Page 15 of Omega on Fire

Someone scoffs. "Famous last words."

"No," I insist. "These are fighting words. I don't care what they've done to me, what they plan to do. I refuse to let them break me. Patrick, Reya—everyone listening—we're getting out of here."

"How?" Reya asks, a desperate edge to her voice.

I close my eyes, thinking of Brookes, of my parents, of every Omega I've ever helped. "First, we survive. We watch, we learn, we gather information. And when the moment comes, because it will come, we act together." Again, I force bravado into my voice, I have to believe there's a way out of this. I will not fall into a pit of despair, I can't.

"They'll kill us," Patrick whispers.

"Maybe." I press my palm flat against the door. "But I'd rather die fighting than live like this. Sold and forgotten, lost to those who love and care for us. We're Omegas, they've always underestimated us. That's their weakness, not ours."

The silence that follows is different this time. Less desperate, more contemplative. I can feel it, the tiniestspark of hope flickering in the darkness. God, please let me speak our freedom into existence. I don't want to let these people down.

"Now," I say, keeping my voice low but firm, "tell me everything you know about this place. Some of you have been outside your cells, actually seen the layout of this place. Every detail matters. Together, we're going to?—"

Heavy footsteps echo down the corridor, and everyone falls silent. But before I retreat from the door, I whisper one last time: "Stay strong. Stay ready. Don't lose hope."

The footsteps grow closer, and I crawl back to my corner, but my mind is already racing, planning, calculating.

The door to my cell crashes open with a metallic screech that sends me scrambling backward. My body betrays me, curling into itself, arms lifting to shield my face. I hate this. Hate how my muscles remember the pain, how my instincts override my determination.

Get up, Charlotte! Stand your fucking ground!

But I can't. My recent trauma plays on repeat—their hands, their scents, the violations—and I'm cowering like a frightened animal. Two guards advance, their Alpha pheromones filling my small cell, making it hard to breathe. One of them tossessomething white at me that lands in a heap on the floor.

"Put it on," he barks, his voice grating against my eardrums.

I reach for it with trembling fingers. Not clothes exactly—a simple shift dress, thin as a hospital gown and about as dignified. Still, it's better than nothing. I unfold it, clutching it to my chest.

"Turn around," I demand, my voice smaller than I want it to be.

The guards exchange amused glances. "Now she wants privacy," the taller one snickers. "Wasn't so shy on camera."

Pure rage runs through my veins and the casual way he mentions what happened to me. "Fuck. You!" I bite out, my voice is pure venom. The audacity of these assholes.

His eyes narrow, but the second guard, who sporting a nasty scar down his exposed neck, grabs his partner's shoulder. "Let her dress. We're on a schedule."

They don't turn, but they do step back, giving me the barest illusion of space. I slip the dress over my head as quickly as my aching body allows, swallowing the humiliation that threatens to choke me. The fabric barely reaches my knees, thin enoughthat the chill still penetrates but it's armor, nonetheless.

The moment I'm covered, Scar-neck lunges forward, his fingers dig into my bicep so hard I cry out before I can stifle it. He yanks me toward the door and I stumble, my bare feet slapping against the concrete.

"Let go!" I twist in his grip. "I can walk on my own."

"Shut up," he hisses, dragging me into the corridor.

For the first time clear headed, I see the place of my captivity—a long hallway lined with identical metal doors, each with a small slot at the bottom. Dim fluorescent lights cast everything in a sickly pale glow. I try to memorize details, count doors, note the cameras mounted in corners. Information is survival.

“Charlotte?!” Reya’s voice is muffled through her cell door, shrill with panic. “Charlotte, where are they taking you?”

"It's okay," I call back, earning a rough shake from my captor. "I'll be?—"

The guard's hand clamps over my mouth, fingers pressing painfully into my cheeks. "One more word and I'll break something. Understand?"

I glare at him over his hand, but nod. When heremoves his grip, I taste blood where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek.

"Someone's eager to talk to you," the other guard says, his tone mocking.

Cold dread pools in my stomach. "Who?"

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