Chapter 17
Seventeen
ANYA
The rag in my mouth tastes like gasoline and sweat, making my stomach turn as I bounce against Bruce’s shoulder with each jolting step.
My head throbs from being upside down for so long, blood rushing to my face, making it feel swollen and hot.
I twist, trying to see where we’re going, but all I can make out is the occasional flash of trees and what looks like a gravel road beneath his boots.
My wrists and ankles burn where the duct tape cuts into my skin.
Bruce tightens his grip on my legs, his fingers digging into the backs of my thighs.
“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he says, his tone almost admiring. “Mr. Keith’s clients are gonna love that.”
My stomach heaves at his words, bile rising in my throat despite the rag. I force it back down, terrified I’ll choke if I vomit with my mouth stuffed like this.
The ground beneath Bruce’s feet suddenly changes from soft dirt to something harder.
I strain to see, craning my neck at an awkward angle.
Cobblestones. We’re on some kind of driveway or walkway now.
The rhythm of his steps changes, becoming shorter and more measured as we approach what must be a house.
“Here we are,” Bruce announces, and a moment later, my feet hits solid ground with enough force to send shock waves up my legs. I would have fallen if not for Bruce’s hand clamped around my upper arm, holding me upright as I sway, dizzy and disoriented.
My head spins as I try to take in my surroundings.
We’re in what looks like a grand foyer, with a vaulted ceiling and marble floors that gleam under the light of an enormous crystal chandelier.
Through an archway, I can see what must be a living room, where several men lounge on leather furniture, drinks in hand.
They’re talking and laughing, their voices echoing in the spacious house.
“Got her!” Bruce calls, his voice booming in the cavernous space.
The conversation in the living room stops abruptly. I watch in horror as one of the men rises from his seat and turns toward us, a familiar smile spreading across his face. Keith.
“Well done, Bruce,” he says, nodding appreciatively. “Carl, get that rag out of her mouth and untie her. Let’s not damage the goods before the clients see her.”
A tall, muscular man with a shaved head and a scar running from his ear to the corner of his mouth steps forward. He pulls a knife from his belt, a serious-looking hunting blade that makes my blood run cold.
I shrink back, but Bruce’s grip on my arm is unbreakable.
“Hold still,” Carl warns, his voice a deep rumble. “Unless you want to lose an ear.”
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as he brings the knife toward my face.
With one quick, practiced motion, he slices through the tape over my mouth and pulls the rag out in one swift movement.
The sudden rush of air makes me gasp, then cough as my throat constricts around the lingering taste of gasoline.
Carl kneels, cutting the tape around my ankles with the same easy precision, then reaches for my wrists. The blade slides between my skin and the tape, the cold metal sending shivers up my arm. One slice, and my hands are free, the blood rushing back into my fingers with a painful tingle.
“You fucking bastard!” I scream the moment I can speak, lunging toward Keith. “Ryker is going to tear you apart when he finds out what you’ve done! He’ll fucking kill you!”
Bruce grabs me before I can take two steps, his arms wrapping around my waist.
Keith watches my struggles with an amused smile, as if I’m putting on a show for his entertainment.
“Ryker?” he repeats, chuckling. “Your precious boyfriend is going to lose his multi-billion dollar resort if he doesn’t release you.
Do you really think he’s going to throw all that away for one omega? ”
My stomach drops at his words.
“He doesn’t care about that,” I say, but even I can hear the uncertainty in my voice.
Keith’s smile widens, sensing my weakness.
“Alphas like Ryker always have a price. And I know exactly what his is.” He steps closer, close enough that I can smell the expensive cologne he’s wearing.
“Tomorrow morning, you’re going to meet a very special pack.
Very wealthy, very powerful. They’ve been waiting for an omega like you for a very long time. ”
“Like hell I am,” I spit, twisting in Bruce’s grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Keith laughs, the sound sending ice through my veins.
“I like the fire in you. It’ll make breaking you in that much more satisfying for your new masters.
” He reaches out, running one finger along my jaw in a gesture that’s almost tender.
“Omegas are precious, you know. So rare, so valuable. The right pack will pay millions for the privilege of claiming you.”
“Get your hands off me,” I snarl, jerking away from his touch.
“If only your Ryker had claimed you properly,” Keith continues, ignoring my outburst. “If he’d marked you, you’d be useless to me.
His scent would be all over you, warning other alphas away.
But he didn’t, did he?” He shakes his head, mock sympathy in his eyes.
“And now you’re mine to sell to the highest bidder. ”
Bitter regret washes over me. If only I’d let them claim me, mark me, whatever the hell that means. If only I hadn’t been so scared, so stubborn.
I would take Ryker’s pack over whatever horrors await me tomorrow.
“Carl,” Keith says, stepping back. “Take her to her room.”
“Bye bye, darling,” says Bruce, releasing me and shoving me toward Carl, who grabs my arm with bruising force.
I try to pull away, digging my heels into the marble floor, but it’s like trying to move a mountain.
Carl simply tightens his grip and starts walking, dragging me along behind him like I weigh nothing.
“This way,” he grunts, heading for a wide staircase.
My legs are still shaky from being carried upside down for so long. At the top, Carl leads me down a long hallway lined with closed doors, stopping at the last one.
He pushes it open, revealing a small bedroom with wooden floors and bare walls. A narrow bed with a plain white coverlet sits in one corner. There’s a small dresser, a mirror on the wall, and a door that probably leads to a bathroom.
I immediately look for a window. No windows here.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Carl says, his voice flat. “Someone will bring you dinner later.”
He shoves me into the room, and I stumble, catching myself against the dresser. By the time I regain my balance, the door has slammed shut. I hear the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock, followed by retreating footsteps.
“No, no, no,” I scream, rushing to the door and pounding my fists against the solid wood. “Let me out! You can’t keep me here!”
I press my ear to the door, listening, but hear nothing. I’m alone.
I turn, scanning the room frantically. There has to be a way out.
The door is my only option. The walls are solid, the floor thick planks of hardwood.
I drop to my knees, peering through the narrow gap at the bottom of the door, hoping to see something, anything that might help me escape. Nothing but darkness.
The bathroom is a tiny space with a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall. No window there either.
I turn on the sink, splashing cold water on my face, trying to calm my racing heart. In the mirror, my reflection stares back at me, pale and wild-eyed, a red mark blooming on my cheek where Bruce hit me. My hair is a tangled mess, my clothes rumpled and dirty from the forest floor.
My backpack is still strapped to my shoulders. I slip it off, dropping it on the bed as I continue my desperate search for escape. I run my hands along the walls, looking for loose panels or hidden doors, but find nothing.
The room is a prison.
Sinking onto the edge of the bed, I put my head in my hands, fighting back tears. I’ve been kidnapped. I’m being sold. Tomorrow, I’ll meet whatever pack Keith has arranged for me, and then... I don’t want to think about what happens then.
I reach for my backpack, pulling out my phone. Maybe I can get it to work, call for help. But the screen stays stubbornly black, no matter how many times I press the power button. It’s completely dead, waterlogged from my fall in the marina. I toss it aside with a frustrated groan.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since dinner with the alphas. How long ago was that? It feels like days, but it couldn’t have been more than a few hours. Time has lost all meaning in this nightmare.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, I’m jolting awake on the bed, my neck stiff, my mouth dry. I have no idea how long I’ve been out. It could be minutes or hours. Without windows, there’s no way to tell if it’s day or night.
I push myself to my feet, wincing as my muscles protest. My stomach growls again, more insistently this time. Has anyone brought food? I scan the room, but see no evidence of a meal. Maybe they’ve decided to starve me.
The room feels smaller than before, the walls pressing in. My breath comes faster, my chest tightening as panic rises. I’m trapped. There’s no way out. No one knows where I am. No one is coming to save me.
“Stop it,” I tell myself firmly. “Panicking won’t help. Think.”
I stumble to the bathroom, splashing more water on my face. The cold helps clear my head, pushing back the edges of the panic attack. I can do this. I will find a way out.
Back in the bedroom, I try the door again, though I know it’s locked. The handle turns slightly—not enough to open, but enough to give me hope. If I could just get the lock to release…
I untuck a bobby pin from my hair and kneel in front of the door, inserting it into the lock. My fingers are clumsy, the tiny metal piece slippery with sweat.
“Come on,” I mutter, jiggling the pin, feeling for the sweet spot. “Just a little more...”
The door flies open suddenly, catching me by surprise. I crash backward, landing hard on my ass, the bobby pin still clutched in my hand. I look up, ready to see Carl or Bruce or even Keith himself, ready to fight or run or beg if I have to.
But it’s none of them. The woman standing in the doorway is someone I never expected to see again. Someone whose face has haunted my dreams for years.
“Mom?” I whisper, my throat tightening with shock.
She stands framed in the doorway, her face a mirror of my shock. Her blond hair is longer than I remember, pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She’s thinner, her cheekbones sharper, but there’s no mistaking those violet eyes. Eyes like mine.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, her hand flying to her mouth. “Anya?”