Chapter Thirteen #2
“It’s been too long,” Romano growls, anxiety thickening his usually cheerful voice. “Why isn’t she answering?”
Kingston sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, his jaw clenched so tightly I worried his teeth might crack. “Maybe she’s still angry. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk.”
“No,” Voss speaks, his voice icy, deadly quiet, pulling everyone's attention instantly. He doesn’t even look our way, eyes locked on the darkness beyond the window. “She wouldn’t punish us like this. She’s angry, but she isn’t cruel.”
I nod slowly, dread pooling heavier in my gut. He's right. Fallon isn't the type to ignore us this long. My thoughts spiral, dread coiling tighter.
“Did you hear anything from Violet?” I ask Romano, voice tight with tension.
“Nothing. Violet’s phone is off now too. Fuck.” He stands abruptly, pacing in tight, frantic circles, his fingers pulling roughly at his messy black hair. His glasses sliding almost off his face.
Voss has been silently staring out the window this whole time, but suddenly he moves, turning toward us slowly. His expression is blank, utterly devoid of warmth. The look in his eyes chills my blood—it's like seeing into an endless, empty void.
“Something happened to her.” His voice is cold, a stark contrast to the fear now obvious in his eyes. “This isn’t her ignoring us.”
Kingston’s entire body stiffens. “You think she’s been taken?”
Voss’s eyes darken further, his expression turning deadly, a silent confirmation. His fists clench and unclench like he’s seconds away from snapping completely.
Kingston wastes no time pulling out his phone again. “I’m calling Henry. If something’s happened, he might know.”
We’re silent, waiting anxiously until Henry answers. His familiar gravelly voice cuts through the room on speaker, calm but cautious.
“Henry, is Violet with you?” Kingston’s tone is clipped, almost desperate.
“No. I’m still with Odette.” Henry’s voice immediately sharpens, alert. “She was with Fallon. She told me they’d be together at her place. Did something happen?”
“We can’t reach either of them. Fallon hasn’t responded, and Violet’s phone is off. Can you locate them?”
“I’ll try, fucking hell,” Henry curses sharply. “I'll call you back.”
The line goes dead, silence stretching until Romano breaks it, voice edged with panic. “What if they’ve taken both of them?”
Kingston immediately shifts into command mode, standing swiftly, every muscle taut with urgency.
“Romano, get eyes on security footage around Violet’s place.
Jace, start making calls—every informant, every associate.
Someone knows something. I texted Colby asking if she was there as well. They said no.”
The doorbell chimes through the house. He strides quickly to the door, yanking it open as Colby and John come rushing inside, both tense and visibly shaken.
“We were close when you texted.” Colby rumbles, voice thick with worry. “You think they have Fallon?”
Kingston gives a terse nod. “And Violet.”
John curses harshly, his fists clenched in helpless rage. Colby’s face pales visibly, his throat working as he swallows heavily. “Tell us what you need us to do.”
Within minutes, maps are spread across the table, marked up with every location we've already raided and several new targets we’ve yet to investigate.
Romano returns, a haunted expression etched deep into his features as he silently hands over his tablet.
Grainy security footage plays silently—Fallon and Violet laughing, completely unaware of the figures approaching behind them.
My heart stops as I watch the short struggle. Fallon fights like hell, rage and pride surging through me despite the terror choking my breath. She struggles until she’s limp, Violet’s frantic scream echoing from the phone, desperate and heart-wrenching.
Voss is barely holding on to control, his breath heavy, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Kingston’s eyes darken dangerously, his voice icy, unforgiving. “Everyone, now. We hunt them down. No mercy.”
Just as we move into action, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I almost ignore it, but the caller ID makes me pause—Fox, an old friend from foster care, is now part of an elite commando pack.
I answer, putting it on speaker. “Fox, this isn’t a good—”
“Jace, we need to talk.” His voice is serious, clipped. “We just got intel about omega kidnappings in the area looking for someone specific. I think we have something you'll want to hear.”
Kingston nods sharply, relief flashing briefly through his eyes. “Come over immediately. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“On our way.”
I end the call, breathing heavily as hope briefly flares within me. We move as one, unified in our desperation. Whatever it takes, whoever we have to kill—we’ll bring our girls home.
Fallon
April 14 th maybe?
time unknown
My head pounds violently, each heartbeat sending sharp, punishing jolts of pain ricocheting through my skull.
It feels like someone’s driving nails behind my eyes.
Groaning weakly, I roll onto my side, instantly choking on the gritty filth coating the floor beneath me.
It smells musty and vile, the scent nauseatingly unfamiliar.
Wait. Smells?
Confusion spikes through my foggy brain, mixing unpleasantly with my pounding headache.
I’ve never smelled anything before. Panic claws at my chest as I slowly drag myself upright, fighting through dizziness that threatens to shove me back down.
The metallic tang of copper floods my senses, thick and heavy, making bile rise in my throat.
Copper means blood.
Oh God— blood.
I reach toward my face with shaking hands, gently prodding around my nose. Pain explodes instantly, a searing, sharp agony so intense my vision blurs. I choke back a cry, my stomach turning violently. My hand comes away coated in crusted blood, dark and flaking against my trembling fingertips.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. My nose feels slightly crooked, tender, and swollen like an overly ripe plum. A cold, terrified realization hits me: it’s definitely broken.
Panic takes hold, my breath coming faster, ragged.
My heart pounds louder in my ears. Memories flash of every lousy action movie I’ve ever seen, heroes grimly forcing bones back into place, and I nearly gag.
I can’t—I just fucking can’t do it. Yet, deep down, I know I have no choice.
Either fix it now or suffer worse later.
Shaking violently, I brace my back against the wall, breathing heavily, fighting off nausea. Gathering what little courage I have, I place trembling fingers on either side of my nose. I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart pounding wildly as sweat beads across my forehead.
“One, two—fuck!”
I snap it back into place with a sickening crack. White-hot pain blinds me for a second, flooding every nerve-ending in agony so intense it rips a scream from deep in my chest. I slump forward, gasping, nearly retching from the sheer brutality of the pain.
“Fuck! Shit! Motherfucker!” My voice rasps harshly, a torrent of profanity pouring from my mouth, echoing around the dark, disgusting room.
Slowly, the immediate agony fades into a dull, relentless throb. With blurred vision, I lift my head and take stock of where I am for the first time.
The room is beyond filthy—a crumbling nightmare comes to life.
Cracked plaster hangs from stained walls, dark mold crawling upward in ugly patches.
The floor is covered in grime, littered with garbage, half-rotten food, empty bottles, and things I don't want to identify.
The single dirty mattress in the corner smells strongly of decay, mold, and urine.
The sourness of fear and misery hangs heavy in the air, suffocating, mixing nauseatingly with blood.
Blood I can still smell, sharp and real.
I jerk my head up at a small whimper, my pulse spiking anew.
Across the room, huddled tightly together in a terrified knot, sit four other omegas.
Male and female—faces pale beneath dirt-streaked skin, bruises dark and angry against their fragile bodies.
Their clothes hang loose, as though they haven’t eaten properly in weeks.
Each pair of eyes staring back at me holds raw, naked fear, pleading silently for help I don’t know if I can give.
A deep, raw ache blooms in my chest, gnawing at my insides with relentless fear.
Is this really how it ends? Trapped in a filthy room, helpless and at the mercy of whoever took us?
The dread tightens painfully in my throat, but before panic can consume me completely, a soft groan pulls my attention back.
Turning sharply, I see Violet sprawled on the floor beside me.
Her petite frame is curled defensively inward, violet hair matted and tangled around her face.
Her usually crisp blouse is now ripped at the collar, dirt and grime are smeared along her sleeves, and her jeans are torn and filthy from being dragged or thrown into this place.
“Vi,” I whisper hoarsely, crawling to her side and shaking her gently. Relief floods me as her eyes flutter open, clouded and heavy from the drug. “Violet, wake up. Come on, I need you with me.”
Her eyes blink rapidly, confusion quickly giving way to alarm as she takes in our surroundings. “Fallon?” she murmurs thickly, her voice rough. “What—where are we?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit, unable to keep the tremble from my voice. “We were drugged, and…I woke up here.”
Violet struggles to sit up, gripping my arm tightly as she scans the grim room in horror.
“Oh, fuck.” Her voice cracks, and she looks down at her torn clothes, panic flaring across her face.
My heart races as I glance down at myself, suddenly realizing the state of my own clothes—my sweater ripped at the hem and shoulder, my jeans dirty and torn at the knee. Panic spikes hard and sharp inside me.
“Oh god,” I whisper, terror seizing my heart.
My stomach twists painfully. Did someone touch me while I was out?
My hands tremble as I quickly check myself, fingers shaking, nausea rising.
But my body doesn't feel violated; there's no unusual tenderness or pain.
The relief almost buckles my knees, leaving me breathless.
“I think they just dragged us in here,” I say, my voice shaky with residual fear. Violet nods slowly, relief apparent in her wide eyes.
Taking a steadying breath, I straighten my shoulders, forcing confidence into my voice even though my insides still churn violently. “Vi, it’s going to be okay. My pack—they’ll find us. They won't rest until they do. Plus, I can’t forgive them if they don’t.”
Violet stares at me, the uncertainty in her gaze slowly giving way to fierce determination. She nods firmly, squeezing my hand so tightly it almost hurts. “Of course they will. Those men would burn down the entire world to get you back.”
Her certainty bolsters me, chasing away the last threads of doubt. I hold onto her hand, anchoring myself in her belief, and turn to the terrified group of omegas across the room. They're watching us anxiously, huddled so tightly together it seems as though they’re trying to become one entity.
I soften my expression, taking a cautious step toward them. “Hey,” I say gently, crouching slightly to make myself less threatening. “I’m Fallon. This is my friend, Violet. We’re going to find a way out of here, okay?”
They exchange wary looks. Fear etched into every tired face before one of them—a thin young man with messy, tangled blond hair and dark bruises shadowing his pale cheek—clears his throat.
His voice is hesitant, trembling, barely audible in the oppressive silence.
“Y-your pack…do you really think they’ll find us? Are they that powerful?”
I offer him a reassuring smile, hoping to calm some of the fear radiating from him. “They are. Believe me—they won’t stop until they do.”
He swallows hard, eyes darting anxiously between Violet and me as though trying to assess whether we’re telling the truth. “Who’s your pack?”
Pride swells in my chest, momentarily overwhelming the fear clawing at my gut. “I’m married to the Rosetti pack.”
A wave of shocked recognition sweeps through the small group. Wide-eyed stares meet mine, disbelief giving way to cautious hope. The blond omega’s jaw goes slack, and a girl with auburn hair and hollow, sunken eyes shifts closer to him, grabbing his arm.
“The Rosetti pack?” she whispers in disbelief. Her voice trembles with awe and a hint of desperation. “Like—the Rosetti Grey Solutions pack?”