Page 40 of Knot Ruined

Colby and John bring up the rear at the back of the group, their movements tense but controlled. John’s breathing is measured, but I can tell he’s on edge, ready to tear through anyone standing between him and his omega.

We reach the rear entrance, where a dented metal door hangs slightly ajar. I motion for Colby and John to hold the position while the rest of us press forward.

Jace crouches slightly, pointing to the ground just outside the door. I follow his gaze, my face going slack with shock.

A brick.

A fucking brick propped up to keep the door open like they’re welcoming guests. Cigarette butts litter the ground, the acrid scent of old smoke lingering in the air. If I could roll my eyes any harder, I’d be staring at the back of my own skull. These idiots couldn’t have made this any easier if they’d left a damn welcome sign.

Voss lets out a slow exhale, low and almost amused, but his hands are already shifting toward his blades. Romano glances at me, grinning, but there’s nothing friendly about it. I press forward, barely a whisper of sound as I ease the door open. It’s time.

We move like shadows, a seamless, silent unit slipping one by one through the open doorway, swallowed by the darkness inside. The air is thick with the scent of stale cigarettes, damp wood, and something rotten lingering beneath it all.

Inside, the warehouse is just as decrepit as it looked from the outside. Metal beams loom overhead, rusted and sagging under the weight of time and neglect. The dim glow of flickering overhead lights cast broken patches of illumination across the cracked concrete floor, barely cutting through the dark corners. Why is there such high security on the outside of the building if they just leave it to idiots to actually handle the inside?

Jace, Voss, Romano, and I fan out, positioning ourselves around John and Colby, keeping them shielded in the center. They need to stay undetected, ready to move the omegas the moment we secure them. Just ahead, two guards stand near a stack of wooden crates, talking in low, lazy tones, their posture loose—too relaxed, too fucking comfortable. They don’t even know they’re already dead. I glance at Jace. He’s already looking at me. I give him a simple nod.

I step forward, smooth and silent, closing the distance with predatory ease. The guard in front of me never even registers my presence before I clamp a hand over his mouth and twist, the sharp crack of his vertebrae snapping into place beneath my palm.

Jace moves just as fast.

His arm snakes around the other guard’s neck, twisting with brutal efficiency. A muffled gurgle, another sharp snap, and his body goes limp.

Their deaths are instant and silent. We don’t let them hit the ground.

I tighten my grip under the dead weight of my target, hoisting his slack body up effortlessly as Jace does the same. We drag them backward into the darkened entryway, laying them out against the wall, their heads tilted forward like they’re just slumped in sleep. A fitting end for men like them.

With one last glance at the corpses, I exhale slowly and step forward, voice nothing more than a whisper. “Keep moving.”

The first room we come to is empty, the stench of mildew and rot clinging to the air. Trash and debris litter the floor—discarded food wrappers, empty liquor bottles, and the unmistakable scent of unwashed bodies. The walls are streaked with something dark, something old, and I don’t want to think too hard about what it might be.

We move on, slipping into the next room. Three guards are lounging, utterly unaware of their impending deaths. The television flickers in front of them, static buzzing low, a bottle of cheap whiskey sitting open on a makeshift table.

Voss and I move first, striking fast, brutally, and efficiently. Jace takes the last one, snapping his neck before the bastard can even make a sound. Their bodies are dragged into the shadows, hidden in the darkness like they were never there at all.

The following three rooms off the hallway are just as empty, though the filth and lingering scent of fear is proof enough that people have been held here before. Shackles are bolted to the walls in one of them. A cot sits in the corner of another, and the mattress is stained with things I don’t want to consider.

I already know by the time we reach the last door in the hallway. This is it. This is where they’re keeping them. The smell of fear and omega is unmistakable.

The lock is cheap, rusted, and barely holding on. I squat down, pulling out my lock pick set, but it only takes a few seconds before the latch clicks open. I want to think I’m that skilled, but truthfully, the lock was just that shitty. It's difficult for an omega to break, but I could have manhandled it open as an alpha.

The door creaks as it opens. I stay low, cautious, but the glimpse I get is fucking heartbreaking. A group of roughly eight omegas huddled in the farthest corner of a filthy room, their bodies curled into themselves, backs pressed against the wall like they were trying to disappear.

Their clothes are torn and dirty, some hanging loose over skeletal frames. A few look half-starved, sunken eyes hollow and wide with terror. Dried blood stains the wrists of one of the male omegas, evidence of shackles that were removed too late. The second I motion John and Colby forward, the air shifts.

A soft gasp—then a growl, low and warning. And then, there was a blur of movement.

A familiar looking omega launches forward, colliding into John and Colby so hard it knocks them back a step. Their arms wrap around him instantly, holding on like they’re afraid he’ll disappear if they let go.

The sound Robert makes is shattered, broken, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. John grips the back of his head, whispering something against his hair, while Colby buries his face against Robert’s shoulder. Tears are streaming down all three of their faces.

I feel something tighten in my chest. I don’t let myself linger on it. Because all I can think about is Fallon. How would I feel if it were her? If someone took her, locked her away, starved her, threatened her with things too vile to speak aloud? My fists clench, nails biting into my palms. Robert pulls back slightly, turning to the other omegas, his voice a low whisper. The group listens, but some of their expressions twist with disappointment, sadness, and resignation. For a moment, I wonder why, and then I realize they think we are only here for Robert. I almost growl, but I know that would frighten them more.

Fuck.

It takes several long minutes to convince them we’re here for all of them. John and Colby help, their presence reassuring, but the fear runs deep.

Two other male omegas are among them, and the rest are female. Some have claiming bites on their necks—marks of mates waiting for them to come home. Others have nothing, no visible sign that anyone is searching for them.

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