Page 49 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

Empty.

Something inside me fractures. Not breaks. Breaks would mean there were pieces left to pick up. This is dissolution. The quiet understanding that this room, this moment, is where everything ends.

No last stand. No daring rescue.

This is my fault.

A sob claws up my throat but dies unborn.

Caldwell’s grip tightens as he drags me away, but I don’t fight. What’s left to fight for? I got my pack killed. Got my mate killed.

And now the last thing I’ll ever see is Ren learning to hate me with his dying breath.

Chapter 11

Ren

The world narrows to a single point of focus as the glass barrier between me and the alphas rises with a mechanical hum. Every muscle in my body tenses, coiled and ready despite the pain radiating from my dislocated shoulder. I’ve been waiting for this moment—waiting for them to slip up, to give me the opening I need.

Two alphas. Gas masks covering their faces, combat gear covering their bodies. Professional killers, like the ones they sent to the pack house. They’re taking no chances with me.

Good. It means they’re afraid. And fear makes people careless.

I remain utterly still in the chair, maintaining the same defeated posture I’d adopted when Hailey was forced to her knees before Caldwell. Let them think I’m broken. Let them think the fight has left me.

“This one’s supposed to be dangerous?” the taller alpha snorts, his voice muffled through the mask. He approaches casually, one hand resting on the holstered weapon at his hip. “Doesn’t look so tough to me.”

The second alpha, broader through the shoulders with a bull-like build, hangs back slightly. More cautious. “Don’t underestimate him. Widow said he and his pack killed six of her people.”

“Look at him,” Tall says, gesturing dismissively. “He’s half-dead already.”

He’s not entirely wrong. My body is a catalog of pain—dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, torn ligaments in my knee. The bullet graze along my temple has stopped bleeding, but my right eye is swollen nearly shut, and I can taste blood pooling at the back of my throat.

But pain is just information. And right now, I’m choosing to ignore it.

Bull approaches me from the left, drawing a wicked-looking combat knife from a sheath at his thigh. “Orders were to make it messy,” he says, voice cold. Detached. “Widow wants pictures to send to the pack.”

A flash of molten rage surges through me at the thought. Stone. Jax. Finn. They’d receive images of my mutilated corpse. Would carry those mental scars forever.

Not happening. Not today.

“Should we ungag him?” Tall asks, circling to my right. “Let him beg?”

Bull considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Not worth the noise. No one to hear him, anyway.”

They’re wrong about that. Somewhere above us, Hailey is being dragged away by Caldwell. Hailey, whose scent still lingers in the air—vanilla and honey turned sharp with fear and chemical heat. Hailey, who met my eyes in that final moment, searching for reassurance I couldn’t give her.

Because at that moment, I’d made my choice. To give them exactly what they wanted to see—an alpha who’d lost everything, who’d surrendered to despair.

It was the only way to make them lower their guard.

And it worked.

Tall moves behind my chair while Bull approaches from the front, knife gleaming in the harsh overhead lights. “I’ll hold him still,” Tall says. “You take point.”

Bull nods, eyes cold behind the mask as he raises the knife. “This is nothing personal, Ironwood. Just business.”

I remain slack in the restraints, head lolled forward as if defeated. Tall’s hands fasten around my upper arms from behind, fingers digging into my injured shoulder. The pain is white hot, but I use it—channel it into the rage building inside me.

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