He hated betas more than the rest of the Vipers did, though none of them were fans. High and mighty pricks that run the world, delegating the lives of alphas and omegas from their lofty positions of power with no thought or concern as to the damage they did. Alphas suffered, but omegas suffered the most, and the breeding centers were proof of that. Dens of anguish where omegas were kept, their heats sold, their children ripped fromtheir arms moments after birth to be placed in the care of their mothers’ rapists.
There were no innocents who worked in such a place. Not anymore.
Mal grimaced, waving a hand in front of his nose. “Forgot how much you fuckingburnwhen you’re pissed off. Come on. It’s been too long.”
Every Pit was much the same as the Vipers’: a sprawling manor with well over a dozen rooms to house the members of the team, the largest room reserved for when the boss visited and stayed overnight. They had all the amenities they needed at their disposal both inside and out. If Roman wasn’t downstairs throwing his body at the equipment made available to all of them, he was out on the trails running as hard and fast as he could until his stomach turned itself inside out from the stress.
Alphas had higher endurance and stamina than omegas did, but it could never be high enough. Not to him. Not for the work they did.
One side of the gym downstairs was nothing but matted floor, giving them plenty of room to spar as need be. It was there that Mal led Roman, running his tattooed hands through his long, wine-red curls so he could tie them back with a slim black elastic. Considering he never played fair, Roman made a note of that for later. Hard to see with all that hair in the eyes, after all.
Who he’d been before the Vipers was unknown, but then, none of them knew Roman, either.
Mal glanced over his shoulder as he walked to one side of the wide floor, rolling his neck until the muscles flexed. “What are you thinking about doing to the guy?”
“I have a few options in mind.” Roman stretched his shoulders and legs out, making sure he was limber enough to do what needed to be done. While he was the largest Viper on the team,Mal had always been the fastest. Keeping up with him was a pain on a good day.
Mal cocked his head, flexing his fingers until his knuckles popped. “Paint an image in my head, Picasso.”
“Skinning is my favorite.” The scent of bloody meat, the ribbons of muscle and cords of sinew, the flashes of white bone beneath. Roman watched as Mal’s eyes lit up, the delighted and twisted smile reminding him who he was dealing with as if he could ever forget. “Wish it lasted longer.”
“You’re one sick fuck, Killer Kane.” Mal licked his teeth, then dropped into a crouch. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”
He broke into a sprint, and Roman’s vision bled scarlet.
Sparring was about nothing more than tension and exertion and nerves, his body moving of its own accord as his hindbrain seized control of the moment. Dancing this dance was always dangerous, but it was Mal’s favorite choreography, with twists, pivots, and dips filled with pain. Bruises and blood spilled; it was all the same to Mal, and all the same to Roman.
It was the only way any of the Vipers could bond.
Mal’s back slammed into the mat so hard that any further force might break his ribs or crack his spine. Roman’s vision snapped back with frightening clarity, one hand closed vice-like around Mal’s wrist to twist it over his head and the other coiled around his throat. He planted his knee on Mal’s sternum, and from the way Mal panted and heaved against it, he needed the air.
He stared up at Roman for a long moment before his head fell back against the mat, dark eyes sliding shut and the pale length of his throat exposed. “I concede, fucker.”
“Smart move.” Roman was off of him in seconds, not stupid enough to linger and risk a retaliatory sneak attack.
Mal just threw an arm over his eyes, sucking air into his lungs while Roman took stock of any damage he might have received.There were going to be some bruises along his right side and back, as well as his upper left thigh, but he’d had worse in the past. Either Mal was off his game, or the beast that slept in Roman’s blood was much closer to surfacing than it should have been.
At least the mission should lure it back to sleep long enough for Roman to resume his iron control.
Losing control had already destroyed his life once, and he refused to let it happen again when he knew the penalty for costing the boss a Viper was a quick and speedy death.
Chapter Three
“Idon’t want to have this conversation with you,” Sidian’s favorite nurse said a few days later, sitting on the edge of the chair next to Sidian’s bed. “The dark circles under your eyes are getting pretty intense. You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”
Sidian bit back the urge to scoff as he stared down at his lap, contrition tugging at his hindbrain and demanding he do anything to rectify whatever mistake he had made to put that edge in the nurse’s voice. Of all the staff members of the center, Tanner Matthews was the only one Sidian sort of liked, steadfast and reliable in a way that none of the others were. He never forced Sidian to do anything he didn’t want to do, talked him through every new test and exam, and checked after him like he was concerned for his well-being and not just doing his job.
He was also an omega. Though Tanner wore scent blockers that smothered most of his natural scent, Sidian’s nose was sharper than most. He’d always been able to smell right through them.
Sighing, he lifted a sleeve to his mouth and caught the white fabric between his teeth, worrying it as he tried to think of how to respond. If Tanner was bringing it up to him, then there was a damned good chance Barnes was making noise that Sidian did not want to hear. This might be the only chance he had to fix his sleep schedule before the endless rounds of sedatives began.
He regretted letting it happen last time. So many precious hours with his daughter, his precious Amethyst, lost because he refused to do something he knew he needed to do for her sake.
“Sid,” Tanner murmured, the nickname pricking at a barely healed wound in Sidian’s heart, “they’re talking sedation, okay? I don’t want to see that happen to you again.”
His pulse quickened. Sedation did not just mean loss of time with his son; it meant an added layer of vulnerability, and while the staff at the center was disinterested in their so-called patients, some of them weren’t. Some of them had wandering eyes and wandering hands, and the thought of being unable to shield or protect himself while pregnant threatened to send Sidian’s hindbrain into a panic. Being trapped in a cycle of his own anxious thoughts never failed to give him a migraine.
And the extra-strength pain pills were bad for the baby, so he’d have to suffer through it alone.
