Page 4 of Omega on Fire

"Sorry." Beaux runs a hand through his curly fro, the movement agitated. "Just thinking about some entitled asshole trying to auction her off like property."

"I know." And I do. The dark web auctions are a special kind of hell. Omegas displayed like merchandise, their lives reduced to bidding numbers and crude descriptions. "But if they're planning to move her through those channels, we need to know."

"Already on it." Josiah's fingers fly across the keys. "I've got contacts monitoring several known auction sites. If she shows up, we'll know."

I study Charlotte's photo again, trying to maintain professional distance. She's just another job, another rescue mission. So why does my chest tighten when I imagine her fierce brown eyes dulled by fear? Why does Beaux look ready to tear through walls to find her?

"Set up alerts for any new listings," I order, forcing myself to focus. "Cross-reference with known trafficking patterns in Houston. And get me everything you can on her recent activities, speeches, meetings, anyone she might have pissed off enough to do this."

"I'll scan the hidden networks," Josiah announces, his hands dancing over the keys. "A high-profile target like her, vultures are probably already negotiating. These particular Omegas typically surface at exclusive bidding events."

"Hold up." Moses adjusts himself, tapping a restless rhythm on the chair. "Dez mentioned they might be operating out of a hidden facility. Not your typical warehouse setup, we're talking about a fortress. Underground bunker, state-of-the-art security. The Shangri-La of hideouts."

My brows arch upward in amusement. "Shangri-La?"

"Quit acting like I'm some ignorant fool," he snaps, trying to suppress a smile.

I brush my fingertip across my mouth, thoughts churning. "If we locate this facility?—"

"We'd devastate their whole network," Moses concludes. "For a while, at least. Consider it, their premium captives must be stashed somewhere heavily guarded. A place completely off radar."

"That explains why they've stayed hidden." I pivot toward Josiah. "Pull Malcolm's orbital feeds. I need heat signatures, subsurface scanning, anything indicating buried structures or suspicious movement."

Josiah attacks his computer at lightning speed. "Currently reaching out to Malcolm. Though boss, if they're as advanced as Dez implies, they won't be obvious. Expect isolated spots, possibly land owned through dummy corporations."

"Search electrical usage," I propose. "An operation that extensive requires massive power. Hunt for unusual spikes in utility data."

"Working it." Josiah launches multiple displays, scanning intently. "I'll create detection programs, target regions within logical driving distance from confirmed kidnapping locations."

Imagining Charlotte trapped in an underground cell makes rage surge through me, no one deserves to be kept this way, bought and sold like cattle. Discovering this base isn't solely about her now, it'sabout every Omega they've dragged into the shadows.

Yet this specific Omega could be exactly what our pack needs to make it complete. I didn't know we were missing her, but one look at her picture and I can feel it.

CHAPTER 2

CHARLOTTE

Iwoke up in a darkness so complete, I thought I'd gone blind. My mind swam through a soup of half-formed thoughts, fragments that wouldn't connect. There was a sweet chemical taste coating my tongue, something medicinal that made me want to gag. Rohypnol, ketamine, GHB. I'd educated enough Omegas about date rape drugs to recognize when I'd been dosed.

I tried to reach up to touch my face, but my wrists wouldn't move. Cold metal bit into my skin. Not handcuffs, something wider, medical restraints maybe. The same around my ankles. My body was spread-eagled on what felt like a thin mattress, the kind they use in hospitals. My clothes were gone and I was dressed in a short shift-like gown that left my bare legs exposed.My teeth chattered, the need to wrap my arms around my body to warm myself against the cold damp room had me pulling against my restraints to no avail. At least I wasn’t naked. Pain shot up my arm making me whimper and I knew the only thing I could do was wait until someone released me. Someone would come and check on me, right? Proof of life. I mean, they wouldn’t take me to let me wither away and die? I don’t know how long I lay on my back, listening for something beside the slow drip of water from somewhere in the room. I found myself counting the drips to keep myself from screaming. I wanted out. I wanted to stand, pace, anything but lay here in this vulnerable position.

"Hello?" My voice came out as a croak. No one answered.

A thin sliver of light suddenly appeared under what had to be a door, the interruption to absolute darkness briefly filled me with hope. It wasn't enough to see by, just enough to confirm I wasn't completely blind. Small mercies. The sound of footsteps outside the room must have activated it. If someone heard me, they didn’t acknowledge it. Whoever it was continued to walk past, the sound of their footsteps fading as they moved into the distance. When they had finallyreceded completely, the lights went out and complete darkness returned.

The next day—at least I think it was a day, time had become a slippery, unreliable thing—I heard the others. Soft whimpers, muffled crying. Prayers whispered in languages I didn't understand. Other Omegas, trapped like me. I called out to them once, but a sharp bang against my door silenced me. A warning.

They were smart, whoever ‘they’ were. No water, no food. Just darkness, restraints, and the crushing weight of not knowing.

By the third day, my lips had cracked and split. My throat felt like I'd swallowed broken glass. I'd pissed myself more than once, the acrid smell a constant reminder of my helplessness.

I knew what they were doing. I'd lectured on this at the Foundation; psychological breakdown is the first phase of Omega trafficking. Break the will before breaking the body. Dehydration makes you compliant. Darkness makes you desperate for any face, even your captor's. Isolation makes you crave any touch, even a violent one.

"Standard grooming protocol," I'd told a roomful of law enforcement officers just last month. "They'renot just trying to control the body; they're rewiring the brain. Creating dependence."

Now I was living my own Goddamn PowerPoint presentation. The irony wasn't lost on me, even as my mind began to fray at the edges. I’m not proud of what I had to do to survive. But I cried and begged with the little voice I had left and someone finally came. Two men arrived, presumably guards. They brought me water and food. They untied my straps, let me sit up, easing the ache in my back. They didn’t speak to me, only observed, making sure I ate and drank the little they gave me. It’s as if they had been watching me and I guess maybe they had been. It was so dark in here all the time, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were cameras.

By the fourth day—or maybe the fifth—I found myself waiting for the sound of footsteps, praying for the door to open. Not for escape, just for water and food. It became a routine, I got used to the guards’ daily visits. They never spoke, I assumed they were given orders not to. Can’t have them getting attached to the ‘animal’ in captivity. Days passed, maybe weeks, time here all blended together, and I went without a fight as they dragged me from my cell for various medical test. Always with a blindfold orsedation. I never got to see the other Omegas I knew were locked up alongside me, but I could hear them. Every bit of freedom, even the invasive examinations was a reprieve. A break in the sensory void they’d trapped me in.

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