Page 141 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

She takes a few experimental steps, twists at the waist, raises her arms. The vest is well-designed, custom-fitted, but there’sonly so much that can be done to disguise hardened plates beneath civilian clothing.

“It’ll have to do,” she sighs, tugging the sweater down one final time. “The jacket will help cover it.”

The jacket in question is a tailored blazer chosen by Finn. It’s in navy blue and complements the sweater.

A soft knock at the door draws my attention. Stone enters without waiting for a response, his expression a careful neutral that doesn’t quite mask his concern.

“The car is here,” he announces. “The FBI liaison says we need to leave in the next ten minutes to stay on schedule.”

I nod, checking my watch automatically though I know exactly what time it is, have been tracking each minute with painful awareness as we approach the moment I’ve been dreading for days. The moment when Hailey will stand before cameras and make herself a target for what remains of Heath’s network.

“How are you feeling?” Finn asks Hailey, moving to stand beside her, his hand finding hers in a gesture that seems as natural as breathing now.

“Nervous,” she admits, her scent confirming the words with notes of anxiety sharpening her usual warm fragrance. “But certain. This is the right thing to do.”

Her certainty has been unwavering since she first announced her intention to testify publicly. Five days ago, over breakfast, she outlined her reasoning with calm determination. How the omegas she met at the rehabilitation center were too traumatized to speak out. How Heath’s continued freedom posed an ongoing threat. How a public statement might encourage other victims to come forward and strengthen the case against Heath.

Logical arguments, all of them. Strategic even. The FBI certainly thought so, jumping at the opportunity to put a faceand voice to the crimes they were investigating. But logic and strategy mean little when weighed against the primal instinct to protect my omega from danger.

No amount of lovemaking, fuck, even primal pounding, has made me feel any more secure. Even right now, my cock is hard with the urge to pin her down and make sure everyone knows she’s claimed and that nobody should dare harm a hair on her head.

I’d argued, of course. Outlined the risks in excruciating detail—exposure on national television, making her identifiable to any remaining operatives in Heath’s network, the psychological toll of reliving her trauma publicly, the potential for Heath herself to retaliate directly. Hailey listened to every concern, acknowledged their validity, and remained resolute.

Ren’s support was more surprising, given his usual protective instincts toward both our omegas. But when I confronted him about it, all he’d said was: “She’s made up her mind. Better to support her decision than force her to fight us while she’s fighting Heath.”

Fuck.

Outnumbered and outmaneuvered, I yielded—but not without conditions. The bulletproof vest was non-negotiable. As was a controlled environment for the press conference, with carefully vetted attendees and multiple escape routes. Every precaution I could think of, implemented with meticulous attention to detail.

And still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

“It’s time,” Finn says softly, drawing me back to the present moment. He helps Hailey into the blazer, his movements gentle, supportive.

I pick up my phone, checking the security feeds one final time—perimeter clear, FBI agents in position around the property, Stone and Ren already waiting by the vehicles.Everything according to plan, every contingency accounted for, and yet the knot of dread in my stomach only tightens.

The drive to the federal building where the press conference will be held passes in tense silence. Hailey sits between Finn and me in the back seat of the armored SUV provided by the FBI. A second vehicle follows containing Ren and Stone, with a third FBI vehicle leading our small convoy.

Overkill, perhaps, but I’d rather be accused of paranoia than caught unprepared.

We arrive without incident, pulling into a secure underground garage where additional agents await to escort us to the preparation room. The building’s security is impressive—multiple checkpoints, armed personnel at every entrance, comprehensive camera coverage of all approaches. The federal response to Heath’s operation has been escalating daily as more evidence emerges of its scope and political connections.

“Once the statement is delivered, an agent will handle questions,” an agent briefs us. “You are not obligated to answer anything, Ms. Ironwood. If it becomes overwhelming, simply look to the agent, and she will intervene.”

Hailey nods her understanding, her posture straightening with determination despite the anxiety evident in her scent. A federal agent appears at the door, informing us that they’re ready to begin in five minutes.

The press room is smaller than expected—thirty chairs filled with journalists eager to cover Heath’s omega trafficking operation. All eyes focus on the podium.

Our entrance doesn’t go unnoticed; heads turn, cameras shift, a ripple of whispered speculation moving through the assembled press corps. Hailey falters momentarily at the attention, her step hitching. I move closer instinctively, a supportive hand at the small of her back, careful to avoid the hard edges of the concealed vest.

“I’m okay,” she whispers, squaring her shoulders. “Just…a lot of people.”

More than we’d been told to expect, I note with a flash of irritation. Someone at the FBI obviously decided to expand the invite list at the last minute, increasing both the reach of Hailey’s testimony and the potential security risk.

Too late to object now. We’re guided to our seats at the side of the small stage area, while Hailey is escorted to the podium.

Under the harsh lights, she looks vulnerable. She unfolds her prepared statement with steady hands, takes a deep breath, and begins.

“My name is Hailey Ironwood.” Her voice is clear, carrying easily through the room despite her soft tone. “Six years ago, I was sold by my parents.”

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