Page 37 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

I stare at him, keeping my face blank. But inside, I’m calculating. Three alphas. One door. My hands zip-tied behind my back, ankles bound. Odds: terrible. But if they make a mistake, give me an opening…

The middle alpha sighs, clearly bored with the lack of reaction. “Let’s get on with it. He’s due at the compound in twenty.”

The compound. Information.

“Right,” the first alpha agrees. He pulls something from his pocket—a syringe filled with clear liquid. “Sweet dreams, Ironwood. When you wake up, the real fun begins.”

I tense, preparing to fight despite the bindings, but the second alpha is already moving behind me, gripping my hair and yanking my head back to expose my throat. The needle slides in with ease, burning as the liquid spreads under my skin like ice.

The effect is almost immediate. The room tilts, my vision tunneling. I fight against it, desperate to stay conscious, to gather more information, but it’s like swimming against a riptide.

The last thing I hear before darkness claims me is the second alpha’s voice, oddly anticipatory:

“Widow’s going to love this.”

I wake to the feeling of straps cutting into my wrists and ankles. Different from the zip-ties before. Padded leather, secured to what feels like a chair. My head throbs, a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think.

I try to open my eyes, but the right one is still swollen shut. The left cracks open reluctantly, gummy with dried blood. The world is a blur of dim shapes and shadows.

The first thing I register is the light. Soft. Pink-tinged. Nothing like the harsh fluorescents of the concrete room. It bathes everything in a gentle glow, almost… soothing.

If I weren’t strapped to a chair, swollen and bleeding, I might think I was back in Finn’s nest, with its warm lights and gentle shadows.

The second thing I register is the gag. Firm rubber, pressing my tongue down, keeping me from making more than muffled sounds. Why gag me now, after hours of beatings where they seemed disappointed by my silence?

Then it hits me. The scent.

Sweet, potent. Vanilla and honey and something deeper, muskier. Unmistakable.

Omega.

No—not just any omega.

Scent match.Mine.

Hailey.

And she’s in heat. Not the intense, building pre-heat that had begun to perfume our house before the gala. This is different. Even stronger. Almost chemical.

My body responds instantly despite my injuries, blood rushing south with an urgency that’s almost painful. A growlbuilds in my chest, animal and desperate, muffled by the gag but vibrating through my bones.

Hailey. Hailey is here.

My head snaps up, sending fresh waves of pain shooting through my skull as my eye searches frantically. At first, I see nothing but soft pink light and shadows. Then, as my vision adjusts, shapes emerge.

A room, larger than I expected. And at the center?—

A chair. Simple, metal.

And on it, a figure. Naked. Unmoving.

Hailey.

The sound that rips from me isn’t human. It’s torn from some primal place, a howl of rage and fear and desperate need muffled by the gag. I thrash against my restraints, the chair beneath me scraping forward an inch.

“Ghhhley!” I try to shout, but the gag turns it into an unintelligible groan. I rock my chair again, forcing it forward another few inches with each violent movement, ignoring the pain that shoots through my cracked ribs, my dislocated shoulder.

She doesn’t move. Her head hangs forward, hair obscuring her face. But I can see the rise and fall of her chest. Breathing. Alive.

---