Closing the door behind me, I pressed my back into the wood. When I’d only first arrived, I’d pressed against this very door and listened to the Alphas’ harsh criticisms. They still saw me like that: a weak waste of space who could never belong in their world. Taking a few shuddering breaths, I fought back the stupid wetness that always seemed to be waiting right behind my eyes, then I pushed away from the solid door and made myself keep going. That was all I could do. All anyone could do.
Moving to the folding cot—a replacement for the burned mattress—I swiped away a rebellious tear. I halted midway there, my gaze locking on a small box atop the makeshift bed. No, not just a box, I realized, but a folded blanket too. And… was that… a pillow? These luxuries gave me anxiety. I knew DemonX wasn’t the kind of pack to gift things without an ulterior motive.
The trash bag full of old, used clothing. The ratty tennis shoes. The food that the Alphas begrudgingly slopped my way whenever my stomach grumbled. All of it came with a price.
Out of the blue, I remembered the suitcase from Eros, the one filled with amazing clothing from Doctor Swann. I hadn’t seen it since the transport nurses brought me here. What had these asshole Alphas done with it?
Whatever they’d done, it was gone. And they’d given me clothes more suited for the garbage than a human body.
But I took them. I wore them.
Each item given, meant another bit of my pride taken.
How much would these items cost me? What would the men do to me tomorrow? I began imagining, the scene arriving like a memory which would happen, but hadn’t yet.
“Have a good sleep, Lucy?” Nitro would question, eyes glinting with whatever malicious part he was about to play.
I’d stare at him. I wouldn’t respond, not even with a nod.
“She must have, brother. We practically made that room into The Ritz last night.” Asher would move around me in a wide circle, flicking that awful lighter off and on.
“Then she must be ready to play.” Nitro would step closer to me, maybe hook a finger through the hollow heart. He’d tug me nearer, and he’d stare at me with cold, cold eyes. Colder than steel, colder than the blades he always carried.
Fallon would hang in the background, always watching. The past day or so, I thought he was trying to see beneath my skin. He just stared every time he was near, stormy blueeyes unwavering. On one hand, it gave me the creeps, on the other, having his undivided attention made me feel strangely special. Then there was Xander—maybe drinking in the kitchen, regardless of the time of day. He always seemed to be nursing a glass. The others were open books. Asher with his pyromania. Nitro with his blades. Fallon with his sharp mind. Kane with his cars—always smelling like oil and gas, coming into the house after hours gone, nails crusted black and body shiny with sweat. Xander was… empty, except for the liquor sloshing in his belly so heavily I swore I heard it when he walked sometimes. Then his emptiness would, without warning, transform to focused frustration with me as the target.
I’d been looking for a way in, some method to ingratiate myself into this pack. I’d been wondering lately if Kane was the chink in the DemonX armor. He was around the least, working in the garage or away from the compound, which meant he’d treated me better, simply because he wasn’t as present as the others. If I could just get to him, maybe he’d help the others give me a break. I wasn’t looking for acceptance at this point. This pack wasn’t going to bind with me for a lifetime. All I could really hope for was less cruelty until the probationary period was up and they could contractually ship me back to Eros.
Rolling my shoulders and taking a deep breath, I finished the journey to the cot and sat down. The lightweight frame creaked even under my insubstantial weight. Then I looked at the gifts with distrust. My fingers first grazed over the blanket material, finding it itchy and coarse. I pressed one palm into the pillow, and I frowned when I easily pushed through to the canvas cot beneath. Flat, very little stuffing. Maybe I could fold it?
When I lifted the lid to the box, I was surprised to find the medicine from Eros. All of it—the inhaler, the pills, the autopens. There was a bottle of cough suppressant, a tube of antibiotic cream and a few bandages too.
Despite everything, I felt a fluttering in my heart.
“Don’t be stupid,” I muttered out loud.
Picking up the inhaler, I rolled it over in my hands. Had they contaminated it somehow? I knew it was risky to use, but my lungs were struggling more each passing second. So, I uncapped it, shook it several times, and pushed my mouth over the end.
When I depressed the top, a burst of cool, menthol-flavored air slipped into my mouth, darting down my esophagus and giving me the relief I half-expected wouldn’t come. I held for a count of ten, then breathed back out. It took three puffs for the ache to subside.
For some reason, my little brother came to mind. God, I hadn’t thought about him in weeks. That fact made me ashamed. Had he thought about me at all? Was he still playing soccer? Did he still need the rescue inhaler?
Pushing the hurtful—because thinking of Tom made me also think of my parents—thoughts away, I put the inhaler back and picked up the cream. Did Nitro give me this? Was he feeling guilty about the cut on my face? I dabbed a pea size amount onto the shallow slice and skipped a bandage.
Placing the box onto the floor after deciding I’d start the other meds tomorrow, I positioned the pillow and blanket onto the cot. The tomb-like atmosphere of the house settled over me as I stretched out against the canvas sling. I shifted carefully, trying to get comfortable, the metal frame creaking and protesting. The cot was less comfortable than the mattress, but also less stained. When I closed my eyes, every humiliation of the day replayed. Not at normal speed either, but in rapid fire. When the memories ended, they circled back to the beginning and assaulted me again.
The scenes were vivid—I was scrubbing up piss purposefully aimed at the bathroom wall; I was picking up discarded clothes in every room; I was digging through the trash when Asherclaimed I’d thrown away his favorite lighter. I’d picked through the nauseating mixture of vegetable peels, rotting fruit, half-chewed meat, and old dairy products for at least twenty minutes before Asher sidled up, pulling the lighter from his pocket and bringing the flame to life next to my cheek. He’d joked about cauterizing the wound Nitro made. He was monstrous. They all were.
It was a good thing my body was exhausted, otherwise I’d have stayed up all night suffering the indignities over and over. As I began to slip into blissful darkness, I thought,this had to be rock-bottom. I must already be flat on my ass as low as I could go.
I woke violently,jolted into consciousness by the room flooding with blinding light.
Blinking against the brightness, I tried to orient myself. I was stillsotired, my eyelids felt impossibly heavy. How long had I been sleeping? Mere minutes? An hour?
Laughter, manic and staccato, erupted. The sound tried to invade every part of me, pushing through my pores. As the person in my room came into focus, I was surprised. From the psychotic laugh, I’d guessed Nitro or Asher. Not Kane.
Kane, who disappeared whenever he could. Kane, who had—compared to the others—taken it easy on me. Kane, who looked like a wild animal right now, standing in a spiked leather jacket, sandy blonde hair sticking out at all angles, his brown eyes shining intensely.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted me, expression excited, as if he planned to give me the best surprise in the world. I knew better than to trust his smile. His definition of best would likely mean a new kind of torture.
