7. Hailey
Chapter 7
Hailey
I wake to the taste of copper and the smell of antiseptic burning my nose.
My head pounds—a slow, nauseating throb that pulses behind my eyes in time with my heartbeat. The surface beneath me is cold. Metal. A table, not a bed. Straps bite into my wrists, my ankles, my waist. Even my forehead is secured, a thick band keeping me from turning my head.
Panic claws up my throat, but I force it down. It won’t help. It never has.
Where am I ?
The last thing I remember is the beta with peppermint breath—the Prepper—his hands clinical and cruel as he stripped me. “Widow wants you prepped,” he’d said, voice flat as he catalogued every inch of my body. The humiliating examination. The ice-cold shower they blasted me with, the rough scrubbing that left my skin raw. The injection that made my limbs go slack while my mind stayed horribly, completely aware.
Now I’m…somewhere else. The light filtering through a high window is pale morning sun, not the harsh fluorescents of the facility where they’d first taken me. This room is different too—sleeker, more modern. Less like a prison and more like a high-end medical suite, all chrome and glass.
More dangerous, somehow.
I strain against the restraints, testing their give. Nothing. They’re padded where they touch my skin. Not for comfort, I know, but to prevent marks. Merchandise can’t be damaged where clothes can’t hide it. That was always Widow’s first rule.
A door slides open somewhere behind my head. Footsteps approach. Someone wearing heels. My heart rate spikes, the monitor beside me betraying my fear with a quickened beep.
“Well, well. Look who finally decided to join us.”
That voice. Smooth as honey, cold as ice. Veyra Heath steps into my field of vision, immaculate in a tailored ivory suit, not a hair out of place. My heart lurches at the sight of her, reminding me of all those times I’d heard that exact same voice, and had no face to put to it. That’s not the case now. They didn’t put a blindfold on me. Guess it’s not necessary anymore.
She studies me with the detached interest of a scientist examining a lab specimen.
“Do you know what time it is, little pig? Nearly ten in the morning. You’ve been unconscious for nine hours.” She sighs, checking something on the tablet in her hand. “The sedative was meant to wear off hours ago. Always so difficult, even down to your biology.”
I try to speak, but my mouth is dust-dry, my tongue sticking to the roof. Veyra notices and holds a straw to my lips. Despite everything, I drink greedily. The water is cool, slightly sweet. Probably laced with something, but I’m too thirsty to care.
My gaze slides back to her, all my fear and hatred for this bitch wrapped up in one.
She catches the look in my eyes, and a soft laugh snorts through her nose. “Brave, aren’t you?”
I don’t know what she means. I only know that I want my hands free so I can claw that disgusting smile off her face.
“Do you think your alphas are coming for you?” she asks when I finish, setting the cup aside. Her tone is conversational, as if we’re catching up over coffee. “Your…pack, I believe you call them?”
I say nothing, but my traitor heart beats faster, the monitor’s beeping increasing slightly.
Veyra’s smile is thin. “I thought as much. How sweet.” She sets the tablet down on a nearby tray and perches on the edge of my table, her weight causing it to shift slightly. “They’re not, of course. Coming for you.”
“You don’t know them,” I manage to say, the words scraping my throat.
Her laugh is musical, genuine amusement lighting her eyes. “Oh, you fat pig. I know them better than you do.” She leans closer, her scent—jasmine and something distasteful—suffocating me. “I know exactly what they are. What they want. Why they kept you.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches. “You don’t know anything about my pack.”
“ Your pack?” Veyra’s eyebrows lift, her smile widening. “My dear, you were never part of any pack. You were a project. A charity case.” She straightens, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle from her suit. The smile on her face bleeds away under her skin as if it was never there. “Do you have any idea how much money you’ve cost me? How much trouble ? The client who wanted you was willing to pay seven figures. Seven . And you ran.”
I bare my teeth. “Go choke on a knot.”
Her eyebrow arches. Then she laughs, bright and delighted. “Oh, you’ve gotten feisty.” Her fingers trail along the edge of the table, nails painted the same glossy black as her shoes. “Did they make you believe you were pack? That you mattered?”
I don’t answer. My pulse hammers in my throat, but I won’t give her the satisfaction.
Veyra blinks, watching me. “You’ve changed. Grown a spine since you left us.” She taps a manicured finger against her lips. For a moment, she simply watches me. The fact makes my skin crawl.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, suddenly tired of the games. “Why bring me here instead of just killing me?”
“Kill you?” Veyra looks genuinely shocked. “Why would I destroy such a valuable asset? No, no. You’re going back into the program. After some… reconditioning, of course.”
The words send ice down my spine, but I refuse to show it. I’ve been through her “reconditioning” before. I survived. I’ll survive again.
“It won’t work,” I tell her, meeting her gaze directly. “Not anymore.”
“Because of your alphas?” She makes a dismissive sound. “Please. Ren Ironwood is damaged goods—a rebellious heir who thinks he can play hero. Stone Ironwood is all muscle and no finesse. And Jax Ironwood? In way over his head. His business is failing, and so is his pack.” She leans closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “They never wanted you, Hailey. They only wanted to spite me.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. “You think this is about you? That they even knew who you were before the gala?”
Something flickers in her eyes—doubt? Surprise? But it’s gone before I can be sure.
“It doesn’t matter what they knew,” she says, recovering smoothly. “What matters is what happens now. To them. To you.”
She picks up the tablet again, tapping the screen. A wall-mounted monitor I hadn’t noticed flickers to life, displaying a split-screen image. My breath stops in my throat.
On one side: Finn, pale and still in a hospital bed, monitors beeping steadily around him. Stone sits beside him, head bowed, shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
On the other: Ren, bound to a chair, blood dripping from a cut on his temple. His eyes are closed, but the steady rise and fall of his chest shows he’s alive. The room he’s in is featureless—concrete walls, a single light overhead.
“Where’s Jax?” My voice shakes, and I hate it. Terror claws its way up my throat. “What have you done to him?”
Veyra’s smile widens. “Worried about them? How touching.” She zooms in on Ren’s face. “He was quite determined to find you, you know. Even after learning you weren’t at the facility. Even after his alpha abandoned him.”
“Liar,” I spit, but doubt creeps in. “Jax would never?—”
“Wouldn’t he? To save the others? To warn them?” She studies my expression. “You know so little about loyalty, little pig. About the calculations people make when faced with impossible choices.”
My mind races. If Jax got away, if he’s warning Stone and Finn right now, then maybe…
“He won’t find them in time,” Veyra says, reading my thoughts with disturbing accuracy. “Not with his injuries.” She taps the screen again, bringing up a new image: Jax stumbling through what looks like a forest, blood soaking his shirt, face contorted in pain.
My heart twists. “You’re going to kill them,” I whisper, the realization settling like lead in my gut.
“Eventually,” Veyra agrees. “But not yet. First, we’ll make them suffer for a bit, since threatening their little business wasn’t enough. For all the trouble they’ve caused, the Ironwoods must be punished.” She stands, walking to a cabinet across the room. “And you’re going to help me decide how.”
When she turns back to me, she’s holding a syringe filled with iridescent blue liquid. The sight of it makes me stiffen, breaths becoming stuttered.
“Let’s play a game,” she says, approaching with measured steps. “Which packmate should we kill first? You pick.”
“Go to hell,” I manage, my voice surprisingly steady despite the fear churning in my gut.
Veyra sighs, as if disappointed by my lack of cooperation. “Always so defiant. That’s why you need extra training, you know. I should have never let you leave on that transport, but Cee…always so impatient.” She holds the syringe up to the light, examining it. “This is the latest version of a drug I’ve been developing. Your labs show you’re in pre-heat. We need you to go into heat now. Cee is very…upset at this horrible delay in your procurement.”
I try to jerk away as she swabs my arm with alcohol, but the restraints hold me fast.
“What it does,” she continues, positioning the needle just above my skin, “is amp up your hormones to the point you won’t remember anything.” Her smile turns cruel. “All you’ll want is some hard cock. All you’ll want is to be knotted. Your delirium will make you forget them.”
“No,” I gasp, real panic surging through me now. “Please?—”
“Please?” Veyra’s eyebrows lift in mock surprise. “Are we begging now? How novel.” She leans closer, her breath warm against my ear. “Let me tell you a secret, little pig. They never really cared for you. Not your parents. Not Pack Ironwood. The only person who has cared about you has been me . I took you in. I fed you. Cared for you. Omegas are tools. Assets. Your only purpose is to serve…and I was helping you achieve that purpose.”
“That’s not true,” I say, clinging to the certainty in my heart. “We’re pack. Family.”
“Family?” Veyra actually laughs, the sound sharp enough to cut. “You’ve been misinformed about your place in the world, piggy wig. But don’t worry—” She slides the needle into my vein with ease. “I’ll fix that.”
The drug burns as it enters my bloodstream, a cold fire that spreads up my arm and into my chest. I grit my teeth against the pain, refusing to give her the satisfaction of hearing me scream.
“It takes a few minutes to fully circulate,” Veyra tells me, discarding the empty syringe. “During that time, you might experience some…discomfort. Hallucinations, perhaps. Your brain fighting the inevitable.”
Already, the edges of my vision are blurring, colors smearing together. The pain intensifies, a vice tightening around my skull.
“While we wait,” Veyra continues, as if we’re having a perfectly normal conversation, “let me explain what happens next. Once the drug takes effect, we’ll run a series of tests to evaluate your responsiveness. Then we’ll begin the reconditioning process. By the time we’re finished, you’ll be exactly what our client wants. Obedient. Compliant. And utterly without memory of your time with those alphas. But most of all, you’ll be ready for Cee.”
I try to focus on her words, to hold on to my anger, but it’s slipping away like water through my fingers. My thoughts are fragmenting, memories blurring.
Finn’s smile. Stone’s laugh. Jax’s gentle hands. Ren’s quiet resolve.
My pack. My family.
They might not come for me, but I can’t lose them. Not like this.
“They’ll come for me,” I say, even though I know it’s not true, each word a struggle as the drug pulls me under. “They’ll tear this place apart. They’ll destroy you.”
Veyra’s smile doesn’t waver. “Such faith. Such devotion.” She places a cool hand on my forehead. “Tell me, little pig. What makes you so certain they’ll risk everything for an omega they’ve known for what? A month? Two? Less?”
Through the growing haze, a memory surfaces. Finn’s arms around me after a nightmare, his voice rumbling in his chest. You’re ours now, sunshine. Nothing changes that.
“Because,” I say, meeting her gaze with what little clarity I have left, “they love me.”
Something flickers in Veyra’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, or uncertainty. For a heartbeat, her composure slips.
Then her expression hardens. The room spins, walls contracting and expanding with each heartbeat. The monitor beside me wails as my pulse races, my body fighting the drug.
“Impressive resistance,” I hear Veyra say, her voice coming from very far away. “Note that for the file.”
Another voice responds—a beta, I think. “Should we administer a second dose?”
“No. Let’s see how this plays out first. Prepare the cognitive assessment.”
Their voices fade as the drug pulls me deeper. I’m drowning in cold fire, my consciousness fracturing into a thousand pieces. Each shard holds a memory:
Finn, Stone, and me gardening, a smear of dark soil on his jaw as he laughs.
Stone purring for me after I had that panic attack.
Jax helping me calm down when my pre-heat flared.
Ren tending to my feet after I chased after him in the forest.
The memories blur, edges softening, colors fading. I fight to hold on to them, to anchor myself in the truth of who I am, who we are together.
But the drug is relentless, scouring my mind like bleach, leaving emptiness and a hot rising need in its wake.
No. No, I won’t let it take them from me.
I focus on one memory, the most recent, the most vivid. The moment before everything went wrong at the gala.
The five of us, standing together. Finn in that gray suit, his smile bright enough to light the room. Stone watchful and proud. Jax relaxed, but alert. Ren, his eyes warm when they met mine.
And me, in that dress, feeling beautiful for the first time in my life. Feeling safe. Feeling home.
Home.
The word echoes through the emptiness, a beacon in the darkness.
Home .
Not a place. People. My people.
The drug claws at the memory, trying to tear it away, but I hold on with everything I have.
“Heart rate still elevated,” a distant voice reports. “Brain activity unusual for this stage of absorption.”
“Increase the dose,” Veyra orders. “We need her compliant for the assessment, and before we deliver her to Cee. There’s not much time.”
Another needle, another burning cold spreading through my veins. The world darkens further, but still I cling to that single memory.
Home. Pack. Mine.
“Cognitive dampening at sixty percent,” the beta reports. “Seventy. Eighty…”
Veyra’s face appears above me, blurry and indistinct. “Can you hear me, little pig?”
I try to speak, but my mouth won’t obey. My body feels distant, disconnected.
“Excellent,” she says, obviously interpreting my silence as submission. “Now, let’s begin. Who are you?”
The question reverberates through the emptiness. Who am I?
A name rises from the void: Hailey .
But Hailey who? Hailey what?
“She’s non-responsive,” the beta notes.
“Try again,” Veyra instructs, leaning closer. “Little pig, who are you? What’s your designation?”
Designation? The word feels wrong. I don’t have a designation. I have…
Hailey Ironwood, a voice whispers from deep within. Omega . Pack .
Pack.
The word cuts through the fog like a knife. Pack. Family. Home.
“Pack,” I manage to whisper, the word slurred but recognizable.
Veyra’s expression darkens. “Increase the dose. She’s still fighting it.”
“Uh…we’re at maximum safe levels,” the beta warns. “Any more could cause permanent damage.”
“I don’t care,” Veyra snaps. “Break her mind if you have to. Just make sure she forgets them.”
Through the haze, I see her reach for another syringe. Panic flares, bright and hot. If she gives me more, I might not be able to hold on. Might lose myself completely.
No . The thought is clear, cutting through the chaos. No, I won’t let her win .
With every ounce of strength I have left, I focus on the restraint on my right wrist. The one that’s been rubbing against my skin, creating a small pool of slickness. Blood or sweat, I’m not sure, but it might be enough.
While Veyra argues with the beta about dosages, I twist my hand, ignoring the pain as the restraint digs deeper. Twist, pull, twist again.
The padding slips. Just a little. Just enough that my hand, now slicked with moisture, might?—
I yank with all my might.
My hand pulls free.
For a suspended moment, no one moves. Veyra’s eyes widen in shock. The beta freezes, mouth half-open.
Then I’m moving, ripping the IV from my arm, clawing at the restraint around my forehead. Alarms blare as monitors register my sudden activity.
“Restrain her!” Veyra shouts, lunging for my free arm.
I swing wildly, my coordination shot from the drugs, but luck or desperation guides my hand. My nails rake across her face, drawing blood.
She reels back with a cry of pain and outrage. I use the moment to tear at the strap across my waist, pulling it loose enough to twist onto my side.
The beta grabs for me, but the drugs have made me slippery. Unpredictable. I kick out with legs only half-freed from their restraints, catching him in the stomach. He doubles over, gasping.
Freedom. I need freedom. Need to get away, to find…
Pack. Home. Mine.
The words pulse with each heartbeat, driving me forward even as my body fights the chemical weight in my veins. I manage to free my legs, to swing them over the side of the table.
The room tilts and spins when I try to stand. I crash to the floor, limbs uncoordinated, vision swimming. The cold tile against my cheek is almost a relief.
“ You stupid, stubborn bitch ,” Veyra snarls, grabbing my hair, yanking my head back. Blood trickles from the scratches on her cheek, ruining her perfect composure. “You think you can escape? There’s nowhere to go. No is one coming to save you.”
Through the drugs and pain, something bubbles up from deep inside me. Something that surprises us both.
Laughter.
“You still don’t get it,” I slur, the words thick on my tongue. “Not running from you. Running…to them.”
Veyra’s grip tightens painfully. “They can’t save you.”
My smile feels wrong on my face, too wide, too feral. Too certain. “Don’t…need saving. We save…each other.”
For a heartbeat, something flickers in her eyes. Then her jaw sets, determination hardening her features. “Enough of this. Sedate her. Maximum dose.”
The beta hesitates. “Alpha Heath, the risk of permanent damage?—”
“Do it,” she snaps, alpha command affecting even the beta. “Now.”
He reaches for a new syringe. My vision blurs, darkness creeping in at the edges. Too many drugs already in my system. Too much weight pulling me down.
But I can’t give up. Can’t let them win. Can’t forget…
Pack. Home. Mine.
The words are fainter now, harder to hold on to. The beta approaches with the syringe, his expression grim but determined.
I close my eyes, gathering what little strength I have left for one last effort. One last defiance.
Finn. Stone. Jax. Ren.
Their names form a prayer, an anchor in the storm of chemicals washing through my brain.
Finn. Stone. Jax. Ren.
The beta’s hand closes around my arm, holding it steady for the injection.
Finn. Stone. Jax. Ren.
Finn…
Stone…
Jax…
Ren…