Chapter 29
“Your turn, Rivera,” a guard called, his keys jangling on the key ring. Finally!
I stood, my thighs coming off the icy bench surface in the cell with a loud schwap.
He was the same guard who’d tossed me in here. After cuffing me, he’d shoved me in the empty cage, and then the waiting began. It had to have been a few hours based on the fading light coming in through the slim window opposite the cell. It was the only one in the cold room.
The officer unlocked the door, approaching me with a stiff expression, the mustache moving like it had a life of its own.
“Arms forward.”
I did as ordered, and he clipped cuffs onto my wrists.
“Will I be allowed my call?” I asked, my voice almost wheedling. I cleared my throat. Get it together.
“Face forward,” he snapped, yanking at the cuffs and sending sharp pain down my arms.
He guided me past a bunch of benches and lockers, through a metal door guarded by a woman at a desk behind the glass pane. They nodded at each other.
Once he pushed me into the hall, he stopped at a phone embedded in the wall.
“Make your call.”
I had to lift both my hands and keep one awkwardly suspended as I grabbed the phone and dialed in the only number I knew by memory. Holding my breath, I waited for the other side to accept my call.
The line beeped, and the operator’s robotic voice told me to leave a message.
I choked back tears and took a deep breath.
“Sam, hey, It’s Briar. I’m at the correctional facility.
” I licked my lips. “Come visit me for the story.” Giving a lot of information on the recorded line was too dangerous.
Even calling him was risky, but there was no way I was going down without taking the Bourne’s down. I placed the phone back in its cradle.
“Down the hall,” Mustache ordered. I peeked at the name tag. L. Cumy.
What an unfortunate last name.
I started walking before he shoved me again.
“In here.” He guided me into a room with a bright fluorescent light beaming down. There were more lockers and another bench, the setup similar to a gym.
Another officer was there, her arms crossed as she stood near the door. Cumy undid the cuffs and stepped back.
“To the line,” he instructed, and I hastened to the yellow line near the wall and beside a metal table.
“Strip.”
“Strip?” He couldn’t mean—
“Now, inmate,” he shouted. I jumped and began to pull off the leggings and T-shirt until I stood in panties and a bra. Cumy yanked on some gloves. “Everything.”
His no-nonsense voice left me with no room but to follow his orders. I shucked off the rest of it until I was bare.
And I’d thought the pat down they’d done before shoving me in the cell was invasive.
He reached forward and ripped the bandage off my arm, exposing my scabs, and tossed it in the bin.
He stepped forward, and his gloved hands shoved into my hair, rubbing against my scalp.
They traveled down, grazing my sides and sliding between my armpits, then lower, grazing across my sex.
I sucked in a hard breath, every part of me tensing.
Cumy remained non-reactive and straightened, stepping back.
“Bend over.”
Oh, hell, no.
His face was screaming how serious he was.
My face was so hot it burned. I must not have done it fast enough because he grabbed my shoulder, bending me until I was folded in half. He let me go and stepped back.
“Cough.”
My face almost melted right off, but I did as he ordered. I kept my focus glued to the rubber floor.
How dehumanizing.
“Done.” He yanked off the gloves and nodded at the female officer. “I’ll send Sergei in to take her to her cell.”
He left, and she approached, carrying a grayish-blue jumpsuit, and pressed it into my hands. I didn’t waste time putting it on. It fell over my body, the boxy fit covering everything.
A hard knock on the door later, and a man walked in. Visibly younger.
“Take over,” the woman barked, jerking her head at me while looking at the officer on my left.
“Ma’am,” was all he said, but it must have been enough of an agreement because she nodded and left, keys jingling in her path.
As soon as her footsteps retreated, his focus swung back to me, and a wide smile crossed his lips.
Thin mouth, high arched nose, and a laughing gaze.
He had to be close to my age. Not overall bad-looking, but nothing close to my Scent Matches.
I ground my molars. Fat lot of good that did for me.
Maybe if they weren’t so fucking sexy then . . . Here I go, trying to make sense of the situation. There was no point in tormenting myself even more. I was ready to find out my fate.
As the guard, named B. Sergei, neared, he inhaled deeply, his pupils dilated. “Damn, you smell so good,” he practically moaned, his hand on my elbow tightened, and he led me out of the little room.
His sniffs weren’t lost on me, and he kept peeking at me from the corner of his eyes, like he wanted to say something. He guided me past a few more cells, my chained ankles making a racket.
“How’d you do it?” His eyebrow winged up. “No, why’d you do it?” There was only curiosity in his tone.
Slowly, I turned away, looking forward. Past the women with their arms hanging out between the cells as they watched me, ignoring the occasional jeering and whistle.
Sergei snickered, and his palm slid down to squeeze my waist. “We never have Omegas around here, so you’ll have your pick of guards,” he murmured close to my ear. “Might be good to get some perks from it.”
My shoulders stiffened on instinct, and I forced them to relax. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he meant.
I wasn’t sure what being in here entailed, but having access to a guard might be a good idea.
“I doubt I’ll be here long enough—”
He scoffed. “As soon as the ORD finds out an Omega is in here, they’ll be all over you.
It’ll stop the process, and you’ll be stuck for a while.
” Doubtful, but he didn’t know I’d made an enemy of a family with a lot of fingers in pots.
“Unless you’re granted bail, but I’m sure the price won’t be pretty.
” He winced, keeping up the conversation with himself.
No way would I get out on bail after I’d hidden, but I preferred that because I had nowhere to go.
He shrugged. “Maybe you’ll be sentenced to a breeder program.”
It hit me like a freight train. I hadn’t thought of that possibility.
Fear crowded my throat. Everything involved in breeder programs was smoke and shadows. There was no concrete evidence of how they worked, but the rumors were enough to make me want nothing to do with it.
Locked in a cell, only to be brought out to fuck during a heat. After giving birth, it was rinse and repeat. You became a literal machine for birthing Alpha and Omega babies.
I couldn’t believe there were Omegas who volunteered for the program. I couldn’t be paid enough.
My ‘crime’ was severe, so I doubted I’d be sentenced to a breeder program. Fuck, no. Not after who I was convicted of murdering.
Right?
Bourne Pack wouldn’t want me to talk, and that possibility existed if I were still alive. My stomach sank.
Sergei took a sharp left to stop in front of one of the cells bracketed by others. He pulled out a bunch of clinking keys and worked on opening the third. I kept my attention forward, trying not to look at anyone.
A whistle almost made me turn, but I held steady.
“What’s that smell—
“Omega—
“What did you do, Omega—
I ignored the catcalls from the other inmates. Sergei jerked his head to the side, urging me in. He plucked another key and unlocked the cuffs at my ankles, and then the ones on my wrists.
“Welcome home,” he jeered, sliding the bars closed and then slapping his palm against the bars.
Across from my cell, a woman poked her arms out of the cell bars.
“Give me a little visit, Officer Sergei,” she called out, a clear leer in her voice. Sergei laughed and strode over to that side, making it impossible to overhear. I took stock of my living space.
A single metal bunk bed sat against the right wall. To the left, about an arm’s distance away, was the metal toilet. Cold seeped from the walls, and an ammonia smell crowded my nose.
God, I’m going to vomit.
For the first time since I’d left, I doubted myself. Should I have just run toward the border and hoped for the best? Should I have stayed and sucked up this agony inside me?
But before I could crumple under the pressure, the woman on the bottom bunk lifted her head.
“You’re the girl that killed that richy-rich Omega.
” She cackled, shaking her head. “Omega-on-Omega murder.” She chortled again.
I didn’t bother correcting her. Tonight was about survival.
If she thought I was capable of it, she wouldn’t attack me .
. . hopefully. I didn’t say anything and began to climb the ladder to my bunk.
“Don’t get too comfortable, girl. A soft thing like you ain’t making it in here.” I clamped onto the hard bars and climbed, struggling to swallow as I crawled onto the shit excuse of a bed. The cold from the metal frame seeped through the thin pad that I assumed was supposed to be a mattress.
Suddenly, the overhead lights shut off entirely, leaving the only light coming through the rectangular window close to the ceiling, no bigger than a square foot.
I dropped on my side, and the bottom of the frame dug into my ribs. With a few wiggles, I tried to find a more comfortable position. No matter which way I moved, it didn’t take away how thin the mattress was. Was that a spring poking my hip?
“Quiet down up there,” the old Beta hissed and banged my bed, making my teeth rattle along with the entire frame.
“Shut the fuck up,” a voice boomed from one of the other cells. Another hacking sound invaded.
I slid my arms around me. It was going to be a long night.