Page 131 of Sawyer

How long have I even been in this room? Hours? Days? A week perhaps? I’ve pissed on myself because they won’t untie me from the chair.

“Tell me what the monarch knows,” demands Sin’s father, whose name I’ve learned is Sal—an awful name, but hey, it’s not my problem.

I keep my mouth shut.

I expect the fist that flies at me, but what I don’t expect is for a hit to the shoulder to send me flying backward. My back hits the floor, then my head cracks against the concrete. For a blissful moment, I feel nothing as my mind goes dark.

“You can’t kill him,” a voice says above me. “Open up for me.” Fingers prod at my mouth, forcing me to open it. Sweet liquid spills over my tongue and slides down my throat. “There you go.”

Burning pain rushes across my body as the healing elixir hits my system. Healing hurts so much more than the physical injuries sometimes.

“I told you I needed him soon,” the voice scolds Sal. “I have to be completely certain that he is her mate.”

“I already know he is.” A foot kicks me in the side, more to turn me over than anything else.

“Untie him, would you? We have to get the scent off of him so she can smell him!”

Sawyer.

“Hush, boy.” Sal begins to slowly untie me from the chair.

As the ropes fall away, the stinging in my hands begins. He tied them far too tightly. As the blood rushes to my fingertips, a small moan slips free from me at the pain. Something so small is what finally has me breaking my damn silence.

I take a mental note to tell Rumor to add this to the training regime—tying up the men and then releasing them.

An oversight I won’t allow to happen again.

I must doze off for a moment because cold water slams into my side, forcing me to wake fully. My teeth chatter, and my eyes sting. I curl into the fetal position to protect myself before uncurling and giving in.

If they want to wash my piss off of me, then so be it.

As I crack my eyes open, I find a man standing in the corner. He has a slight build and a crazy gaze, as though he finds glee in my chattering teeth.

“Now.” He claps, tossing me a bar of soap. “Strip and wash off so I can see what we are working with here.”

“Excuse me?” I barely get the words out.

Sal aims the water at my head, causing my mouth to fill, and I damn near choke on it. I didn’t have waterboarding on my bingo card for this facility.

I should have.

“Hurry up, we have to chat, and we are losing time,” the man says, excitement in his voice, and he claps again. He’s like a disturbing little puppet.

I take another moment to figure out just who he is, and I blame the delay on my sluggish brain. This entire time, we were looking for the person who ran this facility and trying to uncover what they were doing out here, and this is that man. From the scent of it, he is nothing more than a beta, but one with a dangerous amount of control here.

He stands in the corner with a certain kind of glee as Sal washes me off with a hose that has an extreme amount of pressure. Everywhere the cold water hits me, my skin flares red and burns.

Gritting my teeth, I just stare at the beta. His voice has stayed calm and even this entire time, and he looks like any average person you’d meet on a street corner. He may seem a little geeky, with his tan pants and button-down shirt, and the glasses slipping down his nose give him an approachable appearance. It’s his eyes, however, and the way the whites show just a fraction too much, that shows the insanity lurking there—one I know well enough.

Sometimes I’ve been called in to take care of a delta who doesn’t have a pack and toes the line of insanity. Unfortunately, deltas who cross that line go too far, and there’s only one way to solve the problem—death.

Those eyes fall on me, and his lips tip up in a smirk. “Wash,” he says in that even voice with just the right amount of warmth that tells me he isn’t genuine. He’s mimicking others who give out warmth.

I rip off my ruined shirt and toss it at Sal, who easily sidesteps the wet material. I keep my eyes trained on the real threat here—the man in the corner. Slowly, I reach for the soap and wash my body.

“Such a beautiful specimen of an alpha,” this man comments, tapping his chin with a finger. “Pants too.” There’s a disturbing amount of excitement in his voice.

Sneering at him, I drag my wet pants off my body, leaving me bare before him.

---