9. Ren
Chapter 9
Ren
C oncrete. Blood. Darkness.
My world has narrowed to these three constants. The unforgiving concrete beneath me, cold and slick with my own blood. The darkness that comes and goes as consciousness slips and wanes.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Hours? Days? The windowless room offers no clues, no passage of time except for when they come to add new bruises to my collection.
My body is a roadmap of pain. Ribs cracked where a boot connected too many times to count. Right eye swollen shut. Something torn in my shoulder when they wrenched my arms behind my back.
But none of it matters.
I’m still breathing. Still thinking. Still waiting.
And that’s what they don’t understand about me. I’m not just surviving—I’m waiting for them to slip up.
Because there’s one thing I know about people in this business, in this world my parents were involved in that I’ve been dismantling piece by bloody piece: their ego is their weakness.
They won’t be satisfied with keeping me in this hole. They didn’t bring me here just to beat me and leave me to rot. Not after I found one of their holding facilities. Not after I’ve been a thorn in their side for years.
No, they’ll want to gloat. They’ll want me to know I’ve lost.
And that’s when I’ll find my opening.
The door scrapes open, flooding the room with painful light. Three figures step inside, silhouettes against the brightness. Not betas this time—alphas. I can smell it on them, even through the blood clogging my nostrils. Their scents are muted, but there’s no mistaking the sharp tang of alpha pheromones.
“Still conscious?” one of them asks, voice distorted through the mask he’s wearing. “Tough son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
I say nothing. Talking is a waste of energy.
The second alpha circles me like a shark, boots echoing on concrete. “Doesn’t look so scary now, does he? The great Ren Ironwood. Rich prick who thinks he can do anything he wants.” He nudges my side with his foot, right where I’m most bruised. I don’t give him the satisfaction of a flinch.
“He’s scrawnier than I expected,” the third one says. “Thought he’d be built like his father.”
“You know what they say,” the first alpha replies, crouching in front of me. His mask is plain black, featureless except for eye holes that reveal nothing but shadow. “Disappointment runs in the family.”
I let my lip curl slightly. Such amateur psychological warfare. I’ve endured worse from my actual family.
“Nothing to say?” The other alpha sounds almost disappointed. “After all the trouble you’ve caused, I expected more fight.”
“Maybe we beat it out of him,” the third alpha suggests. He sounds pleased with the idea.
The first alpha shakes his head. “No. He’s biding his time.” He leans closer, his breath hot even through the mask. “Aren’t you, Ironwood? Thinking you’ll find a way out. That your pack will come for you.” He laughs, the sound hollow behind the mask. “They’re not coming. Your alpha abandoned you. Your omega is being prepared for her new alpha. And soon, you’ll be nothing but a footnote in a ledger.”
I stare at him, keeping my face blank. But inside, I’m calculating. Three alphas. One door. My hands zip-tied behind my back, ankles bound. Odds: terrible. But if they make a mistake, give me an opening…
The middle alpha sighs, clearly bored with the lack of reaction. “Let’s get on with it. He’s due at the compound in twenty.”
The compound. Information.
“Right,” the first alpha agrees. He pulls something from his pocket—a syringe filled with clear liquid. “Sweet dreams, Ironwood. When you wake up, the real fun begins.”
I tense, preparing to fight despite the bindings, but the second alpha is already moving behind me, gripping my hair and yanking my head back to expose my throat. The needle slides in with ease, burning as the liquid spreads under my skin like ice.
The effect is almost immediate. The room tilts, my vision tunneling. I fight against it, desperate to stay conscious, to gather more information, but it’s like swimming against a riptide.
The last thing I hear before darkness claims me is the second alpha’s voice, oddly anticipatory:
“Widow’s going to love this.”
I wake to the feeling of straps cutting into my wrists and ankles. Different from the zip-ties before. Padded leather, secured to what feels like a chair. My head throbs, a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think.
I try to open my eyes, but the right one is still swollen shut. The left cracks open reluctantly, gummy with dried blood. The world is a blur of dim shapes and shadows.
The first thing I register is the light. Soft. Pink-tinged. Nothing like the harsh fluorescents of the concrete room. It bathes everything in a gentle glow, almost… soothing.
If I weren’t strapped to a chair, swollen and bleeding, I might think I was back in Finn’s nest, with its warm lights and gentle shadows.
The second thing I register is the gag. Firm rubber, pressing my tongue down, keeping me from making more than muffled sounds. Why gag me now, after hours of beatings where they seemed disappointed by my silence?
Then it hits me. The scent.
Sweet, potent. Vanilla and honey and something deeper, muskier. Unmistakable.
Omega .
No—not just any omega.
Scent match. Mine .
Hailey .
And she’s in heat. Not the intense, building pre-heat that had begun to perfume our house before the gala. This is different. Even stronger. Almost chemical.
My body responds instantly despite my injuries, blood rushing south with an urgency that’s almost painful. A growl builds in my chest, animal and desperate, muffled by the gag but vibrating through my bones.
Hailey. Hailey is here.
My head snaps up, sending fresh waves of pain shooting through my skull as my eye searches frantically. At first, I see nothing but soft pink light and shadows. Then, as my vision adjusts, shapes emerge.
A room, larger than I expected. And at the center?—
A chair. Simple, metal.
And on it, a figure. Naked. Unmoving.
Hailey.
The sound that rips from me isn’t human. It’s torn from some primal place, a howl of rage and fear and desperate need muffled by the gag. I thrash against my restraints, the chair beneath me scraping forward an inch.
“Ghhhley!” I try to shout, but the gag turns it into an unintelligible groan. I rock my chair again, forcing it forward another few inches with each violent movement, ignoring the pain that shoots through my cracked ribs, my dislocated shoulder.
She doesn’t move. Her head hangs forward, hair obscuring her face. But I can see the rise and fall of her chest. Breathing. Alive.
My chair tips dangerously as I lurch forward again, then rights itself. Closer. I need to get closer.
Ten feet. Eight. Six.
And then—impact. Hard and unyielding. I blink, disoriented, as my chair rebounds slightly. Nothing there. Nothing visible.
I try again, the same result. My head throbs where it connected with… something.
Glass. A transparent barrier.
The realization hits me like another blow. I’m not in the same room as Hailey. I’m in an adjacent space, separated by a wall of reinforced glass. A viewer. A spectator.
I scan my surroundings more carefully now. I’m in a small, concrete room with one glass wall. There’s a door set into it far in the corner behind me. The only visible exit.
My gaze returns to Hailey. She’s utterly still, save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her skin gleams with sweat in the pink light, her body displaying a map of bruises that makes my blood boil with renewed rage.
“Hnggley!” I try again, the name mangled beyond recognition by the gag. I throw myself against the restraints hard enough that something in my wrist gives way with a sickening pop. The pain barely registers.
No response. But—there. A twitch of her fingers. The smallest movement.
Hope flares in my chest, bright and consuming. She’s there. Somewhere inside, she’s still there.
That’s it, sweet girl. Wake up. Come back to me .
Her fingers twitch again, a tremor running through her hand up to her wrist. Her head lifts slightly, then drops again like it’s too heavy to bear.
Fight it, Hailey. Whatever they’ve given you, fight it .
For a moment, I think she’s going to look up. That she’s going to see me. But then the door in the corner of her room opens. Voices filter through what must be hidden speakers in my cell.
“—final phase of conditioning. The drug has completely detached her from any lingering connections she thought she had.” A woman’s voice. Smooth, cultured. Veyra Heath.
“And the heat?” A male voice, deep and polished. “You’re certain it’s stable?”
“Completely. The chemical induction is precisely calibrated. She’ll remain in peak receptivity for approximately one week. More than enough time for bonding.”
My blood runs cold as two figures step into the light. Veyra Heath, immaculate as always in a tailored suit, her dark hair pulled back severely from her face. And behind her?—
The man I’ve been hunting, the shadow behind so many transactions, the one who bought Hailey like she was merchandise.
He steps further into the room, and I finally have a face to put with the code name.
Robert Caldwell. CEO of Burlington Leather. ‘Philanthropist.’ Lone alpha by choice.
‘ Cee’ .
He’s tall, elegant in the same tailored suit he was wearing back at the gala. Silver threads through his dark hair at the temples, lending him a distinguished air. Handsome, in the way that power and money can make any man appear attractive.
His steps falter as he spots me through the glass, his eyes widening with unmistakable shock. “What the hell is he doing here?” His voice rises sharply. “ Have you lost your mind, Heath ?”
Veyra’s lips curve into a smirk as she glances my way. “Relax, Robert. He won’t be leaving here alive.”
“This wasn’t part of the arrangement,” Robert hisses, his composure cracking. “Do you have any idea who his family is? If he disappears?—”
“I told you not to worry,” Heath cuts him off, her tone hardening. “I’ll take care of all the problems. All the loose ends. His family doesn’t care about him. Not after what he did. Or have you forgotten?”
A vein in Caldwell’s neck throbs. “Listen to me you?—”
Veyra raises a hand. “No. You listen to me . This is my operation. You are simply my client. Or…is there somewhere else you can get a steady supply of pliable omegas?”
His gaze shifts away from her. Drops.
“Thought so.”
Robert clears his throat. “What about the rest of his pack?”
Veyra shrugs. “His alpha and the rest of them will be taken care of.”
Jax. Stone. Finn. My stomach twists.
“This is too messy,” Caldwell says, standing stiffly, clearly still disturbed by my presence. “I told you I wanted a clean transaction. Not…this.”
Heath’s mask of professional courtesy drops abruptly. “This is partially your fault, Cee,” she snaps, gesturing sharply. “You’re the one who wanted this omega so badly. You’re the one who wanted the Ironwoods’ first omega, too, and almost caused that asshole’s family to reveal the whole operation when that dick burned all our bridges and killed his own sister in the process.”
The words hit me like poison arrows, each one a revelation more shocking than the last.
Caldwell…Robert Caldwell…was the one who had wanted Finn?
And he’s the reason my family went after Finn? The reason for the “accident” that nearly killed us both?
And my sister…
For a moment, I’m numb. Reality reconfiguring itself around these new truths. I’ve spent years trying to piece together what happened that night, why my family went to such lengths to retrieve Finn. Why they almost killed me to get to him? But maybe it wasn’t them at all. Maybe…maybe it was him. Caldwell.
No. It’s a lie. It has to be. They’re trying to break me, to make me question everything.
But doubt is a poison, and once introduced, it’s hard to excise.
Caldwell’s eyes meet mine through the glass, and I let every ounce of my hatred show in my gaze. He takes a step back, his discomfort obvious.
“I didn’t sign up for this,” he says, turning away. “Find another buyer.”
Heath steps away from where she’s been blocking his view of Hailey. “Are you going to pretend you don’t smell that, Cee?” Her voice drops, becomes almost coaxing. “That potent omega pussy just waiting for you. After all, it’s what you paid for. It’s what I’ve risked my neck for.”
She moves closer to him, her voice hardening. “This fool could have let it all come apart at that gala. I never imagined they would actually take the little pig under their wing, make her pack. Do you know how hard it was to extract her? The resources I had to use? And now you want to walk away ?”
Everything she’s saying makes my blood boil hotter. The casual way she speaks about Hailey, like she’s nothing more than property.
Caldwell hesitates, his gaze drifting to Hailey. I can see the conflict in his expression, the war between caution and desire. And then his eyes drop to his own body, to the visible evidence of his reaction to Hailey’s heat scent.
“Three million,” Heath says. “A considerable drop in our initial agreed-upon price. Or she goes to the next buyer.”
I slam into the glass again, hard enough that the chair legs screech against the floor. It doesn’t even crack. Doesn’t even shudder. Fury chokes me, made all the more potent by my helplessness.
“Make a decision, Cee,” Heath says, impatience threading through her voice. “We don’t have all night.”
Caldwell draws a deep breath, visibly wrestling with himself. Then his expression hardens, something cold and resolute settling over his features.
“Fine,” he says, straightening his suit jacket. “As long as you take care of that…little problem.” He jerks his chin toward me.
Heath’s smile makes me want to shave her lips off with a knife. “Consider it done.”
She steps aside, giving him clear access to Hailey, who hasn’t moved through this entire exchange. What have they given her? How deep is this chemical stupor they’ve forced her into?
Caldwell approaches her slowly, like a man hypnotized. He reaches out, running a finger down her cheek, then lower, to her collarbones. His fat, dirty hand grasps one of her breasts and?—
I throw myself against the restraints again, a roar building in my chest. The leather creaks but holds firm. The glass doesn’t so much as vibrate when I slam the chair against it once more.
Caldwell’s gaze meets mine briefly before skittering away. A flicker of something—shame? Fear?—crosses his features.
“Take him away from here,” he says to Heath, not looking at me again. “I don’t like an audience when I bond with my omegas.”
Heath looks disgusted, rolling her eyes. “Quality control, Caldwell. Ironwood stays.” She moves to Hailey, checking her pulse with medical detachment. “We have to know if the drug worked. If she’s truly free of any pack bonds, she’ll submit without resistance. If not…” She shrugs. “We’ll need to adjust the formula.”
“She’s an experiment to you,” Caldwell realizes, his voice flat.
“Everything is an experiment,” Heath replies. “That’s how progress is made.” She steps back, gesturing to Hailey. “Well? The clock is ticking. She’s fully ready for you to fuck her.”
Caldwell doesn’t look convinced. “Listen, Heath. I like my omegas…responsive. You might not have a knot, so you don’t know, but I’m sure your alpha lock operates the same.”
Heath’s eyes narrow. “What are you trying to say, Caldwell?”
He sighs. Closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “I like to hear them scream when I knot them.”
Heath lets out a breath. “I swear, you will be the death of me.” She gestures at Hailey. “Does it really matter in this case?”
“ I will not fuck an unresponsive omega . Not on the first joining. I want her to look at me as I make her mine.” There’s a glint in his eyes as he says the words, and my stomach churns with fury.
Heath crosses her arms. “Your decision. You can try to rouse her, if you want. But I can’t make any promises.”
Caldwell hesitates again, something almost like reluctance crossing his features. Then he schools his expression and turns his full attention to Hailey.
“Omega,” he calls softly. “Can you hear me?”
To my surprise—and clearly to Heath’s as well—Hailey’s head lifts. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused, but open.
“That’s it,” Caldwell encourages, his voice gentle. “Look at me, omega.”
Hailey’s gaze drifts to his face, her brow furrowing slightly as if trying to place him. Recognition dawns slowly, followed by confusion.
“Who…?” she manages, her voice barely a whisper.
“You will call me Master,” Caldwell says, crouching before her to bring himself to eye level. “I am your alpha.”
Hailey’s confusion deepens. “Alpha…?”
“Yes.” Caldwell’s voice is hypnotic, soothing. “Your alpha. You’re in heat, omega. I’m here to help you.”
I strain against the gag, desperate to shout, to warn her, to break through whatever fog they’ve pushed her into. But all that emerges is a garbled groan.
Hailey’s head turns slightly at the sound, her eyes drifting past Caldwell toward the glass. Toward me. For a moment, I think she sees me—really sees me. A flash of recognition lights her eyes, quickly followed by fear.
“Alpha…” Hailey murmurs again. Her head sags, and Caldwell tilts her chin up so she’s facing him.
“You’re mine now,” he says. “A part of my pack, omega. After I bond with you…” He leans in, arms trembling as he takes in too much of her scent at once. “Fuck, you smell delicious.” He shakes his head as if to clear it. “After I bond with you, I will take you home. You will beg me to knot you like you’ve been trained to. Do you understand me, omega?”
I feel sick.
Hailey doesn’t react, not even when he sticks his tongue out and licks some of the sweat from her jaw, an obscene growl leaving his lips.
I’m going to kill him. And I’m going to kill him slowly.
But then?—
Hailey’s fingers twitch against the chair arm. Once. Twice.
I freeze, tracking the movement. Not random tremors. Deliberate.
Her lips move soundlessly.
Pat…
No.
Pack…
My breath stops dead in my chest.
Caldwell doesn’t notice, too busy groaning against her collarbone. “I’ll have you begging for my knot by sundown, omega. I’ll fill you with my?—”
A bead of sweat rolls down her temple as she strains to form the next word. Her cracked lips are nearly blue with effort.
“Hhh…ome…”
Then, with a final surge of will, her mouth shapes the last word perfectly. A silent cry against Caldwell’s jaw:
“Mine.”
The pieces snap together.
I understand.
Pack. Home. Mine.
Caldwell eases back, wonder in his eyes, even as his pupils remain blown. “Yessss, pretty little thing. I am your pack. You are mine. I ached for you at that gala, seeing you for the first time. It was so very hard to maintain appearances when all I wanted to do was take you away from prying eyes and sheathe myself in you right there.”
Pack. Home. Mine .
My heart cracks. Hailey. Our Hailey…
But as Caldwell releases her and begins talking to Heath, making plans and agreements, Hailey’s head sags, and her gaze meets mine.
Pack. Home. Mine .
Pack. Home. Mine .
She…she wasn’t speaking to the fucker named Caldwell. She was speaking to herself . Speaking about us—the pack that found her, didn’t deserve her, but so desperately want to.
I pour everything I have into my gaze, willing her to feel it, to know it: You are pack. You are home. You are mine. We are yours.
“Fine,” Heath’s voice reaches my ears. “I’ll get a beta to come down with something to help her wake up faster.”
In the next minute or so, the door opens and a beta enters, barely meeting the alphas’ gazes. There’s a needle in his hands. Without a word, he approaches Hailey, jerking in shock when I slam into the glass again.
“Never mind him,” Heath commands. “Do it.”
The plunger depresses. Blue liquid disappears into Hailey’s neck. Her pupils dilate almost instantly, her breath catching.
For a moment, nothing else happens. She continues to stare at me, continues to mouth those same three words.
Then her eyes roll back, her body convulsing violently. The beta releases her, stepping back as she collapses to the floor, limbs thrashing uncontrollably.
“Is this supposed to happen?” Caldwell demands, alarm evident in his voice.
Heath’s brow furrows. “A seizure wasn’t anticipated, but given the dose…”
Hailey’s convulsions intensify, her body arching off the floor at an unnatural angle. Foam appears at the corners of her mouth, tinged pink with blood.
I roar behind the binds, blood welling from fresh wounds as I fight to release myself.
“Do something!” Caldwell snaps.
“There’s nothing to do but wait it out,” Heath replies, though she doesn’t sound entirely certain. “The drug needs to fully circulate.”
I throw myself against the restraints again and again, heedless of the pain, of the blood now flowing freely from my wrists. Hailey is dying before my eyes, and I can do nothing. Nothing .
The convulsions gradually slow, Hailey’s body going limp. For a terrifying moment, I think she’s stopped breathing altogether. Then her chest rises slightly, a shallow, labored inhalation.
“There,” Heath says, satisfaction in her voice. “The worst is over. Now we wait for her to regain consciousness.”
Caldwell doesn’t look convinced. “And if she doesn’t?”
Heath’s smile is cold. “Then you don’t owe me three million.”
I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate Veyra Heath at this moment. Not Father, not any of the alphas who’ve benefited from the omega trade.
The beta kneels beside Hailey, checking her pulse. “Her pulse is rapid but stabilizing,” he reports. “Pupils equal and reactive to light. I think she’ll pull through.”
“Excellent,” Heath says. “Get her back in the chair. She’ll be more comfortable when she wakes.”
As he lifts Hailey’s naked, limp form, I notice something that makes my breath catch. Her eyes are open, just slightly—fluttering, but open. And they’re fixed not on me, but on something near her feet.
The syringe. It rolled under the chair after the beta dropped it when she seized.
Hailey’s fingers twitch, not randomly as before, but with purpose. She’s not as unconscious as she appears.
They set her back in the chair, arranging her limbs like a doll’s. Her head lolls forward, hair obscuring her face, but not before I catch the faintest ghost of an expression—determination.
“Now what?” Caldwell asks. Fucker reaches down and adjusts his puny cock in his pants.
“Now we wait,” Heath tells him. “When she wakes, she’ll be receptive to your scent, your touch. Ready to bond.”
I stare at Hailey, trying to decipher what she’s planning. Her hand hangs limply at her side, inches from where the syringe rolled. Is she…surely she’s not thinking of using it somehow?
“I need a drink,” Caldwell mutters. “This has been more…involved than I anticipated.”
Heath’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “There’s a bar in my office. Seven floors up. We can wait there until she’s ready.”
“And him?” Caldwell jerks his chin toward me. “I still don’t like him being here.”
“He’s serving his purpose,” Heath replies. “His very presence proves the formula’s effectiveness. If she still recognizes him when she wakes, then she isn’t ready.” She steps closer to the glass, studying me with cold curiosity. “Besides, I want him to see his precious omega bond with another alpha. I want him to watch as everything he fought for crumbles.” Her smile widens. “Consider it my parting gift before we send him to join his sister.”
Caldwell’s expression hardens momentarily, something like guilt flashing across his features. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by a carefully cultivated blankness.
“Fine,” he says. “But when I return, I want privacy. No cameras, no observation. Just the omega and me before I take her home.”
“Of course,” Heath agrees smoothly. “You’ll have all the privacy you need.”
They move toward the door, Heath pausing to speak to the beta. “Check in on her momentarily, and no alphas on this floor. Her scent is making even me react.”
The beta nods, and then they’re gone, the door closing behind them with a soft click.
The moment they’re out of sight, Hailey’s hand moves. Not much—just a slight inching toward where the syringe fell.