Chapter 9
NINE
OCEAN
I thought I’d been prepared to see the fights, but I doubted anyone could have prepared for this.
Two snarling alphas, more beast than human, were released into the ring. The scraps of clothes they had on were dirty and torn.
Ruts drove alphas into a hyper-aggressive state. There were two options for riding it out; fighting, or having an omega’s touch to soothe you. There weren’t any omegas down in the Sink.
I couldn’t look away as the screen next to me showed the close-up of a face. His skin was pale, a yellow tint to it that I wasn’t sure if I was imagining. He had deep bags under his wild eyes, and his teeth were yellow and grey.
How long had he been here?
How long had they treated him like an animal?
It had taken Kaos months to speak again after he’d left.
When was the last time these men had spoken? Or were spoken to?
Their bodies were covered in bruises and scratches, some teeth marks scattered in as well, but I knew those would heal. Whatever emotional damage was being done to them cut far deeper.
“So, they’re all amped up on rut rage?” I asked Jag.
Rut rage—rofetamine—was a drug that had only recently made its way to New Oxford. Part of my journey here had involved moving the drug through the city, mostly to other gangs looking to pump up fighters or set an alpha loose on someone.
“Yeah. Real useful. Can make ’em rut on command. Every night if we want to.”
My own memories of rutting were distant and unpleasant. I couldn’t imagine doing that every night.
“They can tolerate it every night?”
Jag barked out a laugh. “Depends what you mean by ‘tolerate.’ Physically, yes. But most of ’em go feral after a week or two.”
I gripped my phone tightly under the table, trying not to react. I could feel the echoes of shock and anger blazing down the bond from my packmates.
“It makes them all feral?”
“Yeh. Lot easier to manage ’em. No more whining, then, eh?”
I swallowed, nodding.
Thank fuck Kaos hadn’t been here when they started using rofetamine. Very few things could bring an alpha back once they’d gone feral, and I couldn’t think of a worse fate.
The alphas went down, the one on top slamming his elbow down on the other’s rib cage.
There was a cracking sound as it connected, and the man underneath twisted, his face contorted in rage and pain.
He bit into his opponent’s arm, causing a spray of blood, but his opponent slammed his elbow down again.
With a roar, the man on top was bucked off with the strength only an alpha’s aura could lend.
The alpha flew through the air, crashing into the side of the cage.
He landed on his hands and knees, shaking his head before charging forward.
One more clash ended with one of the alphas’ heads being slammed into the ground until he was no longer moving. The victor snarled and backed off, leaving bloody footprints as he paced around the cage.
I stared at the downed alpha. He was bleeding from his head, and I couldn’t tell if he was alive.
Let’s just say he was, I decided.