Chapter Nine #3
I tighten my grip under the dead weight of my target, hoisting his slack body up effortlessly as Jace does the same. We drag them backward into the darkened entryway, laying them out against the wall, their heads tilted forward like they’re just slumped in sleep. A fitting end for men like them.
With one last glance at the corpses, I exhale slowly and step forward, voice nothing more than a whisper. “Keep moving.”
The first room we come to is empty, the stench of mildew and rot clinging to the air.
Trash and debris litter the floor—discarded food wrappers, empty liquor bottles, and the unmistakable scent of unwashed bodies.
The walls are streaked with something dark, something old, and I don’t want to think too hard about what it might be.
We move on, slipping into the next room. Three guards are lounging, utterly unaware of their impending deaths. The television flickers in front of them, static buzzing low, a bottle of cheap whiskey sitting open on a makeshift table.
Voss and I move first, striking fast, brutally, and efficiently. Jace takes the last one, snapping his neck before the bastard can even make a sound. Their bodies are dragged into the shadows, hidden in the darkness like they were never there at all.
The following three rooms off the hallway are just as empty, though the filth and lingering scent of fear is proof enough that people have been held here before.
Shackles are bolted to the walls in one of them.
A cot sits in the corner of another, and the mattress is stained with things I don’t want to consider.
I already know by the time we reach the last door in the hallway. This is it. This is where they’re keeping them. The smell of fear and omega is unmistakable.
The lock is cheap, rusted, and barely holding on.
I squat down, pulling out my lock pick set, but it only takes a few seconds before the latch clicks open.
I want to think I’m that skilled, but truthfully, the lock was just that shitty.
It's difficult for an omega to break, but I could have manhandled it open as an alpha.
The door creaks as it opens. I stay low, cautious, but the glimpse I get is fucking heartbreaking. A group of roughly eight omegas huddled in the farthest corner of a filthy room, their bodies curled into themselves, backs pressed against the wall like they were trying to disappear.
Their clothes are torn and dirty, some hanging loose over skeletal frames.
A few look half-starved, sunken eyes hollow and wide with terror.
Dried blood stains the wrists of one of the male omegas, evidence of shackles that were removed too late.
The second I motion John and Colby forward, the air shifts.
A soft gasp—then a growl, low and warning. And then, there was a blur of movement.
A familiar looking omega launches forward, colliding into John and Colby so hard it knocks them back a step. Their arms wrap around him instantly, holding on like they’re afraid he’ll disappear if they let go.
The sound Robert makes is shattered, broken, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. John grips the back of his head, whispering something against his hair, while Colby buries his face against Robert’s shoulder. Tears are streaming down all three of their faces.
I feel something tighten in my chest. I don’t let myself linger on it.
Because all I can think about is Fallon.
How would I feel if it were her? If someone took her, locked her away, starved her, threatened her with things too vile to speak aloud?
My fists clench, nails biting into my palms. Robert pulls back slightly, turning to the other omegas, his voice a low whisper.
The group listens, but some of their expressions twist with disappointment, sadness, and resignation.
For a moment, I wonder why, and then I realize they think we are only here for Robert.
I almost growl, but I know that would frighten them more.
Fuck.
It takes several long minutes to convince them we’re here for all of them. John and Colby help, their presence reassuring, but the fear runs deep.
Two other male omegas are among them, and the rest are female. Some have claiming bites on their necks—marks of mates waiting for them to come home. Others have nothing, no visible sign that anyone is searching for them.
As they finally begin moving toward the door, I keep my voice low and steady. “Are there any others?”
Robert shakes his head. “They talked a lot right outside of the door. We are the last group left here. We could hear them taking the others out of the building.” His voice is quiet, but every word drips with the trauma of what he’s endured.
I nod at him, my jaw tensing. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I look towards Colby, who is standing slightly behind me. His entire body is rigid, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles are bone white. His jaw ticks, his nostrils flaring. I don’t need to see his face to know.
He wants blood. And so do I. I give him a single, unspoken nod. Not one of these bastards is leaving this building alive.
That’s a promise.