Page 41 of Knot Ruined

As they finally begin moving toward the door, I keep my voice low and steady. “Are there any others?”

Robert shakes his head. “They talked a lot right outside of the door. We are the last group left here. We could hear them taking the others out of the building.” His voice is quiet, but every word drips with the trauma of what he’s endured.

I nod at him, my jaw tensing. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I look towards Colby, who is standing slightly behind me. His entire body is rigid, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles are bone white. His jaw ticks, his nostrils flaring. I don’t need to see his face to know.

He wants blood. And so do I. I give him a single, unspoken nod. Not one of these bastards is leaving this building alive.

That’s a promise.

Chapter Ten

Voss

March 21st

3:02 A.M

The second the omegas clear the room with John and Colby, the atmosphere shifts. The subtle mask of calm we've all been wearing cracks, letting the bloodlust we’ve held back spill into the shadows. Kingston’s eyes go cold, colder than ice, and I grin slowly, savoring the burn of anticipation that floods through me.

“Let’s finish it,” Kingston says, voice dark with a quiet fury he rarely lets loose. Jace and Romano nod silently, the gentle softness they show Fallon replaced by the lethal focus I've always known them for. This is who we are beneath the masks she’s somehow pulled over our true faces—the monsters we've always been.

We move like shadows down the hallway, our footsteps barely audible on the cracked tile. The heavy scent of mold, fear, and blood clings to everything, but to me, it’s exhilarating. My pulse races with a perverse kind of excitement—the promise of chaos sings through my veins, igniting something primal, something violent. Something I only ever feel when I’m ending lives.

“On your left,” Kingston whispers, his voice barely above a breath.

The next room erupts into chaos as we breach it. Gunfire flashes bright, bullets tearing holes through walls. Romano ducks low, knife glinting in his hand as he slashes a man’s throat open. Blood sprays in an arc, painting his face in crimson. He doesn’t flinch—none of us do. We’ve bathed in blood so often it no longer stains us; it simply reminds us who we truly are.

I spot two men scrambling for weapons near a battered desk. Too slow. My own gun is already up, aiming, firing. The sharp crack rings out, echoing violently in the small space. One man falls, choking, clawing at his chest, the other’s head snaps back, a hole punched neatly through his forehead. Satisfaction curls inside me, dark and delicious.

“Jace, cover!” Kingston shouts, and bullets tear past us, shattering plaster and glass. I spin, teeth bared in a wild grin, heart pounding wildly. Jace curses harshly, gripping his arm where blood trickles from a fresh wound.

I laugh, raw and untamed. Pain just makes us sharper, angrier, deadlier. Jace growls, barely pausing as he fires back, dropping another attacker with ruthless efficiency. Romano darts between the chaos, using shadows as cover, his blades catching what little moonlight filters through cracked windows. He moves like a ghost, leaving bodies in his wake.

Kingston’s eyes meet mine across the chaos. We’re both smiling—blood-soaked grins of two beasts set loose. This is who we are at our core: violent and unforgiving, built to destroy anyone who dares to threaten what's ours. And Fallon is ours, which means anyone she considers hers is ours too. These men stole what wasn’t theirs. They deserve no mercy, no hesitation.

I drop my empty clip and reload smoothly, stalking forward. A bullet whips past my head, too close, and I turn, finding the shooter’s wide-eyed fear. He’s young, barely a man. My finger doesn’t pause on the trigger. A harsh bark of gunfire, and he collapses, lifeless eyes staring at nothing.

No one leaves here alive.

It’s done in minutes, but the carnage feels timeless—bodies sprawled across the filthy floors, the sharp scent of gunpowder thick in the air, smoke lingering like a ghostly witness. We walk silently back toward the entrance, our breathing harsh, adrenaline still surging.

Jace grimaces slightly, blood seeping between his fingers. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, noticing my look.

“You’ll live,” Romano says dryly, though he still looks him over quickly. Tearing a strip off Jace's already shredded shirt, he wraps it and ties it off.

Kingston hands Romano a gas can from outside, and he douses the walls, the furniture, and even the corpses. There will be no trace of what we’ve done here, no survivors, no loose ends. I smile darkly as Kingston hands me the match. I strike it slowly, savoring the hiss and the faint sulfur smell, before flicking it casually toward the soaked room.

Fire blooms instantly, orange and red tongues hungrily devouring everything—evidence, sins, memories. It’s beautiful, really.

The flames dance in my eyes, the heat warm on my face, cleansing, purifying. This building, these men—they deserved every flame, every scream silenced, every life ended. We won't stop until we find every omega and every building they are kept in. We won't stop until we tear the person in charge apart.

Fallon

March 30th

1:23 PM

The shrill ringing of my phone cuts through the silence, making me flinch and nearly send a stack of resumes flying across my desk. Jesus. I already have a headache from staring at these damn things for hours, and now I’m jumping at sudden noises like a skittish kitten.

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