Page 6 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

“Shit,” she finally whispers. “And you’re not…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t need to. Not mated. Not knotted. Not wanted.

“No,” I whisper. “How old are you?”

She shifts beside me. “Ancient by omega standards…apparently.” I don’t miss the sarcasm, even with her whispering. “Most omegas are mated by eighteen. Latest twenty. The Academy said I was practically expired goods. Can’t imagine what they called you.”

The words sting, but I’m used to it. “Nothing I hadn’t already told myself.”

“You know what this means, right?” Vi’s voice drops even lower. “The kind of alpha that buys unwanted omegas…” She pauses, and I can hear her release a long breath through her nose. “They don’t want us for mating. Normal alphas don’t buy their mates. They court them. Fight for them. Whatever this alpha is planning…”

“He’s collecting rejects,” I finish for her, the truth settling so easily I realize I’d always known that was the case.

“Exactly.” Vi shifts again, and I get the sense she’s either sliding off the seat with the vehicle’s movement or she’s trying to get her hands out of the restraints without much success. “I hope to God this truck crashes and I die.”

Her words send an uncertain chill through me, but I can’t disagree. My fingers go numb at the edges as I swallow hard. The thought has crossed my mind more than once during my time at the Reform Academy. Death might be kinder than whatever awaits us.

I barely tilt my head in Vi’s direction, wishing I could see her. There’s something about her that sparks some dormant instinct alive. Maybe it’s the way she holds herself, even bound and blindfolded—like she’s waiting for an opportunity rather than accepting her fate. It reminds me of that part of myself I buried deep inside the Reform Academy’s walls, the part that used to dream of more than just survival.

“Vi—”

“Quiet back there!” The beta driver’s sharp command makes us both flinch. He has no alpha command, and yet the harsh tone in his voice almost pulls a whimper from me anyway.

The vehicle hits a bump, and I’m jostled against Vi’s shoulder. She’s trembling. Or maybe I am. It’s hard to tell in the darkness behind the blindfold, our bodies pressed together by the movement of the truck.

Some whimpers reach my ears from further back in the vehicle. Other omegas. How many of us are there? All headed to the same alpha? The same fate? The questions swirl in my mind, each one darker than the last.

“We’reallas good as dead,” Vi whispers.

She’s right.

What am I even thinking? That somehow, out of all this shit, the alpha that buys us will treat us well? Treatmewell?

My breathing starts to come a little harder. Memories I’d rather forget coming back to the fore. Of how my parents, both betas, had made our home unsafe. By the time I turned seven, I knew more about narcotics and dirty money than I did about bedtime stories or lullabies. How my mother had kept me hidden when alphas came sniffing around, not to protect me but to keep her whoring under wraps, thinking I’d tell Pa. Not that I would. I kept out of sight when he was around. Between the drinking and the gambling, I never knew what would set him off. One of those things, or the fact I wasn’t born a boy. An alpha son was what he’d wanted. Forget the fact that two betas having an alpha was practically impossible.

I was quieter back then, too stubborn to cry, but I learned to endure. Because the one truth I’d clung to, through all of it, was that someday, it would finally end.

And it did, in a way. Just after I first revealed. I wasn’t a boy, wasn’t an alpha, but I wasn’t a beta either. I was an omega born to two betas. I thought my parents would have been proud—omegas were supposed to be precious, protected. Instead, they were disgusted. Omegas meant expensive suppressants, special schooling, registration fees. And with Pa’s gambling debts piling up, they were sure I wouldn’t make it at the Omega Center, anyway. Who would want me when I came from nowhere? I wasn’t an alpha who could make the family name. I was just a stupid omega who was going to take and take and take.

When my father wracked up enough gambling debt to make him constantly look over his shoulder is whentheycame. Alphas I’d never seen before. Different from the ones that visited Ma but just as sleazy. They said they were from some Reform Academy.

My parents handed me off for five grand. That’s it. All I was worth.

I still remember crying and begging them to let me stay. Ma had turned away but Pa had not. He watched me go, and I saw it inhis eyes…I was never good enough. I wasn’t his son. I never would be.

I hated myself then, and I hate myself now. But there’s no escaping fate when you’re born an omega.

The truck swerves suddenly, throwing us sideways. Someone whimpers. Not me. I’ve learned better than to make a sound, even as fear claws at my insides.

Because Vi is right. We’re fucked.

If my own parents didn’t want me, why would I think that this new alpha would—even if his motives were questionable? No reputable alpha buys an omega. A truckload of them, too.

We’re fucked. Literally. Figuratively. And there’s nothing we can do about it.

The unmistakable squeal of tires is the first sign that something is wrong. Then the truck lurches violently, throwing me to the side as a chorus of gasps and whimpers erupts around me. My shoulder slams hard into the metal wall panel, pain flaring along my arm as the vehicle veers again, swaying dangerously. I hear the loud, panicked curses of the betas up front, their voices tangled in rising fear.

“Shit—brakes!Braaakes!” one of them yells. “Fuck! Motherfucker!”

The truck jerks sharply, the sound of tires squealing filling the cabin. My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat as we careen to the side. Somewhere to my left, Vi lets out a cry that’s quickly muffled, like she’s biting down on her arm to silence herself. I plant my feet hard, fingers fumbling uselessly for something to hold on to. But there’s nothing behind me that I can reach—no seatbelt, no straps, no escape. My pulse roars so loudly I can barely hear myself think.

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