Page 168 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

Jax

The road stretches endlessly before me, dark and quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the car. My fingers tap against the steering wheel in an uneven rhythm, punctuating the silence. Tap. Tap. Tap. I can’t stop. My thumb is restless, mirroring the unease coiling in my gut.

The stack of papers on the passenger seat draws my attention like a magnet, but I force my eyes back to the road. I don’t need to look at them again. I know exactly what’s in that folder—addresses, locations, notes hastily scribbled in the margins like an afterthought.

Abandoned warehouses.

My beta assistant brought the file into my office earlier today.The memory flickers to life, sharp and vivid despite the hours that have passed.

—

“Here’s the list you asked for.”

I glance up from my desk to see the beta standing in the doorway, the folder in his hands. He looks curious, but he knows better than to pry. I motion for him to come in, and he sets the folder down in front of me.

“Thanks,” I say, tone as neutral as I can manage. I flip the folder open, scanning the contents. The locations match what I’d been expecting—most of them on the outskirts of town, far enough from prying eyes.

The beta lingers for a moment, shifting on his feet. “Expansion plans?” he asks, a tentative smile on his face. “I know the Burlington merger will need a manager…”

“Something like that.” I don’t look up, keeping my focus on the papers. “You’re one of my top guys. I’ll keep you in mind.”

He hesitates, then nods. “Alright, boss. Let me know if you need anything else.”

I wait until he’s gone to let out a slow breath, leaning back in my chair.

The weight of the folder feels heavier than it should.

—

Now, as the car eats up the quiet road toward home, I feel that weight again—this time pressing down on my chest. The folder sits there, silent and unassuming, but its presence is a constant itch at the back of my mind.

Why am I so fucking nervous?

I can’t tell if it’s the papers themselves or something else entirely. Maybe it’s the silence in the car, or the way the shadowsoutside seem thicker than usual, stretching long and dark across the road.

Or maybe it’s just me.

A low sigh escapes me, and I shake my head, trying to clear it. I’m overthinking. I’ve been wound too tight all day, and I know it. Spending the night in the nest with Hailey and Finn after so long was like taking a hit of coke when I’d been in rehab. I’ve been itching in my skin all day.

Even so, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.

My fingers tap against the steering wheel again, faster now, more erratic. It’s a small, stupid habit, but it grounds me. It keeps me from spiraling.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The entrance to our private drive comes into view, and I ease off the gas, preparing to turn in. But then I see it.

A dark car parked just off to the side of the drive.

I squint, slowing down even more as I approach. There are two figures near the car—betas, by the look of them—crouched by one of the back tires. At first glance, it looks like they’re changing a flat.

But something about the scene twinges in my mind.

I roll down the window as I pull up, my headlights washing over the two men. They look up, blinking against the glare, and I glimpse their faces. Betas. Normal enough. Ordinary, even. But the unease doesn’t go away.

“Everything alright here?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

The taller of the two straightens up, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Yeah, we’re fine,” he says, his voice easy. Too easy. “Just a flat tire. Bad luck, I guess.”

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