Pack Frenzy (Love Knot War #5)

Chapter 1

JESS

The first thing I register is the burn of cold air scraping the inside of my throat, slicing through the swampy funk at the back of my mouth.

Opening my eyes is harder than it should be. The lids feel gummy, weighted. When I finally pry them open, a sickly fluorescent buzz above me flickers like it’s trying to induce a seizure, and each flash carves a pulse of panic behind my ribs.

Wherever I am, it smells like bleach and metal. Like somewhere bad things happen quietly.

I lurch upright, or try to, my back spasms along with most of my other muscles, and I nearly roll off a slab of metal disguised as a cot. The room tilts violently.

“Fuck,” I wheeze, pressing my palm against my temple where a headache pounds in time with my heartbeat. Did I hit my head? Everything’s fuzzy.

No windows. Four gray walls. A metal-barred door with a narrow slot that’s big enough to slide a tray of food through but not much else.

Something’s wrong with my clothes. Instead of black halter and jeans I was wearing, I’m swimming in an itchy gray jumpsuit, the kind that telegraphs property of.

A strip of Velcro wraps my left ankle, bright orange lettering stitched into the strap: Nexus.

My feet are bare. When I prod at the device, it zaps me with a static nip.

I hiss, yank my hand back, and shake out the sting.

This can’t be Nexus. It’s supposed to be where Omegas go to get pampered and perfumed in some glass suite, not barefoot in a concrete cell.

My right shoulder throbs, probably from hitting the ground after fifty thousand volts turned my nervous system into scrambled eggs. There’s no knot on my head, but I definitely feel like I smacked my skull on something.

Wait—Casey, Danica, Kayla. Where are they?

Memories pour in, quick and mean: the bus fishtailing in the storm, the crunch of metal, Kayla shrieking. The smell of burning rubber and electrical smoke chokes my lungs.

Then the rain, Casey yelling something, but her words cut off when the world turned blue and white. Every nerve lit up at once, muscles locking, pain like nothing I’d ever felt. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe, only feel my body betray me as I collapsed.

Goddamn it. Everything after that is static.

I grip the edge of the cot and breathe slow, counting each inhale like it’ll keep my head from splitting open. If they’re here, I’ll find them. We’ll figure this out. I try to piece together the last thing I saw, though I have no idea if it was an hour ago or a day or more.

Okay, focus. Find out what other injuries I have.

I run a mental checklist: limbs still attached, neck functional, no gaping wounds.

My right shoulder throbs, probably from hitting the ground after fifty thousand volts.

The only thing I can actually see is a needle mark in the crook of my elbow, surrounded by a faint bruise. Fresh. Whatever they pumped into me.

Nice touch, assholes. Could’ve at least bought me a drink first.

Shit. Did they dose me to trigger heat, or freeze it until I’m ready for shipment?

My hands shake. Not from fear—okay, maybe a little—but from my body rebooting after someone yanked the plug. I flex my fingers, glare at the camera pulsing red in the corner.

“Hey!” I shout. “If you’re gonna roofie a girl and drag her off, at least buy me dinner. Or some pants that aren’t one-size-fits-nobody.”

No answer. Just the white-noise hum of vents pushing air that smells like hospital disinfectant and regret. I pace, three steps before my toes meet the opposite wall, a seam so smooth even a cockroach couldn’t wedge in for a cigarette break.

A dry laugh bubbles up. I’m the only daughter in the Mancini line who skipped debutante season. Learned to throw a left hook before I learned to flirt. And now they’ve got me in a box like a goddamn action figure, waiting for some sociopath to unbox me and see what features I have.

A faint female whimper cuts through the air.

The sound punches the air out of me. Christ, that sound is what Mom sounded like the night after Sabrina disappeared.

“Hello?” I press my body against the cold bars, trying to peer down the dim hallway. “Hey, you okay over there?”

Silence. Then, so faint I almost miss it: “You shouldn’t talk. They—they punish you.”

The fear in her voice makes my stomach drop. She’s not just scared. She’s been trained to be scared.

“Fuck that,” I say, louder this time. “What’s your name? I’m Jess.”

A pause. “…Lily.”

“Okay, Lily. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but talking isn’t a crime. Neither is being an Omega.” My throat aches halfway through the words. God, she sounds like she’s given up. Was this what happened to Sabrina? “You’re not alone in here, okay? I’m right here.”

“They’ll hurt you.”

“Yeah, well.” I manage a small laugh. “I’m excellent at getting hurt. Ask anyone who’s met me.” The joke falls flat in the empty hallway, but I press on anyway. “Listen, Lily…remember you’ve got someone on your side. Even if it’s just a mouthy pain in the ass from cell… whatever number this is.”

A shaky exhale from down the hall. Then: “Thanks.”

It’s barely a whisper, but it lands like a punch. This girl’s thanking me for basic human decency, for acknowledging she exists.

What the hell have they done to her?

“Shut up,” another female snaps, murmurs echoing behind her. “Follow the rules like everybody else.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” Don’t talk. Don’t fight. Don’t be difficult. I outsmarted my teachers at the Omega Institute; I can out-stubborn a concrete bunker any day of the week.

Before I can say more, the lights overhead flare, flooding the cell with harsh white, and footsteps approach.

Three guards in black Nexus uniforms push food carts down the hallway. Trays clatter into the cells ahead of me until one stops at my door. An overweight guy with a black porn-stache smirks as he shoves a plastic tray through the slot. Steam rises from a bowl of gray paste.

I stare at the gray paste that smells like literally nothing. My stomach churns, and for a moment I’m back at Sunday dinners, Mom’s lasagna steaming on the table, Sabrina stealing garlic bread when Dad wasn’t looking.

“I can’t eat this,” I whisper, shoving the tray back. My hands are shaking.

“Eat. Lights out in an hour.”

“Wow. Hospitality’s off the charts.”

He leans closer, gaze raking over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “They always start mouthy. Don’t worry, Omega. We train that out.”

The air crackles as he pulls out his taser, and it powers up with a sharp whine. I stand, all five-foot-nothing of me, and meet his eyes.

My pulse hammers so hard I can hear it. The taser’s whine fills the cell, fills my skull, and suddenly I’m back on the ground outside the bus, the taser turning my body inside out.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. I force myself to look into his eyes even though my legs are shaking. I feel like I’m about to throw up. But if I break now, I’ll break forever.

Before he can raise his arm, another voice cuts in that’s calm, deep, controlled. “That’s enough.”

A second figure steps forward: taller, leaner, dark hair tied back. His uniform fits wrong, a badge clipped at the chest—Mercado. His presence shifts the air somehow, steadying it.

The guard hesitates, mutters something, and holsters the taser.

Mercado’s tone doesn’t rise, doesn’t need to. “She’s not a threat. Move along.”

The first guard spits on the floor and stalks away.

Mercado steps closer to the door, and somehow his presence takes the edge off my anger anyway.

His scent drifts through the bars: bergamot with a hint of a green note underneath that’s clean, bright, linen. Not the overwhelming charge of an Alpha, but something balanced.

Beta.

He’s all lean muscle and quiet authority packed into a 5′11″ frame.

His skin carries a warm bronze undertone that catches the harsh light, and his dark hair’s pulled into a messy bun that somehow works on him.

Square-framed glasses soften the sharp lines of his face, giving him an almost scholarly look that doesn’t fit the guard uniform at all.

Figures the only decent face in this hellhole comes with a badge. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

“Jessica Mancini,” he says, reading from a tablet.

“Jess,” I correct.

“Omega. Twenty-two.”

My laugh comes out hoarse. “You forgot charming as hell.”

His mouth twitches. “Don’t provoke them and you’ll be fine.”

“You mean the ones with tasers and fragile egos? Noted.”

His expression softens, then it’s gone. “Just… keep your head down.”

“Is this Nexus?”

He hesitates. “You know it is.”

“I want a lawyer. A phone call.”

He shakes his head, regret flickering behind the glasses. “That’s not how it works.”

“My friends…Casey, Danica, Kayla. Are they here? Are they okay?”

Silence. Then that same pitying look.

“You’re the only Omega who came in during the last twenty-four hours.”

Not here? So where the hell are my friends?

Mercado glances down the hall, lowers his voice. “The girl in cell nine, Lily. That was kind of you.”

I shrug, trying to play it off despite my heart hammering. “Yeah, well. She seemed lonely.”

“Most people here don’t take that risk.” He studies me. “The guards don’t like troublemakers.”

“Good thing I excel at being unlikeable.” My voice wavers, just slightly.

He leans in. “For what it’s worth, she hasn’t spoken in three days. You gave her something.”

“What, my sparkling personality?” I swallow against the knot in my throat. Maybe I can’t save anyone…just like I couldn’t save Sabrina. But I can at least let them know someone gives a damn.

“Your empathy,” he says quietly, like it’s dangerous. “It’s rare here.”

He starts to turn away.

“Mercado,” I call, and he pauses. “Why’d you stop him?”

He doesn’t look back, but his shoulders shift. “Because you’re right. The food’s shit, and you deserve better than that…All of you do.”

Then he’s gone, and I’m left wondering if I imagined the slip in his professional mask.

I sink back onto the cot, staring at the ceiling with hairline cracks in the cement, but it looks solid.

Sabrina went through this and survived, at least long enough to vanish.

Dad spent months trying to pull strings, but every door slammed in his face. Eventually, he stopped asking and let his work consume him. Mom? She found her answers at the bottom of a bottle and never stopped.

My shoulder throbs again, deeper this time. Like my body belongs to everyone but me, and that pisses me off enough that I reach back, searching for the place they took me down. My fingers find the tender spot on my shoulder blade and the bruise sparks under my touch. I hiss, but I don’t pull away.

It’s a reminder of how fast everything went to hell. Just like back then, everything I thought was stable turned to shit in an instant.

My hand drops into a fist, nails biting into my palm. Pain’s better than fear. Pain’s mine. I learned that trick during those months of watching my family fall apart. Focus on something sharp, something real, something I can control.

My eyes drift to the tray they left. If Nexus thinks I’m swallowing their mystery slop, they can dream on.

I curl onto my side on the thin cot, pulling my knees to my chest. The ankle monitor digs into my skin.

Somewhere in this building—or maybe somewhere else entirely—Casey, Danica, and Kayla might be just as scared as I am. Or worse.

“You’re a Mancini”, I tell myself, but my throat closes up. “Mancinis don’t break.” But Sabrina was a Mancini too. And Mom.

I dig my nails into my palms until the sting clears my head. No. I’m not them. I’m getting out of here. And I’m finding my friends.

I bury my face into the flat pillow that smells like bleach and let myself cry, just for a minute, just until the lights go out.

Tomorrow, I’ll be strong again.