Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Zeb
Infiltrations, and particularly off-script infiltrations, are not like in the movies.
Sometimes you don’t have a clue what the fuck you’re doing.
It’s easy to take the wrong turn, metaphorically speaking…
and literally, as I follow the crowd of soldiers released from the hull, and into a… space canteen.
“Thought you’d be snagging an omega already, Jord.” someone pipes up from behind me, all fucking chipper.
I come to a complete standstill, blocking the entry to the said space canteen, and swing around to eyeball Chipper.
His smile drops.
It’s dog-eat-dog among the Uncorrupted. If you want to get ahead, you need to be mentally resilient, physically tough—better if you’re both.
Aggressive pursuit of promotion is considered the norm.
Killing someone to get that promotion? Not a problem.
Among the soldiering ranks, physical challenges are encouraged where disputes occur, which means everyone is hyper aware of their place in the pecking order…
and as you might guess, the alphas are at the top of that shit.
I grunt. Jord, as I now know myself to be, is a man mountain, and this body doesn’t feel like the kind to be verbose when it comes to communication.
Also, he mentioned omegas…
What are they doing with them? Divvying them up? Not mine and not on my fucking watch.
“Move aside, asshole!” someone calls from the back of the mass.
My sharp gaze shifts to the bottleneck I’ve created.
The non-alpha soldiers, which is most of them, would be wearing exoskeletons in the field.
They keep them racked while in transit, which leaves them disproportionately weak.
Those standing closest to me swiftly part, offering a clear path between me and my heckler.
I’m guessing Jord is a badass motherfucker…
probably an asshole. This body is definitely giving me asshole vibes.
“You’re right. Food later.” I shove Chipper aside and make a line for my heckler who is not an alpha and is backpedaling into the rest of the bottleneck.
Watching the crowd scramble to get out of my way would be comical if my head wasn’t spinning, worrying what the fuck might be happening to Esme right now. My body must be in hyper-transition mode because I feel fucking pumped and the hand I wrap around the prick’s throat is like a shovel.
I get my face in his and growl.
He squeaks. The scent of urine hits my nose. I toss him away in disgust before swinging my eyes over the gathered soldiers collectively plastered against the wall of the corridor.
I crack my knuckles for effect.
“There might be a few unallocated,” someone says, thumbing in the direction we just came from. “If you hurry, you might snag one. Looks like you’re close to your limit, man. Better get that dealt with.”
Esme
Weaponizing my omega gift goes against every principle I have.
The memories of what I did under Doctor Tsing’s directive still sicken me.
Yet what room is there for such considerations when you find yourself in an enemy ship and your survival and soul are at risk?
I only need to consider Ashanti and what they did to her for my purpose to sharpen.
I moan lightly and focus my mind on sending out another hint of arousal… laced with heat signals.
The young alpha’s eyes are glued to mine. He swallows thickly. His expression says he doesn’t know whether this is his lucky day or a nightmare because this is way more than he can handle.
My next moan is a little louder. I feel the collective eyes of my fellow prisoners turn my way—the alpha guard takes a step forward, then catches himself and stops. “Please, would you help me?”
“Fuck. We need to report this,” the twitchy guard says.
“No, we don’t,” the alpha says. His eyes have glazed over.
I have vague memories of risk assessments that omegas are supposed to run through mentally in the event of being captured.
What to do, what not to do, and all that.
My mind is totally blank to them. I’m confident applying experimental mind control techniques would be high on the no-go list, but damn it, surrendering to the next bull-necked alpha and his buddy with my ruination on their mind isn’t something I can do willingly, even if it’s lower risk in regard to my survival.
I’m in full fight or flight mode. Whatever training I had has been erased by the terrifying churn.
Please, do not let this end badly for me.
“I just need a little help from you.” I make the request feel personal, like he is the only one who can help me. He is special. My emotional leak is a mixture of uncertainty, desperation, and adoration for him.
“I need to get her out of here,” the alpha says slowly, his voice rough, breathing turning ragged.
“You’re not fucking authorized,” the other guard says. “Have you even been with an omega yet?”
“I don’t give a damn,” my alpha says with a snarl. “She needs help. Everyone who wanted an omega has already been.”
Only he’s still uncertain, and he doesn’t yet open the door.
I need him to open the damn door, to take me away from here to somewhere away from others where I can persuade him to release me from these restraints.
To get him to tell me information… like how to escape.
If I can only get him alone, I can bend him to my will.
His face, his scent, the protective emotions I feel stirring within him, all tell me I have him hooked, at least the start of it, enough to work with.
It’s better than the alternative.
What I’m doing is dangerous, but better this alpha than one of the others. The ones I’ve seen so far have been hardened, twisted, and corrupted by their version of the virus and their culture.
I pump out more arousal into the room. His fingers close over the bars, and he grips. “Open the fucking door. Right now.”
His scent slams into me. I have to steady myself to stay the course.
Think submissive.
Think need for him and only him.
The twitchy guard suddenly slams his hand to the communication plate on the wall. “We need security in prisoner holding pen 15C. Now!”
It shatters the moment and the hold I have on the alpha. He turns toward the guards with murder in his eyes. “Why did you do that?”
I shut down everything.
The two guards step back, cautious.
One puts his hand on his weapon like he might use it on the alpha.
The other stands to the side, arms wide. “Calm down, both of you.”
But they don’t, and my alpha target, whom I thought was weak and malleable, takes the guard who put the call through by the throat and slams him against the bars.
What the fuck have I just done?
Zeb
I exit the canteen area. And then follow the direction the soldier indicated.
The truth? I don’t have a fucking clue where I’m going.
I’ve been on my share of their ships, but this one looks like a new design, and none of what I’ve seen so far is familiar.
The only parts I memorized for the mission was how to get to Jenda and how to get the fuck off again.
I need to get to a control panel somewhere.
Had to ditch my previous ID when I left the ship.
Given that man killed the head of their viral program, keeping it was way too much of a risk.
But I don’t have Jord’s, and I doubt if I did have Jord’s it would fucking help me.
Also, it’s not as if their own people should need a ship plan.
Any other operation, and I’d be ice cool under any level of pressure. But it feels different because Esme is somewhere here, and the images churning through my mind, coupled with this freak I’ve cloned, are making me feral.
Nope, the feral is all me.
I head back along the corridor the way I just came. At the end is a T-junction. To the right is the hull where we were stuffed during takeoff. I don’t remember anything down there—no other exits.
Left it is… where I meet up with two armed guards wearing exoskeletons.
I tower over them by a good head and shoulders. They eyeball me nervously, adjusting their weapons in readiness and move as one to block my path.
“Where are you going?” the one on the left says. “We’ve had a breach. You know the ship is on lockdown. No movement without authorization.”
I must have missed that communication. Also, the reason you’re on lockdown is me…
“Omega section.” I consider banging their heads together.
But the ship is already on high alert, and I don’t have an exit plan.
There’s a camera in the corner above the door—automated surveillance.
But the alarms are going to be blaring if I take two guards down in a blaze of violence.
“Jord, you know what happened last time they let you have an omega?”
Fuck. Does everybody on this damn ship know me? How did I manage to pick a fucking infamous alpha?
Also, what the fuck did I do to an omega?! Correction, what did this asshole do to an omega?
“Let me through,” I say flatly. This is taking too long. I need to get past them, to get to her before some other fucker does. If anyone has touched her, I’m going to rip them the fuck apart.
“Look, man, it’s not my call,” the one on the right says. “But you went into full divergence. You were glitching bigtime, man. That omega was out of commission for two weeks after you were done with her.”
Divergence? Glitching? Fuck, that’s when their alpha’s lose their shit. I’m glad the bastard’s dead.
I growl, low and full of violent promise.
“Don’t make me zap your ass,” the one on the left says.
“You think an immobilizer rod is going to stop me?”
Their radio crackles, and a voice screams loud enough for me to hear from a pace away. “Divergence! We need security in prisoner holding pen 15C. Now!”
Motherfucker! “Let me, though, now,” I grit out. “They put me through… rehabilitation.”
Do they even have rehabilitation? It sounds plausible…
“They did?” the one on the right asks. He sounds doubtful, so I’m guessing not.
This is taking too fucking long…