Page 56 of Knot Ruined

“Jace, we need to talk.” His voice is serious, clipped. “We just got intel about omega kidnappings in the area looking for someone specific. I think we have something you'll want to hear.”

Kingston nods sharply, relief flashing briefly through his eyes. “Come over immediately. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“On our way.”

I end the call, breathing heavily as hope briefly flares within me. We move as one, unified in our desperation. Whatever it takes, whoever we have to kill—we’ll bring our girls home.

Fallon

April 14thmaybe?

time unknown

My head pounds violently, each heartbeat sending sharp, punishing jolts of pain ricocheting through my skull. It feels like someone’s driving nails behind my eyes. Groaning weakly, I roll onto my side, instantly choking on the gritty filth coating the floor beneath me. It smells musty and vile, the scent nauseatingly unfamiliar.

Wait. Smells?

Confusion spikes through my foggy brain, mixing unpleasantly with my pounding headache. I’ve never smelled anything before. Panic claws at my chest as I slowly drag myself upright, fighting through dizziness that threatens to shove me back down. The metallic tang of copper floods my senses, thick and heavy, making bile rise in my throat.

Copper means blood.

Oh God—blood.

I reach toward my face with shaking hands, gently prodding around my nose. Pain explodes instantly, a searing, sharp agony so intense my vision blurs. I choke back a cry, my stomach turning violently. My hand comes away coated in crusted blood, dark and flaking against my trembling fingertips.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. My nose feels slightly crooked, tender, and swollen like an overly ripe plum. A cold, terrified realization hits me: it’s definitely broken.

Panic takes hold, my breath coming faster, ragged. My heart pounds louder in my ears. Memories flash of every lousy action movie I’ve ever seen, heroes grimly forcing bones back into place, and I nearly gag. I can’t—I just fucking can’t do it. Yet, deep down, I know I have no choice. Either fix it now or suffer worse later.

Shaking violently, I brace my back against the wall, breathing heavily, fighting off nausea. Gathering what little courage I have, I place trembling fingers on either side of my nose. I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart pounding wildly as sweat beads across my forehead.

“One, two—fuck!”

I snap it back into place with a sickening crack. White-hot pain blinds me for a second, flooding every nerve-ending in agony so intense it rips a scream from deep in my chest. I slump forward, gasping, nearly retching from the sheer brutality of the pain.

“Fuck! Shit! Motherfucker!” My voice rasps harshly, a torrent of profanity pouring from my mouth, echoing around the dark, disgusting room.

Slowly, the immediate agony fades into a dull, relentless throb. With blurred vision, I lift my head and take stock of where I am for the first time.

The room is beyond filthy—a crumbling nightmare comes to life. Cracked plaster hangs from stained walls, dark mold crawling upward in ugly patches. The floor is covered in grime, littered with garbage, half-rotten food, empty bottles, and things I don't want to identify. The single dirty mattress in the corner smells strongly of decay, mold, and urine. The sourness of fear and misery hangs heavy in the air, suffocating, mixing nauseatingly with blood.

Blood I can still smell, sharp and real.

I jerk my head up at a small whimper, my pulse spiking anew. Across the room, huddled tightly together in a terrified knot, sit four other omegas. Male and female—faces pale beneath dirt-streaked skin, bruises dark and angry against their fragile bodies. Their clothes hang loose, as though they haven’t eaten properly in weeks. Each pair of eyes staring back at me holds raw, naked fear, pleading silently for help I don’t know if I can give.

A deep, raw ache blooms in my chest, gnawing at my insides with relentless fear. Is this really how it ends? Trapped in a filthy room, helpless and at the mercy of whoever took us? The dread tightens painfully in my throat, but before panic can consume me completely, a soft groan pulls my attention back.

Turning sharply, I see Violet sprawled on the floor beside me. Her petite frame is curled defensively inward, violet hair matted and tangled around her face. Her usually crisp blouse is now ripped at the collar, dirt and grime are smeared along her sleeves, and her jeans are torn and filthy from being dragged or thrown into this place.

“Vi,” I whisper hoarsely, crawling to her side and shaking her gently. Relief floods me as her eyes flutter open, clouded and heavy from the drug. “Violet, wake up. Come on, I need you with me.”

Her eyes blink rapidly, confusion quickly giving way to alarm as she takes in our surroundings. “Fallon?” she murmurs thickly, her voice rough. “What—where are we?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit, unable to keep the tremble from my voice. “We were drugged, and…I woke up here.”

Violet struggles to sit up, gripping my arm tightly as she scans the grim room in horror. “Oh, fuck.” Her voice cracks, and she looks down at her torn clothes, panic flaring across her face. My heart races as I glance down at myself, suddenly realizing the state of my own clothes—my sweater ripped at the hem and shoulder, my jeans dirty and torn at the knee. Panic spikes hard and sharp inside me.

“Oh god,” I whisper, terror seizing my heart. My stomach twists painfully. Did someone touch me while I was out? My hands tremble as I quickly check myself, fingers shaking, nausea rising. But my body doesn't feel violated; there's no unusual tenderness or pain. The relief almost buckles my knees, leaving me breathless.

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