Chapter 36 Lucy
LUCY
I blinked awake, feeling the hard wall against my back and the strange, smothering grip of the suit. Why did it feel like it had contracted around me as I slept? A second skin, but not my own. This one was made for a person two sizes too small, given to me by mistake.
I took a deep breath, inhaling through my nose and slowly exhaling through my mouth.
I hoped the calming exercise would chase away the illusion that the protective gear had shrunk, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.
My chest felt increasingly weighted. My heartbeat sluggish. Maybe if I got up, I’d feel better.
At first, I didn’t move. I felt out of sync, like I needed time for my brain and body to get along again. Then I stretched, shoulders protesting as I lifted my arms and wiggled my gloved fingers. I hadn’t gotten as strong as I believed back at Eros. My body still had a lot of healing to do.
Rarely used muscles in my arms and legs hurt today, probably from dragging the stupid mattress.
But I hadn’t felt safe in the center of the room, so naked and exposed.
With my back to the wall facing the door, I’d gotten some sense of false security.
Rationally, I knew that any one of the Alphas could stride through the door, do whatever they wanted, and I’d be powerless to stop them.
Yet, sometimes, the illusion of protection was enough to survive.
And I had survived, for one night at least.
Shifting to my knees, I slowly crawled off the bed.
My palms slapped, one after another, against the hardwoods.
My knees followed suit with muffled thuds.
After a pause to catch my breath, I pushed myself up from the cold floor.
Every part of me protested as I shifted my weight.
Why did life keep reminding me that even the smallest victories—like moving a stupid mattress—came with a price?
The house beyond the room was incredibly quiet, and the stillness felt eerie.
The stench of gasoline had faded enough I could no longer detect it through the suit’s filtration.
It probably still lingered in the air, just not as potent as before.
I moved towards the window, crossing my arms and wishing I could touch my own skin.
The paralyzed house, without even the hum of heat blowing through vents right now, reminded me too much of lonely hours spent in hospitals.
Though, then, I’d had the beep and whirr of IV pumps to keep me company.
I’d had a button to press when I needed help.
I had parents who visited me sometimes… until they didn’t anymore.
This room was a nothing room. A void. Isolation that pushed Brightfield out of first place. Was this what people meant when they said, “what if the cure is worse than the sickness?”
Standing in front of the window, I studied the compound outside. Glass between me and the world again. Some things never change.
The property was large, cut off from Vegas by a tall fence topped with razor wire.
Evidence of DemonX existed everywhere I looked.
A line of motorcycles. A target, riddled with puncture wounds.
A half-covered muscle car, its exposed red paint glittering under the dawn light.
Where did I belong in this high-octane world? How did I fit?
The quick answers were nowhere, and I don’t.
The slow rebellious answers, still holding onto a sliver of hope, were somewhere, and I’ll figure it out.
The uncomfortable hush lingered for an interminable time, long enough that I thought maybe time wasn’t moving at all. Then I finally heard the house wake up.
It didn’t stir to life slowly.
This home thundered awake without warning.
A bang. A slam. A shout.
Alpha voices layered over one another, creating a jarring song.
I moved from the window, crossing the distance to the door. Pressing my helmet against the thick wood, I strained to hear. But I couldn’t make out more than one or two muffled words.
“Stupid helmet,” I muttered. Yesterday it had let the reek of gasoline inside, but now it didn’t seem to want a single word to slip past.
I looked down at the indicator light. Still red, still warning. But… I’d already taken the helmet off once. Would twice really make a difference?
Before I could decide, the voices grew closer and louder. Probably by design, their words became crystal clear.
“Have you ever seen anyone so goddamn pitiful?” one of them snarled, and I flinched.
“Sure. Remember the time Fallon was in a full body cast?” The second voice rang out playfully, casual cruelty lacing each syllable.
“Bring that incident up one more time, brother, and I’ll put you in a full body cast.” These words were nearly growled. That had to be Fallon.
I gritted my teeth, helpless to stop the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. Did they not understand how harsh their words could cut? A suffocating anger rose inside of me, a mix of humiliation and rage.
I couldn’t take this. My fingers moved to the helmet clasps, urgency gripping me as I teetered on the edge of temptation.
Maybe just a quick release; just to breathe properly.
No, I thought fiercely, Leave it on. What if taking it off early makes the acclimation longer?
You need to get stronger so you can make these men really see you.
I dropped my hands, balling them into fists.
"Do you think she's even still alive in there?" The voice was curious, compassion absent.
"I bet her little bubble popped. Probably suffocated while we were sleeping.” The speaker sounded like he couldn’t care less. My death would be, at most, an inconvenience.
“Think that voids the contract? I’ll be fucking pissed if that happens.” The words held no hint of potential sadness, only worry that I might ruin their Eros deal.
“Damn, imagine if she rots in that suit. Can you imagine the smell? Sealed up like that, marinating in her own juices.” All I heard was pure disgust.
“Porta-john in a heat wave.” The obvious amusement stung.
One of them released a sinister laugh.
The pendant around my neck seemed to grow heavier as their voices continued; the silver heart pressing against my skin created a permanent divot.
A million years of isolation. A lifetime of fighting to survive. Endless days spent watching the world through windows and barriers while others lived without constraints. Hadn't I suffered enough?
"Maybe we should check on her.” This voice sounded unsure. It caused a crack in the orchestrated cruelty. “If she actually croaked in there, Eros would have our asses."
"Concerned about our little medical curiosity, Kane?" One of them taunted. "Getting soft on us?"
"Fuck off. I’m just being practical. Dead Omega means legal complications.” Kane, who hadn’t been genuinely worried for me after all.
Something snapped inside me. Before I could reconsider, my gloved fist connected with the formidable door between us, the impact reverberating up my arm painfully.
I struck again, harder this time, ignoring the way my arm screamed for mercy.
Slam.
Slam.
Slam.
Again. And again. Each impact fractionally lifted my inner aching.
My breath came in ragged gasps, fogging the inside of my helmet. Lightning bolts of agony radiated from my shoulders. But the physical discomfort was almost welcome. It was real, a sensation I’d chosen for myself.
When my arms finally grew too heavy to continue, I turned and pressed my back against the door, sliding down until I sat on the floor. I closed my eyes, still sucking in erratic gulps of air. After I’d calmed down, I realized the house on the other side of the door had gone silent.
I smiled weakly.
I sat for what felt like an eternity, the words they’d said echoing in my mind.
I had no way of telling time, save for the way the light changed as the sun moved higher in the sky.
Was it ten now? Or twelve? My stomach grumbled and my bladder ached for release.
Trying to ignore my bodily needs, I tilted my head and stared up at the ceiling.
Blank white. No texture. Zero cracks. Nothing to keep my attention.
After assaulting the door, I hadn’t heard a lot of activity outside the room. Had they left?
After sitting so long, my body was beyond stiff. I had to baby it to life, one small movement after another, to successfully stand up. I waited, making sure there was no movement in the house, then I gripped the knob and twisted. Pulling the door a few inches inward, I peeked outside.
“Hello?” I spoke hesitantly, afraid to pitch my voice higher than a whisper. “I need to pee.”
My guts clenched, waiting for one of them to appear and anticipating a vicious response.
I hated feeling timid. Hated it. Even when I was a kid, I’d faced being sick head on as soon as I understood what was happening to me. I didn’t hide. Any time there was bad news, I wouldn’t let doctors hide the truth from me. Living in lies wasn’t real. And I wanted, oh-so-desperately, to be real.
The fact was that I couldn’t ever be real if I let these Alphas dictate everything about my existence, including when and where I could relieve myself.
“Is anyone here?” I asked, a little louder this time. Not a shout though. I didn’t have the nerve for that yet.
Still, nothing stirred. No answering voice.
No approaching footsteps. No ghoulish performance meant to scare me.
They really weren’t here. Relief fluttered in my chest, and I opened the door fully.
Each step I took felt like reclaiming freedom.
About six feet from the room, I stopped. Where was the stupid bathroom?
While I stood there, looking from side to side and wondering where to go, I worried the men would come back before I could pee. The moment I picked a direction; two figures rounded the corner. They moved soundlessly. Nitro and Asher. Crap.
“Now, now. Who said you could leave your room?” Nitro drawled, twirling a throwing knife around his index finger.
I tried to speak, but my mouth wouldn’t move.
“Cat got your tongue?” He pressed, moving closer. His hand lifted close to my face, the blade still spinning. “If not, I could do the honors?”
Eyes going wide, I stumbled back.
“Boring, brother.” Asher chimed in, his gaze flicking up and down my form. “You think that suit’s flame retardant?”
“Interesting idea,” Nitro nodded slowly, lowering the knife. “Is it, Lucy?”
His piercing blue eyes collided with mine.
“I… I… I don’t… know,” I stammered. Dammit. I wanted to hold my ground! I wanted to show them they couldn’t bully me!
“Easy enough to answer that question,” Asher closed in, coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Nitro.
They wanted to set me on fire. On fire! Assholes!
I didn’t look away from them. I gritted my teeth and pushed out four words. “I. Need. To. Pee.”
Did I look tough? Or did I look pathetic to them?
The Alphas stared at me in stunned silence for a split second, then—as if orchestrated—they broke into identical grins. A shiver ran through me. Only yesterday, I’d been intrigued by the idea of DemonX. I should have listened to Doctor Swann’s advice.
“We’ll bring you what you need, Lucy. Go back to your room,” Nitro snapped.
“No,” I protested, desperation creeping into my tone.
Just then, Asher casually produced a lighter. He began flicking the flame to life, then dousing it again. My heart raced.
“Please. Just let me go to the bathroom.” My words were brittle, crumbling at the edges.
Asher pushed the lighter towards me, yellow flame dancing. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and I turned, padding quickly back to the room. When the door shut, dampness built in my eyes. Don’t cry! Don’t cry! Don’t give them the damn satisfaction!
But the tears wouldn’t be dammed. They slipped down my cheeks, and I couldn’t even wipe them away. Stupid helmet! Stupid Alphas! Stupid life!
A scream was building in my body. The old me would have pushed it down, letting stomach acids do their worst. But the new me—the one who’d survived torturous treatments—let the sound out into the world.
I yelled at the top of my lungs until I ran out of air.
Then I pulled my knees to my chest, crossed my arms atop my kneecaps, hung my head low enough the visor hit my arms, and I continued crying.
When the tears had finally dried, the door swung open. They didn’t even bother knocking.
Nitro and Asher waltzed into the room, each lugging a bucket. More than a little confused, I silently watched them stride over to me and set them down at my feet.
“Piss,” Asher pointed at his bucket.
“Shit,” Nitro gestured to his.
I blinked. Another joke. This was just another joke.
Inside the buckets were nearly finished rolls of toilet paper. Barely a few squares clinging to each cardboard tube. Mortification knotted painfully in my stomach.
“She’s speechless, Nitro.” Asher cocked his head to the side.
“Can’t believe our five-fucking-stars hospitality, Asher,” Nitro quipped sarcastically.
Asher cackled.
I looked back and forth between them. This couldn’t be real.
“If you need anything else,” Nitro’s voice took on a threatening edge, “don’t.”
The Alphas left, slamming the door behind them.
I hate them.
Standing up, I tried to recall the precise order of adjustments needed to undo only the lower half of the suit so I could use the restroom without taking off the top and helmet.
I worked slowly, hands shaking and anger bubbling, pulling the cinch at the waist that created a temporary seal. Next came the two layered zipper.
Blush burned my cheeks when I lowered the outer suit pants, then the leggings I wore underneath. I had to close my eyes, blocking out the world, to slip down my panties.