4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Gabriel
M y nerves are live wires crackling with tension. The compulsion to reach our Omega claws through my entire body. I get out and wrench open the trunk, searching for anything that will get us through that wire fence.
I dig through the jumble of crap until I find the cold, weighty length of a crowbar. Fucking perfect . I pull it free, admiring the hook. It’s not the first time a tool like this has helped us break into places we don’t belong.
Ronan and Jax are ready and silent as we steal through the shadows to the fence. Ronan scans the perimeter, Jax crouches beside me, and together we trace the linked wire for a weakness until we spot a rusted post and sagging mesh at the base.
I wedge the crowbar in, brace my boots against the ground, and put everything I have behind it. The steel groans but gives. Working together, we lever up the edge enough to make a gap.
We check for security cameras before sliding under the wire and crouch-sprinting across the tarmac into the building’s shadows.
Pressed flat against the wall, we catch our breath and listen for footsteps, alarms, anything that may have alerted them to our presence.
Heart pounding, I grip the crowbar and follow my brothers as we wait for the camera to swing past, then move to a darkened window.
I jam the crowbar into the sill and lean my weight against it. The wood groans and splinters fly. The hinge snaps with a crack and the frame shudders, swinging wide enough to slip through.
Thank fuck for all the training. Every step and breath feels like muscle memory.
Inside, we freeze. We’re in a trashed science lab.
Counter-tops ringed with broken glass, metal stools kicked aside, computers busted open and scorched, cabinets gaping, their contents spilling everywhere.
The air reeks of sweat and burned circuitry, still warm.
Papers smeared with strange stains litter the desks alongside empty syringes and bloody gloves.
Somebody cleaned house.
They did it fast and recently.
At Ronan’s signal, we move to the door. Every sense is stretched tight. My pulse thunders as the urge to find our Omega drowns out everything else.
The corridor blazes with harsh fluorescent light. The air is thick with terrified Omega scents so strong they’ve soaked into the walls.
We move in a silent line down the corridor, glancing into each room. Metal cots are bolted to the floor. Mattresses are as thin as cardboard. Dirty blankets lie in crumpled heaps.
Omegas have bled in here.
Nothing but holding pens for suffering .
I share a glance with Ronan and Jax. The ache in our chests isn’t just for Leah anymore.
We reach another room and I can’t take another step. Leah’s essence pours out, wilted rosewater soaked through with misery. It scorches the inside of my throat, so strong I have to close my eyes. Yet I force them open. Force myself to see the space where my Omega has survived.
The cell is barren. Nothing more than a metal cot, a bucket in the corner, an overturned tin dish. Rust stains the corners of the space black. No hint of dignity.
Leah’s been caged here too long.
Kept, not cared for. Stripped of everything human. Our pack bond burns with untamed rage and grief, the weight of what happened in these rooms crushing down.
I know what Leah went through at Haven. Adrian briefed us before he hired us to guard Mira. He laid it out cold and clinical. I think it was the only way he could tell us without being overwhelmed.
I've seen sick shit in war. But this is worse.
It’s not chaos or desperation. This is a deliberate destruction of a person, piece by piece, until nothing’s left but a hollow shell.
I grip the crowbar so hard my knuckles whiten, fighting the urge to smash through every wall and drag whoever did this into the daylight. I rein in my rage. I can’t let anything break my focus. Not even me.
The quiet click of a door opening further into the building jolts us. Instinct takes over. We move as one, slipping out of the empty room, soft on our feet, hugging the dead space along the corridor’s edge. At the junction, we freeze, pressed tight against the wall as I peer around the corner.
A tall, blond Alpha in a white lab coat disappears behind a door. Our muscles tense to follow, adrenaline climbing, eyes on the slow blink of the green light in the lock but then a faint whimper floats from a side hall.
Her fresh, vivid scent crashes over me, thick with terror, strangling the air in my throat .
Every instinct screams to find her. Ronan signals and we slide toward her. My lungs are filled with her sweetness drenched in pure distress. Her terror clings to my lips. I swallow it down until it burns in my chest.
The urge to break the world apart almost wrecks my control, but I force myself to breathe. We’ve learned to move smart, keep our heads. It’s what separates survival from death, what’s kept us alive through raids and trenches and contracts nobody else would touch.
Our Omega needs me sharp. Not reckless.
We reach a cracked door where her scent pours out.
We press against the wall, and I draw in a deep inhale to detect who is in that room apart from our Omega.
Five males tainted with that chemical stench, plus a female, but twisted.
Not Alpha, Beta, or Omega. It prickles in my nose, makes every nerve crawl.
Ronan’s nostrils flare. He holds up his fist and then five fingers, makes a fist, then holds up one finger. Five males and one female. I nod confirmation.
Hardwick’s voice slices through the quiet, agitated and unraveling.
Leah whimpers, the sound bleeding and broken.
Then the scent of my Omega in heat hits. Tainted. Desperation twists through the sweetness. Arousal sharpened by misery and panic.
My body instantly responds. Dick hard, throbbing against my zipper.
Balls tight, aching to spill. Canines throbbing, bonding venom flooding my mouth.
Every instinct clamors to claim her, protect her, tear anyone else apart.
My hands shake with that primal urge that turns every Alpha into a weapon and a refuge.
I cling to control, a breath away from snapping.
When Ronan gives the signal my heart slams down and I’m moving. Adrenaline lights up every nerve in my body as he boots open the door, slamming it into concrete. The room erupts with noise and chaos as we storm inside.
I nearly stagger to a stop. Leah’s strapped to a stark metal gurney, sweat slicking her brow.
Her skin is shock-white, lips cracked, eyes fever-bright and wandering, hollowed out by despair and drugs.
She looks impossibly small, wrists purple against the restraints, every bone sharp under her skin. And still. So fucking still.
A line runs from her arm to bags of her blood on a metal table .
They’re bleeding her dry.
Ronan’s growl cracks the air, low and lethal. Jax reaches for the nearest guard.
Hardwick’s head snaps up. "Stop them!"
I detonate.
Rage consumes me, incandescent, scorching everything in its path. I don’t remember crossing the room, only that I’m swinging the crowbar, lashing with fists and boots, my pack at my back.
The guards hit harder than expected, but we keep fighting. One blocks me, his fist driving into my gut, another slams into Jax, trying to pin him against the wall. We keep swinging, using elbows, knees, teeth. I don’t care what damage I do to myself. I need to get to my mate.
Hardwick darts to the side, clutches the filled blood bags, and scuttles around the room with her back to the wall, using the chaos as cover before she slips through the door.
"Gabriel!" Ronan roars as he drives his fist into a guard’s face. "Go after her!"
I pivot, but pain explodes at my temple, and the world tilts out of focus. I drop, vision smeared with blood, then wobble back to my feet.
A shrill alarm blares. Red lights strobe along the ceiling. The guards scatter, shoving past us as a hiss fills the room. A cold white mist pours down from a grate in the ceiling and curls down toward us. I inhale some, and it immediately tickles my lungs and makes my head woozy.
"Get her out!" Ronan yells, already dashing to the tiny, too-still form on the gurney.
We tear at Leah’s restraints, panic thrumming in our veins. Jax rips the IV from her arm and slaps a bandage over the puncture. I slide my arms beneath her, lifting her gently from the gurney.
Gods, she’s burning up.
Not just hot, scalding, And light. Too light. I can’t believe she’s real.
A flicker of panic flashes through me. What if we’re too late? What if this heat, this torture, has already broken her beyond healing ?
She’s slick with sweat, barely conscious. I clutch her tighter, anchoring myself with the fragile weight against my chest, I yank my shirt collar over my mouth, Ronan snatches a hygiene mask from the supply tray and fits it over her face as the mist thickens.
"Move, now!" Ronan shouts, voice hard and urgent, muffled by his shirt.
We stagger into the hall, red lights strobing. The gas pours from more ceiling vents, burning my throat, biting at my eyes. My gut turns over, nausea crawling up like a live thing. This isn’t a warning.
It’s a purge.
The guards have vanished. We run half-blind, through the twisted corridors, past the empty rooms of horror. The place echoes with alarms and chemical hiss. I can’t tell if it’s my head spinning or the red lights flickering that make the hallway bend.
We finally stagger into the ruined lab we broke through on the way in. Jax heaves the window frame up, letting in desperately needed cold, clean air. I pass Leah to Ronan, haul myself through the opening, lungs burning with every breath and land rough on the tarmac outside.
Ronan maneuvers her carefully back to me. She’s weightless, her skin feverish through my shirt. Jax tumbles out next, boots scraping concrete, and Ronan’s already through behind him. We're all coughing, lungs raw and throats shredded, but there's no time to stop and catch our breath.
"Move! Get back to the car. Go!" Ronan’s voice is thick and hoarse.
We stagger across the lot, not even pretending to care about the security cameras tracking us. Jax widens the gap in the fence and we squeeze through. Ronan takes the lead, drawing us like a lifeline toward the stolen sedan.
Jax yanks open the back door, and I slide inside with our Omega cradled tight against me, her head lolling against my chest. There’s blood and grit everywhere.
Our Omega is so small, shaking so hard my muscles ache just to keep her together.
I keep counting her breaths, terrified that if I stop, she’ll slip away.
My hands won’t steady. I can’t speak. Nothing matters but holding on, making sure she stays real and alive, right here, right now.
Everything outside is noise. All I have is this, her pulse weak under my fingers, and a prayer in my teeth that we’re not too damn late.
Jax piles in beside me, one arm stretched to steady us both. Ronan hits the driver’s seat, hotwires the engine and floors it. Wheels spin, rubber shrieks and we rocket into dark, deserted streets.
We don't look back. We keep driving. Just us and the night.
The only thing that matters is filling my lap with too-light breaths. Finally out of hell, but are we too late to save her from death?