Page 11 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

Around her, the chaos of the attack unfolded in dizzying detail. Shouts rang out from the men surrounding her; the whoosh of bodies rushing forward and the dull thud of boots on pavement became a perverse symphony. One down, seven more to go, she thought as more of them closed in. These bastards might have numbers, but she had rage. Maybe they'd underestimated her because she was an Omega. Maybe they thought she'd roll over and cry. Stupid move. Her pulse roared in her ears, a drumbeat of defiance, as she pivoted with a speed that surprised even her, ready to bolt.

"Wrong girl, asshole," she snarled, her voice fueled by a combative fire. Pivoting with desperate agility, she went for a dash.

But two more men sprang into her path, appearing with disciplined precision. One lunged, reaching for her arm with a cruel grip, but Serenity was faster. She twisted with practiced finesse and drove her elbow into his throat, relishing the gurgled gasp that followed. The self-defense classes she'd insisted on taking—despite her mother's constant whining that "Omegas shouldn’t appear aggressive"—were proving worth every second. Mom would’ve rather had her knitting sweaters and pining for an Alpha. Instead, she was out here giving these bastards hell.

"Tranq her," barked a voice at the edge of the chaos.

Serenity whirled, her instincts saving her skin as a glimpse of steel caught her eye. A gun, but not the kind that ended things in a flash. No bullets—just a fucking dart gun. She ducked, feeling it split the air right past her ear.

"I said alive and conscious, you idiots!" The voice dripped with command, but all Serenity cared about was keeping her skin unmarked longer than these suits believed she could.

Four men crushed in on her now, an ominous wave of muscle and tactical gear. Her fist landed a punishing blow to the jaw of one, the crunch of bone and cartilage thick in the air. Another caught her arm, but she was on pure gut and rage, twisting and striking backward with a fierce kick. A shin. Her foot connected. Satisfaction blazed as she heard another grunt of pain. Fuck these guys.

Then it came—all darkness and finality, pressing down against her face like the weight of fate. Cloth, sweet-smelling and chemical, pushing her senses into a whirlpool. Her muscles betrayed her, traitorous bastards, turning to fucking water as her mind screamed fight, fight, fight against the dying of the light.

Chloroform. Old school. Fucking amateurs, she thought, the irony biting and cruel as the shadows claimed her.

The first sensationwas softness beneath her fingertips. Leather. Expensive. The second was the headache drilling through her temples.

When Serenity came to, it was like clawing her way back from the depths of the ocean. Her mind swam in thick fog, struggling to rise to the surface as reality sharpened around her, eachdetail cutting into her awareness with brutal clarity. Serenity kept her eyes closed, feigning continued unconsciousness while she assessed. Voices murmured nearby—male, clipped, professional. The air smelled of sandalwood and money. No street smells, no exhaust fumes. Inside. Somewhere with climate control set to a precise 68 degrees.

She cracked one eye open a sliver.

She was in an office, but not the kind she was used to running. This one was opulent, sick with luxury and power, the kind of obscene wealth that screamed "fuck you" at anyone who walked through its doors. The furniture was sleek and dark, Mahogany paneling, and the walls were adorned with expensive-looking art that was probably worth more than some people’s lives. Original artwork. A fucking Degas ballet dancer on the far wall that had to be worth eight figures minimum. She'd authenticated enough art for wealthy clients to recognize the real thing.

It was a place designed to intimidate.

"She's awake," a voice announced.

Shit. So much for playing possum.

Her golden eyes, now wide with defiance even as she fought off the lingering haze, took in the men standing around her. Stern-faced and silent, they wore suits that spelled out dollar signs and then some. They might as well have been wearing price tags. Everything about them was polished and controlled, but these weren’t corporate sharks. No, the air was too thick with menace for that. These were men used to having lives in their hands, and not in the metaphorical sense. She'd been delivered straight into the lion’s den.

Every muscle in her body felt like lead, but Serenity was nobody’s puppet. She fought against the invisible chains of unconsciousness and fear, her gaze darting from one hard faceto the next, assessing, calculating, refusing to show any of the panic that thudded in her chest like a trapped bird.

The last thing she remembered was the chaos of the ambush, the surge of bodies, her own limbs failing her as that last breath of consciousness slipped away. Now, this. An office that looked fit for a kingpin. Her mind worked at a furious pace, trying to make sense of the puzzle as the pieces loomed threateningly around her.

The moment stretched as she forced clarity into the fog. Whoever these assholes were, they'd gotten the jump on her. But she'd be damned if she let them see her rattle.

"Ms. Vale," a voice said, slicing through the quiet with professional detachment. Serenity turned, locking eyes with a man who clearly ran the show, or thought he did. "I see you’re awake."

The statement carried the weight of victory, but Serenity refused to let it crush her. Not with these smug bastards watching.

Serenity opened her eyes fully, forcing herself to sit upright despite the room's gentle spin. She was on a leather chaise lounge in what looked like the office of someone who collected other people's souls as a hobby.

Six men in suits costing more than her monthly rent stood in a loose semicircle. Their faces might as well have been carved from granite—all sharp angles and cold calculation.

Not a hint of empathy among them.

Figures.

"Quite the welcome wagon," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Usually when I'm drugged and kidnapped, I at least get dinner first."

None of them smiled.

The tallest man, silver-haired with a face that had seen too many winters, stepped forward.

"Water?"

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