“What did you drug me with?” I demanded, as the urge to scream and thrash against the zip ties rose, growing stronger with every second.
“Oh, that?” Vozzina asked, all innocence. “Just a nice big dose of rut-stim. It should kick in within the next few minutes.”
Not-Adrian gave a harsh little laugh, and I was struck by the sudden need to get my hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyeballs popped like overripe grapes. At the same time, blood rushed inexplicably southward, while some sick, deeply buried part of me whispered about all the things that could be done to an omega once I’d subdued him and killed his mate.
I cringed back from him with a gasp, so violently that I nearly slid right off the metal gurney.
“Get him to the cell,” Vozzina said, sounding as amused as his hateful little mate. He grinned down at me with teeth. “Oh, and someone go get the kid. Don’t worry, Dawson. We’ll throw you a bit of fluff to shred into pieces, so you don’t lose your marbles completely. And, as you may have heard just now, we’ve got cameras all set up to record and stream the whole thing, directly to the kind of internet cesspits that enjoy that kind of content. You’re going to befamous.”
Not-Adrian tittered again. “Famous with the deviants and pedos, anyway,” he added.
Icy dread replaced the burning acid in my veins.
“Wh-what?” I stammered... but the gurney was already moving, its wheels jarring over the uneven concrete floor.
Strong hands held me down, keeping me from rolling off the juddering thing as we traversed hallways and echoing, open spaces. Eventually, the metal cart was pushed through a cell door. I looked around wildly. The room was completely bare, and maybe twelve feet long by twelve feet wide. The front walland door were made of heavy iron bars. Other than that, it was a concrete cube without so much as a sink or cot.
The gurney tipped sideways, sending me crashing to the hard floor.
Before I could get my bearings past the conflagration burning through my body and mind, the men retreated through the door, leaving me still bound and wriggling like a hooked fish.
The sound of terrified crying penetrated the rushing sound in my ears. Just as I managed to get my body turned around so I could see the door, a huge goon shoved a small boy into the cell before retreating and slamming the bars shut.
The terrified scent of lemon and smoky paprika exploded across the back of my throat. The kid was a male omega—about twelve, or maybe a bit older if he was malnourished.
“Have fun, now,” Not-Adrian sing-songed. “Oh... andsmile! You’re on Candid Camera!”
Laughing, Vozzina, Not-Adrian, and his goons all trooped away, the gurney squeaking and rattling into the distance as they left. The omega, still weeping hysterically, scrambled backwards until he was jammed into the farthest corner from me.
My muscles began to shake with rage as the reality of what was happening truly started to sink in. They’d given me a rut stim, and locked me in this tiny fucking cell with a terrified baby omega.An omega who was not my mate.
The out-of-control emotion that had been churning through me like a wind-driven wildfire exploded into an inferno. With a roar, I jerked my arms apart with uncontrolled alpha strength, heedless of the way the zip-tie tore into the flesh of my wrists as it snapped. I grabbed at the strap around my ankles with hands like claws, and snapped that as well.
The omega boy screamed, curling sideways into a ball to hide his face.
The memory of caramel and espresso curled through me like liquid torment.Mate, it whispered.Mate. Mate. Your mate is out there somewhere, and you’re trapped in here.
Another agonized howl ripped free of my chest, and I crab-crawled backward—jamming myself into the opposite corner from the child and hugging my knees to my chest as the rut rose up and swallowed me whole.
SEVENTEEN
Tony
THE PRIVATE ROOM ATNorthwestern Memorial where Knox lay hooked up to machines and monitors was nicer than most of the apartments where I’d lived. Idly, I wondered how much it cost per day. Although, it wasn’t like Knox’s pack couldn’t afford it—even if they didn’t have great insurance, which, let’s be fair, they probably did.
