CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - BIRDIE #2
I dig Hog’s sweater out from under the blankets and add it to the bag with the toiletries kit and bottles of water.
In case it’s extra cold out, or at least, that’s what I tell myself as I shove my feet into my boots.
Carrying the bag to the window, I peer through the glass, but all I can see is a small, walled courtyard with a couple of ice-pinched trees.
Flicking the lock, I ease the glass up and use the chair to boost myself onto the sill.
I drop my bag onto a bench outside and climb carefully through the window, quickly checking my surroundings.
There is a gate to my left, leading to the street, and I close the window and grab my bag.
It’s late afternoon, the day sliding into sundown as I step through the gate.
A thin coating of snow crunches under my boots, but the street is quiet, and there’s no sign of the Lawson Pack as I walk quickly away from the clinic.
Still, it’s hard not to feel like eyes are tracking me, and I duck across the road to where the shadows are deeper.
I keep my head down, casting a couple of quick glances from between my lashes.
It doesn’t seem to be a very big town, with a few small, tired-looking businesses scattered between empty lots and boarded-up buildings.
Not exactly an easy place to find a ride, but I can smell diesel fuel and stale coffee in the air, and I remember Colt saying there’s a diner on the corner.
Engines rumble, and as I reach the end of the block, I discover where the residents of Ridgecrest are hanging out. Or maybe it’s just those who are passing through, given the number of semi-trucks parked in the diner’s lot.
Jackpot.
I’ve never hitchhiked before, but I remember one of the older girls at the compound bragging about how easy it is.
You just have to find a nice old alpha who cares more about showing off his rig than polishing his knot.
If he has a mating bite, all the better.
Most long haulers are starved for omega company, their instincts clamoring for them to get home to their mate.
If you stress how much he’s helping you out, and how he’s the first alpha you’ve met on the road who’s made you feel safe, he’ll probably let you bum a ride to just about anywhere…
I smell him before I see him. Meat and metal, with the haunting echo of antiseptic and dried blood. I only know him as Razor, since that was his tool of choice. A dirty old razor that was only too happy to join in when the doctor wanted to overwhelm me with pain…
He’s tall and lean, and so disturbingly clean-cut, I didn’t realize how dangerous he was the first time we met. A middleman for Reeves, Razor was the one who took me from the compound and drove me all those miles to the lab, my wrists bound and my face shoved into the stiff denim of his lap.
He appears now between a hulking semi-truck and a towering wall. It’s the backside of a utility building, overlooking a short alleyway hemmed in by a boarded-up building. The old windows look like blinded eyes, the distant street gaping like a black mouth as he shoves me up against the wall.
“Your tracker went inactive, so I came to check up on you.” He twists my arm, his body pressing painfully against the strained limb. “Didn’t think I’d find you sneaking off like a naughty little bitch.”
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I hiss, trying to headbutt him, but he grabs the back of my hair and yanks it hard, exposing my neck. “Remember who you belong to, Omega.”
“Not you, asshole!”
I twist away until I feel my hair tearing at the roots, but he just grunts and mashes my face against the wall.
“Bought and paid for,” he jeers, his chuckle grating worse than the brick cutting into my wounded cheek.
“Reeves is highly invested in you, Omega. Once you’re done with this mission, he plans to keep you around as his broken little pet. ”
Never. I don’t care what I have to do, or who I have to hurt, I will never go back to Reeves.
But it feels like a hollow vow as Razor leans all his weight on me, his belt buckle grinding into my trapped arm. He makes a hungry sound as he licks a sticky stripe up my neck. “I should pull these damn stitches out with my teeth.”
The gauze flutters to the alley floor and he blows hot air over my exposed scent gland.
The thought of him touching it with his mouth makes my stomach lurch into my throat, but I force myself to hold still.
He’s here for something more than just harassment.
Razor might be Reeves’ errand boy, but his scent is thick with anticipation, like a rabid dog finally let off his leash.
“Always such a prickly little bitch,” he croons, rubbing his groin against my back. “After I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for alpha cock.”
Velcro rips and I freeze. I know that sound, the same way a deer knows the muffled slide of a rifle bolt. It’s the vest pocket he keeps his razors in.
But instead of slicing through the stitches on my throat, a needle winks out of the corner of my eye.
Fluid gleams at the tip, and while I have no idea what the fuck it is, I know it can’t be good.
I’ve endured Reeves’ cocktails before, and they always end up making me hate myself almost as much as I hate him.