Page 6 of Omega on Fire
But a treacherous voice whispers in the back of my mind: You already started to.
A noise reaches me, pulling me out of my panic—a motorized hum piercing the sterile quiet. My gaze wanders to the source, spotting a pulsing crimson indicator mounted where the walls meet overhead. I turn my head as much as the restraints allow, only to see the small camera pivot to follow my movement. Not just one camera. Several. They're mounted ineach corner of the room, their glass eyes unblinking, watching.
"Why?" The question tears from my throat before I can stop it, raw and desperate. "Why are there cameras?"
Dr. Locke doesn't even look up from her tablet. "You have an audience, Charlotte."
"Who's watching?" I demand.
Dr. Locke finally looks up, those cold green eyes regarding me with clinical detachment. "Interested parties. Potential investors. Those who need to verify the quality of our process."
I swallow hard, bile rising. The thought of unknown gazes watching me, stripped and helpless, force more tears from my eyes.
"This is illegal," I rasp. "Unethical. Barbaric."
Dr. Locke smirks and closes the distance between us. She leans down over me and with lightning quick reflexes she presses a syringe into my neck and smiles. "Ethics are subjective. One person's atrocity is another's necessity."
With a press of a button, two men enter the room, dressed in all black, faces covered. The sight of the men sends me tail spinning back to the alley and all I want to do is escape. My head begins to spin from whatever she’s shot into my veins. I panic.
"Take her to the house and bring in another one," Dr. Locke orders impassively.
I scream and buck against the bindings, but I'm slowly losing consciousness as they drag me from the examination room and into my worst nightmare.
CHAPTER 3
MOTLEY
Islam my fist into the punching bag again, harder this time. The impact sends a violent shudder through the chains, rattling them like bones. Bones, cracking bones. I love that sound. The skin on my knuckles is split wide open, fresh blood smearing across the black leather. I don’t care. Ineedthe pain, need the burn in my muscles, need something to keep me from snapping the fuck in half.
Three days. Three motherfucking days of nothing.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
The bag swings wildly as I deliver another brutal combination. Left jab. Right cross. Left hook that makes the rig groan in protest.
"Where the fuck are you, Harlequin?" I growl, the nickname I've given her feeling right on my tongueeven though I've never met her. Charlotte. My Charlotte. Our Charlotte. Yes, damn right, I've claimed her already, and when she's ready, she'll be the Bonnie to this crazy ass Clyde.
Blood smears across the black leather of the bag, but I don't slow down. Can't slow down. If I do, I'll start thinking too much, and then I'll really lose my shit. Better to bleed it out here than tear through the pack house hunting for answers that aren't there.
A savage snarl tears from my throat, and Ilose it.I unleash everything—fists flying in a blur, my vision tunnelling, the whole damn world narrowing to the need tobreak something.The rig shudders with every brutal impact, the force of my fury bleeding out of me in fists and gritted teeth and blood-slicked knuckles.
The gym smells like sweat, leather, and iron—from both the weights and my blood. The familiar scents ground me, remind me of the discipline I learned in the military. Focus the chaos, Motley. Channel it. Use it.
But fuck me if that's easy when all I want to know is what she smells like. Will it be the sweet intoxicating scent of honey, cinnamon, or cotton candy? Geez, I'm tripping on an Omega I've only seen a picture of. What’s going to happen when I actuallyrescue the woman? Bust a nut in my tactical gear, that's what I'll do. An Omega Rights Activist with a spine of steel and a body made for sin. I've only seen photos, watched her speeches online, but I know. I fucking know she's ours.
"You're gonna kill that bag," Teagan’s voice slices through the red haze in my head, calm but edged with something sharp.
I don’t turn. “What do you want?” I pant, landing another devastating blow that makes the whole setup creak.
"Information, same as you. But I'm not destroying pack property to get it," he retorts.
I laugh, the sound jagged and humorless. "This isn’t destruction. This is fuckingtherapy." I throw a final punch that nearly knocks the bag off its hinges, catching it on the rebound, my bloody hands leaving macabre prints. My breathing is wrecked, my pulse a riot in my veins.
"Any news?" I ask, knowing the answer but needing to hear it anyway.
Teagan crosses his arms, unreadable. "Nothing solid. Our contacts in Houston say they’ve found no new leads. Joker hasn’t left his damn monitors. I was just going to check on him when I heard you in herelosing your shit.You need to get that cleanedup," Teagan says, his voice dropping into thatalpha command I usually listen to. Not today.
I lift my chin. "Is that anorder, boss?"
