Chapter 43 – JUNIPER
Chapter
Forty-Three
JUNIPER
T he silk sheets against my skin feel like cobwebs, and I know exactly where I am before I even open my eyes.
That specific blend of expensive perfume and incense trying to mask decay, the way the mattress molds to my body like it's trying to swallow me whole, the faint sound of classical music drifting through walls that have heard too many screams.
The Serpents' Den.
My eyes snap open, and there it is, the gilded ceiling with its painted angels that look more like demons if you stare long enough.
The same angels I used to count when things got bad, when the shadows got too loud, when clients got too rough.
One through twelve, over and over, until Felix would sneak in and hold me together.
I'm in my old room. The one Evan kept for his "special" merchandise. The one with the locks on the outside and the bathroom with no mirror because he didn't want us getting ideas about broken glass. The luxury was for his benefit, not mine.
My dress from the auction is gone, replaced with one of those sheer nightgowns he always made me wear.
Pink. Evan's fucking favorite. I don't even have anything personal against the color, except all the ways it reminds me of him.
The fabric feels like shame against my skin, and I want to tear it off, but that would mean being naked when he comes back.
Because he will come back. He always does.
The shadows are screaming now, not their usual whispers but full-throated shrieks that make my head feel like it's splitting.
Trapped trapped trapped! The little butterfly is back in the spider's web!
I force myself to sit up, cataloging the damage.
My head throbs where someone hit me—probably when they grabbed me from that room at the auction.
It's all fuzzy past the fact that I bit someone hard enough to bleed.
I still have the metallic taste in my mouth.
There's a bruise forming on my wrist shaped like fingers.
But nothing's broken, nothing's bleeding. Evan wants me intact.
For now.
The door opens with that specific creak I'd forgotten until this moment, and there he is.
Evan. Felix's brother, though you'd never know it looking at them, except for the eyes.
Where Felix is lean and elegant, Evan is thick with the kind of muscle that comes from violence rather than training.
A brutal thug in designer threads. His eyes are the color of stone, just a shade off from Felix's yet completely devoid of a soul, and his smile makes my skin try to crawl off my body and hide.
"Welcome home, little flower," he says, using that pet name that makes bile rise in my throat. "I've missed you."
"Fuck you." The words come out before I can stop them, because apparently my survival instincts took a vacation. Too many years of freedom. Of relative security.
He laughs, moving into the room with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how much power he holds. "Such language. I see my brother's influence hasn't improved your manners."
"Felix is ten times the man you'll ever be," I spit, scrambling off the bed to put distance between us. Not that there's anywhere to go in this beautifully decorated prison cell.
"Felix," he says, tasting the name like expensive wine. "My sweet, confused little brother. Still playing dress-up, I assume? Still pretending he's something he's not?"
"He's not pretending anything. He's exactly who he's supposed to be."
"An omega masquerading as an alpha? Living with vigilantes? Playing house with killers who think they're heroes?" Evan moves closer, and I press myself against the wall because there's nowhere else to go. "He's a broken toy I should have discarded years ago."
"You're just pissed he got away. That we both did. That we burned half your fucking empire on the way out."
His hand shoots out, backhanding me hard enough that I taste copper. My head snaps to the side, and I see stars that definitely aren't painted on the ceiling.
"You cost me millions," he says, grabbing my face, fingers digging into my jaw hard enough to leave marks. "But you're going to pay it all back and then some."
I spit in his face. Blood and saliva hit him right in the eye, and for a second, I think he's going to kill me right there. His grip tightens until I'm sure my jaw's going to crack, and those frozen eyes promise violence that would make the shadows quiver.
But before he can say anything, there's a crash from somewhere down the hall. Shouting. The sound of glass breaking and someone screaming about their money.
"For fuck's sake," Evan mutters, releasing me so suddenly I stumble. "These idiots can't go five minutes without causing problems."
He heads for the door, pausing to look back at me with that smile that haunts my nightmares.
"We'll continue this conversation later, little flower.
You're going to be very helpful in bringing your protectors here.
All of them. Felix and those alphas who think they own you now.
I'm going to kill them all, starting with my disappointment of a brother, and you're going to watch. "
The door slams shut, locks engaging with a sickening click. I wait until his footsteps fade, then I'm moving, hands searching every inch of the room I know too well.
No weapons. No phone. The windows are still barred, painted gold to match the décor but strong as fuck. The bathroom's the same. Nothing sharp, nothing useful, just expensive soaps and towels too thick to fashion into a decent noose.
But muscle memory takes over, and I drop to my knees by the bed, fingers finding the loose floorboard I discovered years ago. It's still there, still loose, and underneath?—
"Hello, beautiful," I whisper, pulling out the lock picks I hid the week before we escaped. Insurance, Felix had called them. Always have a backup plan.
The shadows stop screaming, starting to whisper excitedly instead.
Clever girl. Sneaky rabbit. Time to run.
I tuck the picks inside my gown and leave the door locked. That's what Evan expects if I escape, me running for the exits he's definitely watching. Instead, I go to the vent in the corner, the one that's painted to match the walls but opens if you know where to press.
The screws come out easily with the picks, and then I'm sliding into the ventilation system that became my secret highway when I lived here. It's smaller than I remember, or maybe I'm bigger, but I fit. Barely.
The metal is cold against my skin through the thin nightgown, but I've crawled through worse in less. I know these vents like I know Felix's heartbeat—every turn, every junction, every room they pass over.
The first room I peer into makes my chest ache. An omega sitting on a bed identical to mine, staring at nothing. The next room, another. And another. All of them with that same hollow look I used to see in the mirror.
Save them, the shadows whisper. Save them all.
"I will," I promise, meaning it. "But first I need to find?—"
Movement in a storage room catches my eye. Not an omega's room, this one's different. Concrete walls instead of silk wallpaper. And there, slumped against the wall?—
"Archer," I breathe.
How? They must have taken him, too.
What if they got the others, or worse, what if…?
No. I can't let myself go there. That thought will succeed at doing the one thing Evan never could, for all his attempts. Breaking me.
Archer is unconscious but breathing, hands zip-tied behind his back, blood dried on his temple from where someone hit him. Even from here, I can see his chest rising and falling, but he's too still, too quiet.
The vent opens into this room. Evan probably never thought to secure the storage areas the same way. I drop down as quietly as I can, but Archer doesn't stir.
"Archer." I shake his shoulder. "Soldier boy, wake up."
Nothing.
I shake harder, and his eyes finally flutter open, but they're unfocused, pupils blown wide.
"Angel?" he mumbles, and fuck, they drugged him. "Pretty angel. You shouldn't be here."
"First time anyone's called me that," I say dryly, checking his bonds. The zip-ties are tight enough to cut off circulation. "Archer, I need you to focus. We have to get out of here."
He blinks slowly, like he's swimming through honey. "Juniper? You're... you're real?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Very real and very much needing you to wake the fuck up." I start working on the door lock, hands shaking slightly because I can hear footsteps somewhere above us. "Can you stand?"
He tries, managing to get to his knees before swaying dangerously. "Room's spinning."
"Yeah, well, it's about to get worse. Can you fit through the vents?"
He looks at the opening I came through, then at his broad shoulders, and even drugged he manages to look skeptical. “No way.”
"Why can't alphas come in travel size?" I groan, but I'm already working on the door. This lock's easier, since storage rooms don't rate the same security as the “merchandise.”
It clicks open, and I peer out. One guard, looking bored, playing on his phone.
"Stay here," I whisper to Archer.
"Like hell—" He tries to stand again, this time managing it, though he has to lean against the wall.
But I'm already moving, creeping up behind the guard with the picks held between my fingers like tiny daggers. He doesn't hear me coming, doesn't know I'm there until I'm jamming the metal into his carotid.
He drops, phone clattering on the concrete, blood pooling fast. I grab his gun, his knife, and his keys, trying not to think about how easy that was. How natural.
"Damn," Archer breathes when I come back. "Remind me never to piss you off."
"Too late for that." I cut his zip-ties with the guard's knife, then press the gun into his hands. "Can you shoot?"
"I'm drugged, not dead." He checks the magazine with movements that are slower than usual but still competent. "Where are we?"
"The Serpents' Den. Outside Vegas. Evan's got us both, and he's planning to use us as bait for Felix and the others."
"They'll come," he says with absolute certainty that makes me feel warm and fuzzy, but also terrified.
"That's what I'm afraid of." I tuck the knife into the pocket of my robe, along with my picks. "It's a trap. This whole place is designed to keep people in."
Archer straightens, and even drugged, even swaying slightly, there's something in his posture that changes. The soldier taking over. "Then we get out before they get here. Save them the trouble."
"There are other omegas," I say quietly. "Lots of them. I can't leave them."
He looks at me for a long moment, those brown eyes clearing slightly. "We won't. But first, we get you safe. You don't spend another second in this place if I can help it."
Before I can argue, he moves toward the door with the gun raised despite the slight tremor in his hands.
“Stay behind me,” he mutters.
"You're drugged?—"
"And you're wearing a nightgown that would make terrible armor. Behind me, Juniper."
I want to argue, but there's something in his voice that makes me listen. Not alpha command, but protection. The kind that says he'd take a bullet for me without thinking twice.
We move through the hallway, Archer slightly unsteady but determined, me barefoot and trying not to think about how many times I've walked these halls before. But something's different this time.
I'm not alone.
Felix saved me before, taught me to save myself, gave me the strength to survive.
But now I have Archer too, drugged and swaying but still putting himself between me and danger without hesitation.
I have Carlisle and his brilliant violence, Bane and his mountain of protective fury, Elias and his gentle strength.
And of course, Felix. Always Felix.
I have a pack.
The thought makes me feel safer than all the weapons in the world, even as we creep through this nightmare. We're getting out. All of us. Me, Archer, every omega in this place.
And then we're burning it to the ground.
For good this time.
Archer's hand tightens on mine as we round another corner. The corridors all look the same—peeling wallpaper trying to hide decay, doors that hold too many dark secrets. But we're moving with purpose now, following the service stairs that should lead us up and out.
"Almost there," Archer whispers, but then he stops so suddenly I nearly crash into his back.
There's a hissing sound. Soft at first, like air escaping through vents. Then stronger.
I look around, gripping my knife tight, my back to Archer's as he brandishes his stolen gun, but there's no one.
Then, I see it. In the corners of the floor, where the shadows usually congregate, there's a dark, murky haze coming through the vents.
"Poison gas," Archer hisses, grabbing my arm and moving us both toward the stairs. But the gas greets us at the very top of the narrow stairwell, and the moment it hits my lungs, I start coughing.
"Fuck," Archer mutters, peeling off his jacket and holding it over my face. "Don't breathe."
I try to protest, because I can see he's already affected even if he's trying to look out for me, but my head is already woozy, jacket or not. The gas is concentrated, making it hard to stand, hard to think, and Archer is suddenly on his knees, gripping the banister.
I'm not far behind, and all I can do as my head hits the nearest stair is fight to maintain conscious, even though I know it's futile.
Then, I hear it. Footsteps coming down he upstairs hallway. Unhurried, confident. I follow the familiar black-and-white oxfords up to a face that's covered in a gas mask, but the wearer is no less obvious for that obscurity.
Evan.
Fucking bastard.