3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Soren
I 've never seen Asher lose control. Not in ten years as bond brothers.
Not through countless raids, not through the darkest cases, not even when we found that omega adolescent last summer on the cusp of maturity being cornered in an alley by a pack of alphas desperate to claim an omega for their pack.
Our prime alpha is our cornerstone. Steady, ethical, the one who keeps us anchored when cases threaten to break us, but the moment that cell door swung open, something shattered in him.
His scent turned savage. The sound he made when he gathered the omega into his arms wasn't human.
Neither was the way his teeth found her neck as he bonded with her outside her heat because he could .
Phoenix and I were frozen in horror at what we witnessed.
The moment Asher snapped and his control broke is seared in my psyche.
This... this is everything Asher stands against.
Everything he's fought to prevent.
Everything that's given him the nightmares I've talked him through for the past decade.
Forced claiming.
Non-consensual bonding.
The very crimes he's dedicated his life to prosecuting. And now he's become what he hates most.
But the omega... Gods, the omega. Not just any omega, but ours.
Ours .
Our fated scent-matched omega. The omega who will complete our pack in a way no other can. The chance of finding her was miniscule and now he’s force-bonded her with the potential to ruin anything we might have had with her before it had a chance to begin.
His mistake is monumental. For him. For us. For her.
The sight of her pitiful condition makes me physically ill.
She's barely more than bones draped in filthy rags, her skin ghost-white where it isn't mottled with grime and bruises.
The chain around her ankle has rubbed the flesh raw, an angry infection creeping up her leg.
Her blonde hair hangs in matted, filthy clumps, and she's so thin I can count every rib through what's left of her shirt.
How can anyone treat a human being like this?
I catalogue her injuries even as my instincts scream to protect.
Even as I feel Asher's horror and self-loathing crash through our pack bond with enough force to make me stagger.
Severe malnutrition. Dehydration. Multiple infection sites.
Possible sepsis from the ankle wound. And those are just the physical injuries. The psychological trauma...
She'd scrambled into presentation position when Asher opened the cell, her movements speaking of long practice and desperate fear. The acrid scent of her fear still clogs my nostrils. Even now, unconscious in his arms, her face shows no peace .
What have they done to her?
What have we done to her?
Because that claiming bite—as wrong as it is, as much as it goes against everything we believe—has just made her our pack omega.
Asher will never forgive himself.
And our omega might never recover from his rash action.
A sound escapes Asher that breaks something inside me.
Part whimper, part growl, pure anguish. He clutches our unconscious omega to his chest, rocking back and forth like he can somehow protect her from what he's just done.
Self-loathing resonates through our bond, blackening the air with its thickness.
Phoenix collapses beside them. His hand trembles as he reaches for her, hovering over her like he's afraid she'll shatter at his touch. My knees hit the concrete floor moments after his.
Asher lifts his head, and the hollow look in his eyes will haunt me forever. “I couldn't...” his voice cracks. “I couldn't help it. The moment I scented her...” He drops his gaze to her unconscious form. “She's ours. She was always meant to be ours.”
She’s our scent-match, and because of that we can bond her outside of her heat, where otherwise a bond can only take place between an alpha and omega during their heat. Then I see the other bond marks marring her shoulders. Cruel, half-formed claiming bites that can mean only one thing.
She’s only partially bonded .
“Holy mother of gods. Those claiming bites,” I wheeze.
A half-bond is the ultimate form of torture.
All the violation with none of the responsibility.
This is calculated evil. These monsters would have deliberately created an uneven bond to maximize her suffering.
To ensure she'd feel every ounce of their cruelty while remaining blind to her pain. It would have been done to her during the delirium of her heat without her consent. Outside a scent-match, it’s the only way to bond an omega.
“This is inhuman. How could they do this to such a precious creature?” Phoenix chokes out .
“She's not going back to them,” Asher growls, the sound vibrating through the concrete walls. “They'll never touch her again. Never. I'll kill them before I hand her over.”
I've never seen him this close to feral, not in all our years together. I can’t imagine the psychological torment she’s lived through.
Rage builds in my chest. Those alphas had this precious omega, and they treated her like this ?
Chained her like an animal? I start cataloguing charges—abuse, neglect, illegal imprisonment—the alpha in me hollowing out because, as bad as they are, those charges won’t stick because she’s an omega. Not with the current laws.
The alphas upstairs in cuffs, Pack Carmichael, are officially her pack. They can do whatever the fuck they want to her. It’s legal and fucking bullshit.
But now, so is Asher .
And she’s our scent-match, which trumps their bond.
It’s fucked up, but because he lost his shit and bonded her, it’s quite possibly the only legal thing on our side.
“I'll bury them.” Asher's eyes have gone dark, deadly. His finger traces a bruise on her cheek with heartbreaking gentleness that contrasts with his tone. “They’ll pay for every mark on her skin. For everything they’ve done to her. I’ll make sure of it.”
All of us will. I have a new calling and its name is vengeance.
“We need to get her to a hospital. But first...” Phoenix’s eyes fix on the chain around her ankle.
“I’ve got it, brother.” I find the smaller key on the ring Asher ripped from the wall. My stomach lurches as I follow the line of her leg to the thick metal cuff around her ankle. Angry red streaks climb up her calf from where the metal has eaten into her flesh.
The cuff speaks of a whole other level of cruelty, as though being locked in a basement behind thick iron bars wasn’t enough to contain her. This was meant to fuck with her mind, and I have to wonder just how damaged she is, inside and out .
“They’re not going to be buried, brother. The pieces of their bodies left after we’ve shredded them with our bare hands won’t be big enough for any grave.” This is my solemn vow.
I take several deep breaths before I can steady my hands enough to work the key into the lock. I ease the cuff off her skin as gently as I can and throw it into the farthest moldy corner of the dank cell.
Phoenix's voice shakes as he radios for medical support. “We need an ambulance. It’s urgent. We’ve found the omega and…there’s multiple trauma, severe infection, possible sepsis.”
The tremor in his voice echoes what we're all feeling. Rage, helplessness, and a burning need for justice we might not be able to deliver because the same laws we are meant to enforce are the same laws working against us.
The stairs creak under our combined weight as we emerge from that pit of hell.
My eyes burn adjusting to the bright kitchen lights after the basement's darkness.
Even my gear is heavier, like it's absorbed the damp misery from below.
The stench follows us up, the mold, infection, human suffering a stark contrast to the wealth above.
Who keeps this much food on hand when they’re torturing someone below it?
The thought hits me as I take in the obscene display of abundance.
Fresh fruit overflowing from ceramic bowls.
Half-eaten pizzas left in boxes stacked on the counter.
Bottles of soda and wine, top-of-the-line appliances gleaming under recessed lighting.
Through the glass-front refrigerator, I glimpse shelf after shelf of gourmet meals—so much plenty just a floor above someone’s suffering.
I don’t contain the growl that rattles from me.
They had all this, and they fucking starved her.
Defiled her.
Tortured her.
Asher cradles our omega, her head lolling against his shoulder. The overhead lights are cruel, highlighting every shadow of abuse on her body. Each pronounced rib, every bruise, the cadaver gray pallor of her skin. It hits me how close to complete physical failure she is .
In the living room, our squad has the three alphas face-down, surrounded. Matthew Carmichael starts thrashing when he sees us emerge with her. The entitled rage in his expression tells me all I need to know.
“Give it back. That's theft!” he shouts, trying to push himself up despite the officer's knee in his back. “You can't take my property! I'll have your badges for this!”
The word 'property' rips another growl from me. Phoenix's reaction is more direct. He takes a step toward the restrained alpha. “Property?” His voice drops to something dangerous. “You kept her chained in a basement. Starved her. And you dare—”
“Phoenix.” I grab his arm, feeling the tremors of rage running through him. Not that I blame him. Every instinct I possess screams to let him go, to watch these monsters learn exactly how it feels to be treated like property.
“Don’t give them a reason to take her away from us.” He vibrates under my touch, but at least he stops in his tracks.
Asher doesn't move, doesn't speak, but his stillness is more terrifying than any rage. Our unconscious omega looks impossibly small in his arms. A muscle in his jaw works as he stares down at her captors, and I recognize that look. It is one that would have me pissing my pants if I weren’t his bond brother.
“She's mine by law,” their prime spits, either too stupid or too arrogant to recognize the danger he's in. “My omega. My property. And when I get out…”
The temperature in the room drops. Asher's voice, when it comes, is barely above a whisper. “When you get out?” Matthew finally looks at Asher’s face, and whatever he sees makes the man flinch.
“Bold of you to assume I won’t go out of my way to bury you under enough charges to rot away in a prison cell for the rest of your life. ”
“I can treat my property however I see fit and if you don’t hand it back over to us…”
It. Our mate isn’t even a human being to this piece of shit. My fingers tense around the handle of my gun, itching to put a bullet through Pack Carmichaels’ brains. I restrain myself, because if we go down, our omega will have no one on her side. Again.
Asher's growl fills the room, silencing everyone. “Get them out of my sight,” he orders, voice deadly but quiet. “Full restraints. Separate cars. Separate holding cells.”
The prime alpha's face purples. “It's mine! My omega! You—”
“One more word,” Asher says, “and I'll add resisting arrest to your long list of charges.” His arms tighten around our unconscious omega, and I catch the slight tremor in them. He's barely holding onto control.
“Let’s get her out of here, brother,” I say.
His eyes flick to mine and thank fuck reason returns in his stark expression.
He turns his back on the pack of abusive assholes, protecting her with his body, and strides out of the house of horrors and into the night as though she's made of glass.
She hasn't stirred once, hasn't made a sound. The only sign of life is the shallow rise and fall of her chest and her open eyes that stare into nothing. She’s awake, but not present.
The paramedics are waiting, gurney ready, but Asher hesitates before laying her down.
It’s only her pressing medical needs that allow him to place her into their care.
The moment she leaves his arms, she looks even smaller, more fragile.
The paramedics snap into action as they load her inside the ambulance.
They insert an IV into her thin arm, measure her vital signs and use medical terminology that my training translates into increasingly dire assessments.
When we try to follow her in, a paramedic blocks our path with an apologetic but firm hand.
“There's no room. We need space to work.”
It’s only the need to make sure she’s taken care of properly that allows me to stand back as they close the doors.
“Van. Now,” Asher snaps.
He doesn’t have to tell us twice. We scramble to our van, Phoenix already in the driver's seat, engine running.
The drive through the city is a blur of red lights and near-misses as we follow the ambulance.
None of us speak. What is there to say? We've just found our omega, our scent-match, the missing piece we never knew we were looking for, and we found her chained in a basement, half-dead, only to watch our prime lose control and claim her without consent.