Page 38 of Knot Ruined

Kingston’s voice drawls from across the room, smooth and controlled, but carrying that weight of authority that makes it impossible to ignore. “It’s up to you, little one. If you forgive this transgression, we will as well.”

I glance at Kingston, then back to the man—studying him, reading the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze stays locked on mine, steady, unflinching. Respectful. I step closer Voss following me, my presence looming over the two of them now instead of the other way around.

“What’s your name?” I ask, my voice softer, but no less firm. “I’m sure these brutes didn’t ask.”

The man nods once, his expression unreadable but careful. “I am Gregor. This is my twin, Ozias.”

I tilt my head, studying them. Gregor’s eyes don’t wander. He doesn’t flick his gaze lower, doesn’t shift uncomfortably. He looks at me. Acknowledging me but not challenging me. Interesting. I nod. “Gregor, I can forgive this one thing. I accept your apology. I do not, however, accept what you are a part of.”

Silence lingers in the air, thick, heavy, suffocating.

Gregor swallows once, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then nods again—this time slower, more deliberate.

Romano, who has wandered back in from his tech cave, flashes me a promising smile. I turn so no one sees me blush. Ugh. Trying to be badass here.

I can tell John and Colby are running out of patience. John’s hands clench and unclench, the tendons in his forearms tight with barely restrained emotion. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with his own body, like the anger and fear are crawling under his skin, searching for an outlet. His shoulders are too tight, and his breath is just a little too uneven.

Colby, on the other hand, is leaning against the wall near Jace, unmoving. At first glance, he looks calm, detached, and unreadable. But I see it—the storm brewing beneath the surface. His jaw is locked so tight I half expect to hear his teeth crack. His fingers twitch slightly against his thigh, and when his eyes flick to me, I see it—the quiet rage, the helpless despair, the need to act.

I know that feeling. I send them both a small, reassuring smile, hoping they can see past the tension, past the waiting, past the frustration that’s eating them alive. This is calculated. Intentional. I hope they understand. We aren’t stalling. My husbands and I discussed how this would go on the way here.

It’s showtime.

“Now, I’ll ask again. Who is kidnapping the omegas?”

Gregor shakes his head, as Ozias gives me a pleading expression.

“I wouldn’t lie boys. Voss, who is my current favorite husband, loves the idea of cutting little pieces off of you.”

Kingston, Jace, and Romeo protest demanding to know how to be my favorite. I laugh at them before continuing. “Now, who is taking them?”

“We really don’t know!” Ozias calls his voice full of fear. I wave for Voss to have at it while I walk back to my seat.

Kingston’s grip snags me, swift and possessive, pulling me flush against his chest. His warmth bleeds into my skin, and his strength is a cage that I don’t mind being trapped in.

“You are so sexy, little one.” His voice is a low, molten rasp, his breath ghosting over my ear, making my spine tingle. “My pretty, vicious omega.”

His lips press soft, open-mouthed kisses along my bare shoulder, slow and reverent, trailing upward, claiming. His teeth graze a sensitive spot near the curve of my neck, and when he sucks gently, biting just enough to make my breath hitch, my body betrays me, shuddering against him. Kingston chuckles, the sound deep and dark, reverberating in my chest like a second heartbeat. His arms tighten around me, holding me there, grounding me, branding me.

And for a moment, just a brief, dangerous moment, I let myself melt into the feeling—the warmth, the safety, the way he makes the world feel smaller, simpler. But I can’t. Not when Robert is still out there. Not when other omegas are trapped, terrified, waiting for someone to save them. The shift in my focus must be palpable, because Kingston doesn’t protest when I lean forward slightly, my attention snapping back to the men in the pit.

Voss is standing there, a force of pure, simmering violence, his voice low and lethal as he speaks. “We know it’s you two who are snatching the omegas.” His tone alone makes the air thick, heavy, suffocating. “Where is the group of omegas that were taken recently?”

Ozias looks like hell, his chest marred with deep, deliberate cuts, rivulets of blood trailing down his torso, dripping steadily onto the cold concrete. His face is pale and slick with sweat, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls.

Gregor isn’t much better, his head tilted back, his lips slightly parted, like keeping his eyes open takes too much energy. But when he finally lifts his gaze to Voss, there’s no defiance left. Only acceptance.

His voice is a rasp, barely more than air. “They’re in a warehouse across town in the slums.

Voss stills, but his eyes darken. Gregor exhales roughly, closing his eyes for a beat before speaking again. “That’s all I have left to give. I can tell you the names of the men I do know are part of this, but none of them know who’s in charge. The only name we’ve ever heard is ‘M’—and I know that’s not helpful.”

My stomach turns at his following words.

“I don’t know the exact location of the warehouse, I’m sorry. After I give you the names, all I ask is that you make our deaths quick.” His expression is blank, hollow, resigned. “We never wanted to do this. It’s immoral. It’s disgusting. And I’m too tired to keep going.”

That pulls me from Kingston’s grasp. I step forward, my boots click sharply against the floor as I make my way back into the pit. “Then why do it at all?” My voice isn’t mocking. It’s not soft either. It’s sharp, edged in something raw and bitter.

Gregor lets out a slow, weary sigh, then turns his head toward Ozias, his expression shifting, softening into something almost painful to look at.

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