He takes hold of my wrists, and I fight, but he’s too strong and overpowers me once again. He places the cuffs on my wrists, locking them in place with ease as if he’s done this before. Maybe he has, for all I know. I don’t know much about him, but a man who carries around duct tape and handcuffs in his car doesn’t exactly seem like the trusting type.
He gets out of the car, and I watch as he walks around the front of it and stops at my door.
This is my chance, I think. When he opens that door, I need to run. If I fall, I’ll get up and keep going. I’m sure he could catch me, but damn if I won't make him work to do it. Not when my life is on the line.
But when he opens the door, I don't get my chance to run. His hands move faster than I can. He grips onto my chains, all but yanking me out of the car. I stumble, falling down at his feet.
“Good to see you know where you belong, Omega. But we need to get inside. Now.” He gives the chains a yank, pulling me upward.
I trip over my feet as I try to keep up with him.
“Honey, we're home,” he shouts as he enters the house.
“Where have you been?” a deep voice calls from further inside the house.
“Just picking up our property. I didn’t want there to be any issues.” He leads me inside of a room, an office from the looks of it, and there behind the sleek mahogany desk sits Miles.
“Impatient fucker.” He groans, averting his attention back to his laptop, not even a question from him as to why I’m chained or have tape over my mouth.
“Tomato, tah-mah-to. I was just making sure our little omega and her scum father didn’t get cold feet,” Elliott states boldly before turning and licking up the length of my face with his harsh tongue.
“Mmm, tasty.”
“Stop toying with her.” Miles says apathetically. “Show her to her room.” Miles dismisses us away with his hand as if I’m nothing. Like this is just an average day for him .
Like they didn’t just up and take me as payment for my father's debt and kidnap me from my school, cutting me off from everyone.
“My pleasure.” Elliott’s tongue glides across his lower lip as his eyes rove over the length of my body. The look in his vicious gaze has every hair on my body standing on end.
“Enough with the theatrics, Elliott. Just take her to her room. Nothing else,” Miles orders him, his alpha bark surging through the room.
Elliott growls, and with one look from Miles, I whine, struggling to fight to submit to his control already.
But I can’t. I won’t. The only thing I need to do right now, is survive. And find some way to escape from here.
“Fine, but I’m not waiting much longer,” Elliott says through gritted teeth, before turning and heading to the door, yanking on my chains to pull me behind him like a dog.
“Come on, guinea pig. I can’t wait for you to see your room. We made it a nest. Just for you.” He says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“I even took the liberty of adding our clothing to it. I know how omega’s love to have their alphas’ scents as much as they do their knots.” Bile rises in my stomach when he turns quickly toward me, grabbing his crotch.
Gross!
He leads us up the staircase and I stumble, my hand crashing down on the wooden step.
“Get up,” he orders, and I fight to hold back the tears.
“Get up,” he barks again, and I slowly stand, falling into step behind him. I follow without hesitation as we step onto the second floor and move down the long hallway.
“We put your nest close to our rooms, of course, so don’t get any bright ideas about escaping. I assure you, we’ve thought of everything.”
I notice all the doors are closed as we pass them, until he stops at one on the right, at the very end of the hallway.
“Here we are.” He takes hold of the handle and opens the door wide, giving me my first glance inside.
The room is bare, stripped of anything that might soften it. My gaze catches on the mattress laying flat on the floor. It’s oversized, fluffy, and full of pillows in varying shades of brown, gray, and some muted color I don’t even think is a color but rather a conglomerate of patchy fabrics. There's a black comforter, which is thrown over the mattress like a shadow. Or an omen.
On top sits a small pile of shirts, folded with an eerie neatness, the only touch of order in an otherwise empty space. To the left, a door stands open, and from where I stand I’m able to see a glimpse of the edge of a sink — a bathroom.
