled.
"That's her name," Marissa snaps, but there's a note of uncertainty in her voice.
A laugh escapes me, the sound echoing off the warehouse walls. "No, it's not. Her name is Vivian Sinclair." I watch the color drain from Victoria— no, Vivian's —face. "Her sister was the real Victoria Sinclair. You know, the one who died a few years ago? Tragic accident, if I remember correctly. Fell off a cliff while taking a selfie."
"What bullshit are you making up?" Marissa demands, but her eyes keep darting between me and Vivian, clearly catching the way the other woman has gone completely still.
I keep my eyes locked on Vivian, watching as her carefully constructed facade begins to crack.
"Such a shame about that cliff incident, right, Vivian? No cell service in the area, no cameras to catch what really happened. Just a terrible accident that the police had to write off as a 'slip.'" I lean forward as much as my bonds will allow. "But that's what you wanted, wasn't it? For everyone to think it was just a tragic accident. Because Victoria deserved to die, didn't she? She was trying to take what was rightfully yours."
Vivian's breathing has become shallow, her designer outfit suddenly seeming like a costume that doesn't quite fit.
"She was going to take everything," I continue, my voice soft but relentless. "The man you were promised, the life you were supposed to have. Your own sister—your twin at that. Must have been exhausting, living in her shadow all those years, watching her effortlessly claim everything you thought should be yours."
"Shut up," Vivian whispers, but the threat in her voice has evaporated, replaced by something close to panic.
"Some bitches will do anything for love, right?" I tilt my head, studying her. "Or was it not really about love at all? Was it about winning? About finally being the only Victoria Sinclair in the world?"
Marissa takes a step back, looking between us with growing horror.
"What is she talking about? Victoria?"
"Her name is Vivian," I repeat firmly. "And she killed her sister by pushing her off that cliff. No cell service, no cameras, no witnesses, except maybe one. Someone who happened to be hiking that day, someone who saw something they weren't supposed to see."
When no one replies let out hum.
"Funny thing about that day," I continue, settling more comfortably in my chair despite the ropes. "There was actually someone there. Someone who was invited to explore the mountains that same day—just like you all were. Someone you thought you'd managed to get rid of too."
Vivian's perfectly manicured fingers clench at her sides.
"You know who I'm talking about, don't you? My sweet best friend who, coincidentally, had a pretty strong hunch about what was going on when I started receiving those notices." I click my tongue disapprovingly. "Though really, trying to replicate the Burn Book from Mean Girls? Amateur hour. And your spelling is atrocious."
"What is she saying?" Marissa's voice wavers slightly.
"Get the gun from the back," Vivian snaps, her composure cracking. "Now!"
Marissa rushes to comply, disappearing into the shadows of the warehouse.
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, genuine amusement at how predictably this is playing out. "Aw, planning to kill me off already? That's so cheap and cliché." I shake my head in mock disappointment. "But I get it. You're scared of being caught. Which is kind of stupid considering how many signs you've left."
Vivian's perfect eyebrows draw together. "What signs?"
"It's a shame you never connected the dots," I say, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But then again, you didn't even notice your sister was on campus multiple times, did you? Watching from afar, waiting for the right moment to finish what you started."
Her eyes widen, confusion filtering through her carefully constructed mask of control. Before she can respond, a figure emerges from the darkness behind her. In one fluid motion, Vivian is grabbed and forced into another chair, the metallic click of handcuffs echoing through the space.
"Let me go!" she snarls, then freezes as she realizes who's restrained her. "Marissa, you betraying bastard!"
Marissa sighs, stepping into the light. "Unlike you, I can't betray family. Especially not when they had the mercy to adopt me when my own family said fuck having an Omega child."
"What is the meaning of this?" Vivian thrashes against her restraints. "You can't turn the tables on me. I have men outside guarding every entrance. All I have to do is—" She lets out a sharp whistle that echoes through the warehouse.
Silence answers her call.
"What..." Her confidence falters for the first time. "What's happening?"
A familiar figure steps out of the shadows, a sniper rifle slung casually across her shoulders. "They're all dead."
Jessie's entrance makes Vivian's face drain of all color, her struggles ceasing as she stares at the ghost from her past.
I sigh in relief, finally able to drop the act. The ropes fall away easily as I twist my wrists free—they were never properly tied to begin with. Rising from the chair, I roll my shoulders to work out the stiffness.
"What is the meaning of this?" Vivian's voice has lost all its authority, rising in pitch as Jessie moves to stand at my right while Marissa takes a position on my left.
Time for the real show to begin.
"Let me introduce you to the Forgotten Omegas," I gesture to the women flanking me, my voice carrying the casual confidence of someone discussing a book club rather than an organized operation. "We're just a little group who hangs out at Knot Academy, you know? The low lives no Alpha wants—until we find our designated packs."
Vivian stares at us, confusion warring with fear on her face.
"See, that's kind of the whole point of Knot Academy," I continue, perching on the edge of my former prison chair. "It's really a unique matchmaking service, if you think about it. Finding the best Alphas who don't play by society's rules and partnering them with Omegas who are just as... let's say, creatively disobedient." I smile sweetly. "Keeps the balance, in my opinion, though not everyone agrees."
"What are you talking about?" Vivian's voice wavers.
"We were hired to take you out," I explain, examining my nails casually. "But we wanted to make sure your true identity came to light first. Especially since you were so keen on killing me to get to Holmes." A laugh escapes me. "Really? Had to do it in his home country? Were you that mad he was taking me to his parents' mansion for Christmas with the pack?"
"Shut up!" Vivian thrashes against her restraints. "This is all a gimmick. No one would love a bunch of psychos like you!"
"What they don't know won't hurt them," I shrug, then check my phone. "Speaking of things that might hurt, I've got about three and a half hours before this Heat suppressant Holmes gave me wears off, so we should probably wrap this up fairly soon."
I glance at Jessie and Marissa. "Either of you want to lead this torture session? I just want to box her silly and go. I've got a Christmas dinner to attend, and Holmes's mother apparently makes amazing pierogi."
"Actually," Jessie says, her voice softer than usual, "I think someone else should have the honor."
A new figure emerges from the shadows, and the temperature in the warehouse seems to drop several degrees. Victoria Sinclair—the real Victoria—steps into the light. Her body bears the scars of survival, but it's her eyes that catch everyone's attention. They're completely devoid of emotion, like looking into empty wells.
Vivian's gasp echoes through the space, fear finally dawning in her eyes as she whispers, "Sis?"
Victoria's lips curve into something that might be a smile if smiles were made of broken glass and frozen tears.
"Yeah," she whispers back, her voice carrying years of pain and rage. "Let me start and end this family reunion once and for all."
The warehouse falls silent except for Vivian's ragged breathing as Victoria approaches her twin. In this moment, they couldn't look more different—Vivian in her designer clothes and perfect makeup, Victoria wearing her scars like armor.
Sometimes the forgotten don't stay forgotten.
T hey come back to collect their due.
And that’s the real point of Knot Academy.
To encourage love…and revenge…the perfect “initiation”.
F.I.N.