Page 169 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

I glance at the car, then back at the two of them. They’re dressed like normal guys—hoodies, jeans, scuffed boots. Nothing about them screamsthreat. But the way they’re looking at me, the faintly guarded expressions on their faces, makes my instincts prickle.

“Bad spot to break down,” I say, leaning my arm on the window. “Not a lot of traffic out here.”

“Yeah,” the shorter one chimes in, shooting me a tight smile. “We were just heading home and heard the pop. Figured we’d pull over and deal with it here.”

“Home?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “You live around here?”

The taller one nods. “Just moved in a few weeks ago. Couple miles down the road.”

I hum, my gaze flicking between them. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

The shorter one shrugs, his smile widening just a fraction. “We keep to ourselves. Quiet types, you know?”

I don’t know.

We’ve lived on this stretch of road for years. I know every house, every neighbor. And I know damn well no one’s moved in recently.

But I don’t call them out on it. Not yet.

“Need a hand?” I ask instead, nodding toward the tire.

The taller one hesitates, glancing at his companion. “Nah,” he says after a beat. “We’ve got it under control. Appreciate the offer, though.”

The shorter one crouches down again, fiddling with the tire iron. “Unless…” He glances up at me, his tone almost casual. Almost. “You the only one home tonight? If your omega’s home, we’ll call a recovery service instead. Wouldn’t want to take your time away from her.”

My blood runs cold.

The question is innocent enough, but the way he says it—light, conversational—makes my skin crawl. I don’t miss when his gaze shifts to the back windows of the SUV, probably trying to see in, but they’re tinted.

“How would you know I’m the only one home?” I ask, my voice sharp.

The taller one’s eyes widen slightly, and he laughs, the soundforced. “Just meant you looked like you were coming back from somewhere. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

But I don’t miss the flicker of tension in his shoulders, the way his companion’s hands still for just a fraction of a second.

I force myself to smile, though it feels tight and unnatural. “Right,” I say, my tone flat. “Well, good luck with that tire.”

I roll the window up before they can say anything else, pulling forward just enough to angle my car toward the drive. But I don’t go all the way in.

Instead, I stop just past the turn, switch my lights off, and glance in the rearview mirror.

The two men are still there, but they’re not working on the tire anymore. They’re standing by the car, heads bent together, talking in hushed voices.

I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.

After a moment, they get back to work, the taller one crouching down again while the shorter one pulls out his phone.

I stay there for another minute, watching them, my fingers tapping against the steering wheel. Then I take a deep breath, forcing myself to keep moving.

The papers in the passenger seat are suddenly the least of my worries.

Something’s wrong.

And I need to get back to the house.

It’s dark when I pull up. The house, that is. Pitch black.

I ease the SUV into the driveway, my headlights sweeping over the front porch. No lights on inside. No warm glow spilling from the windows. It looks empty, abandoned, like no one’s home.

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