Page 27 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

Jax makes a sound like he’s been punched, starting forward, and this time I follow, my heart hammering against my ribs. The cell door has a simple electronic lock—child’s play after the security we’ve already bypassed. The door slides open with a soft hiss.

“Hailey,” Jax whispers, rushing in. “We’re here. We’ve got you.”

The figure flinches, curling tighter into the corner.

Something isn’t right.

The scent is wrong—distressed omega, yes, but missing the distinctive notes that make up Hailey’s scent. No vanilla. No honey. Just fear and antiseptic.

“Jax,” I warn, but he’s already reaching for the omega’s shoulder, gently turning her to face us.

Not Hailey.

The omega who stares back at us is older, maybe in her thirties, with hollow cheeks and terror-bright eyes. She shrinks away from Jax’s touch with a whimper.

“It’s not her,” Jax says, his voice cracking with disbelief. He spins around, scanning the room. “Where is she? HAILEY!”

I’m already moving, checking the other cells. There are only three omegas here in total, each huddled inside their cells. None of them Hailey.

They whimper, look away from us, huddle even more into themselves at just the fact that we’re here. None reach toward the open door. None tries to escape. They’re all…broken.

My chest tightens. These omegas—frightened, injured, broken—they’re victims of the same system that took Hailey. The same system I’ve been fighting for years.

The overhead lights snap on with a buzz of electricity, harsh fluorescence flooding the containment block. I blink against the sudden assault, my pupils contracting painfully. The empty cells mock us. No Hailey. Just sterile steel surfaces smelling of bleach and something faintly metallic underneath.

Jax’s breath comes out in a sharp exhale beside me. “She’s not here.” His voice is too controlled, the words clipped. I can smell his frustration, though—burnt cedar and gunpowder.

Before I can respond, a hiss fills the air. My head snaps up to see fine mist spraying from vents along the ceiling. The scent hits me first—honeyed sweetness undercut by something darker, richer. My nostrils flare.

Jax makes a choked sound in his throat. “Ren?—”

Heat floods my veins like liquid fire. My muscles lock, every hair standing on end as primitive instincts roar to life. The world narrows to pounding blood and the scent that’s now coating my tongue, thick as syrup.

It’s wrong. Oh, so wrong.Feelswrong. Tastes wrong. But it’s so potent, unnaturally so, that my body struggles to fight against it anyway.

I turn to see Jax braced against the wall, his knuckles white where they grip the metal framing. Sweat glistens on his forehead, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look nearly black. His breathing comes in ragged pulls through clenched teeth.

“Fuck,” he growls, the word vibrating with barely restrained violence. “Omega…heat hormones…”

The door crashes open. A beta in tactical gear fills the doorway, gas mask secured over his face. The rifle in his hands swings toward us.

Every cell in my body screams to attack, to destroy. But I force myself to think past the chemical fog, to move with precision rather than blind rage. My lunge covers the distance between us in a heartbeat. The beta barely has time to flinch before I’m on him.

I catch his knee at just the right angle, twisting with all my strength. The pop of cartilage and tendon separating is obscenely loud. His scream is muffled by the mask and the rifle goes off, bullets spraying into the roof. A couple of lights get shot out. He collapses like a marionette with cut strings.

I rip the mask from his face, revealing features contorted in pain. My forearm presses against his throat, pinning him to the wall as his feet scramble uselessly against the floor.

“Where is she?” The words come out wrong—too deep, too guttural. The scent in the air makes my teeth ache with the need to sink into something.

The beta’s hands claw at my arm, his mouth working soundlessly. I ease the pressure just enough to let him choke out words.

“I don’t—I don’t know who?—”

I slam his head back against the wall. The impact vibrates up my arm. “Hailey.” Her name is a snarl in my mouth. “Hazel eyes. Honey-blonde hair.Where is she?”

Something flickers in his pain-glazed eyes. Recognition. I tighten my grip.

“If… if she’s not in this room…” He gasps, spittle flying from his lips. “She’s not in the facility at all.”

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