Chapter 29
The zip ties cut deeper into my wrists with every jolt of the truck, pain flaring white-hot whenever I shift my position. Hard metal digs into my shoulder, and the vibrations rattle up my spine until my teeth ache behind the fabric gag.
While tying me up, Travis had found the communicator in my ear and crushed it beneath his boot. Then he’d shoved me into a toolbox attached to the back of his truck.
Now, I struggle to calm my panicked breaths as I strain my ears through the engine noise, desperate to catch any clue about where we’re heading.
But the rushing sound of tires on pavement offers nothing but the certainty that each mile puts more distance between me and Sebastian’s crumpled car.
I kick and thrash until my boots slam into metal, the echo deafening inside the confined space. The box rattles but holds firm, every useless blow feeding my panic until the air itself feels too thin to breathe.
Sebastian. My chest constricts at the memory of his blood-streaked face, still and unmoving behind the shattered windshield. Was he really breathing when Travis dragged me away? The image of his limp body haunts me, the possibility that those lids might never open again turning my blood to ice.
We’d been arguing about stupid things like where to live less than an hour ago.
Why did I let pride get in my way? I don’t want to spend a single second away from his side, and if that means moving to Rockford Manor, what’s there to complain about?
I wish I could rewind to that moment, throw my arms around his neck, and tell him yes.
I roll onto my back, trying to relieve the pressure on my shoulders. The truck hits a pothole, launching me a few inches off the floor before gravity slams me back down. Pain explodes through me, and I bite down on the gag to keep from crying out.
Saint could already be dead.
The thought surfaces without warning, stealing what little breath I have left. The sound he made when Travis hurt him loops in my memory, a raw, animal noise choked off. What if Travis was lying about Saint waiting for me? What if he was dead before I ever set out on this foolhardy mission?
The truck slows, turns, and then stops. Panic spikes through me as the engine cuts off.
My legs twitch with the urge to fight, to kick at the locked lid, but the space is too tight for effective movement. I slam my boots once, the metal vibrating up my shins, and bite back a shout that turns into a muffled sob behind the gag.
A door opens and slams shut. Footsteps crunch on gravel, circling around to the back of the truck. Then the bed bounces, followed by boot thumps as someone walks toward the tool chest.
Metal hinges groan as the lid lifts, and cold air rushes inside.
Travis peers in at me, his ordinary face warped by possessiveness. “Well, look at you, all pretty. It’s like opening a doll box.” He kneels beside me and reaches in for me. “I’ll have to get you one for when I bring you home.”
My pulse races as he reaches for my face, and his fingers brush my cheek before tugging the gag down to my chin.
I spit, working moisture back into my cotton-dry mouth. “Where’s Saint?”
Travis settles beside me, arms folded on the rim of the tool chest. “Your watchdog is fine.”
“I want proof.”
“You’ll get it when we arrive, but for now, I need you to behave.” His fingers trail down my neck, stopping at Sebastian’s Mark. A deep frown creases his forehead. “This complicates things. But only until your next Heat. Pity, though, that I can’t Command you right away.”
My stomach lurches. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere special.” His whole face brightens with excitement. “I’ve been working on it for months.”
The truck cab door opens and closes. Travis’s accomplice must be getting impatient.
“How long have you been watching me?” I ask, trying to keep him talking, to gather any information that might help me escape.
“From the beginning.” Pride colors his voice. “Your third stream ever. You were wearing that blue thing with the lace trim. Remember? You seemed nervous and kept adjusting the camera.”
A chill spreads from my core outward as he describes details only a dedicated viewer would know. Not a random stalker then. A fan who crossed the line so gradually he never recognized the boundary.
“Why me?” I need to keep him talking to understand what I’m dealing with.
“You’re special, Elliot.” His hand returns to my face, stroking my cheek while I flinch away. “That’s why I chose you instead of some random Omega off the street.”
“What’s special about me?”
“Your eyes.” He leans closer, his breath hot across my face, smelling of mint gum and something rancid underneath. “They’re honest. When you perform, you mean it. The others fake everything.”
The truck door slams again in warning.
Travis sighs. “We need to go.”
Desperation floods through me. “Where are you taking me?”
“To meet someone.” Travis shifts, checking his watch. “Someone who can open doors for us. For you especially.”
“What kind of doors?” I rasp, throat still raw from the gag.
“The kind that leads to a better life. Structure. Purpose.” His expression turns dreamy. “You’ll be taken care of. Once they see your value, of course.”
Cold realization seeps into my bones. “You’re selling me.”
Travis frowns. “That’s such an ugly way to put it. I’m securing your future. And mine.”
“How?”
“They need proof I can deliver quality merchandise.” He speaks as if discussing a business transaction, not a human life. “Once they watch you perform, they’ll know I’m serious. That I can be trusted with more responsibility.”
My pulse throbs in my temples. “They who?”
Travis’s eyes dart away, then back. “People who understand Omegas and know how to train them properly.”
The trafficking ring. The same one the Rockfords have been hunting. The realization hits me with such force that I almost vomit.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing,” I whisper. “These people—”
“Are professionals.” Travis cuts me off. “And once I prove myself, they promised I can have you back. After proper training, of course.”
I shake my head, horror building in waves. “That’s not how these operations work. They’ll use you, then dispose of you.”
Travis’s face darkens. “You think I’m stupid? I’ve been planning this for months. Watching you. Learning your habits. Building the perfect space for us.”
“And the cameras in my apartment? The messages? The gifts?” Each word feels like dragging glass through my throat.
“The gifts were to get you used to my pheromones. The cameras… Well, those were necessary, too.” His fingers trace the outline of my lips.
“Had to make sure you were worth the investment. Worth risking everything for. You were doing so well until that greedy Alpha showed up and tried to take you from me. So I had to escalate our courtship.”
The truck door opens again, followed by three knocks on the side panel.
“Time to go.” Travis reaches behind me, hauling me up by my bound arms, and pain shoots through my shoulders. “Your friend is waiting. And so is your future.”
“Please,” I try one last angle. “Sebastian will pay whatever they’re offering. More, even. You don’t need to do this.”
Travis pauses, genuine confusion crossing his face. “Pay? This isn’t about money, Elliot.” His expression softens with pity. “It’s about belonging. You’ll understand once you’re trained.”
My heart sinks as I realize there’s no reasoning with him. In his mind, he’s not a criminal or a monster. He’s a savior, delivering me to some twisted version of salvation.
“You’re going to be perfect,” he whispers, pulling the gag back up. “They’ll understand why you’re perfect.”
As he secures the fabric between my teeth, I catch a glimpse of the industrial district of Brickwell. No signs, no landmarks, nothing to indicate where we are.
Travis eases me back into the tool chest. “Just a little longer, Elliot. Be a good boy for me, or the first thing I’ll do when we arrive is break your friend’s legs.”
With a wink, he shuts the lid, locking me back in darkness.
The truck lurches to a stop again, engine dying with an abrupt wheeze that leaves only the tick of cooling metal in its wake. My muscles seize with terror as footsteps circle the vehicle, and the lid lifts with a metallic screech, Travis’s silhouette blocking the dim light.
“Are you sure you can handle things on your own?” the driver asks from off to the side.
“Yeah, he’s so small.” Travis gives me a slow once-over. “I can handle him. Thanks for getting me this far.”
“Worth it to put those Rockford assholes in their place.” He taps the side of the truck. “Have fun.”
“Oh, I will.”
Leaning down, Travis’s hands clamp around my upper arms, fingers digging into flesh as he drags me out of the box. My hip bones scrape over the metal edge, pain shooting through my legs as my feet dangle, searching for ground.
“Move,” Travis hisses, dragging me to the end of the truck and yanking the gag down around my neck.
With a shove, I hit the concrete floor hard, knees absorbing the impact with a shock that travels up my spine.
The zip ties cut deeper into my wrists as I try to roll, instinct driving me to put distance between us.
My bound ankles throw off my balance, but he left enough slack in the bindings for me to twist out of reach of his hands.
“Help!” My shout echoes through the massive warehouse space, the sound bouncing off distant walls. “Somebody help me!”
Travis lunges forward, and I kick out with my bound feet, connecting with his shin. He curses, stumbling back a step. The small victory ignites something in me, and I thrash harder, rolling onto my stomach to push up with my shoulders.
Cold metal digs into my temple, freezing me mid-movement.
“The more you fight, the more your friend suffers,” Travis warns, eerily calm compared to his frenzied expression. “Understand?”
As the pressure increases, the metal digs into my skin. A gun. My racing heart stutters, and I go limp beneath his touch.