Page 16 of Omega's Fire

“Sir. We have a court order,” The officer’s tone hardens. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this with restraints. Your choice.”

A second officer already holds plastic zip ties, loops ready.

“Fuck you,” I spit. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My raised voice echoes through the thin walls of the abandoned building. I hear doors opening, voices murmuring in the hallway. Good. Witnesses. The more the better.

“Final warning, Mr. Torres,” the lead officer says, advancing toward me. “Come quietly or we’ll use necessary force.”

“Necessary force?” I laugh, sharp and bitter. “For what crime exactly? Refusing to bond with an alpha?”

The commotion has drawn a crowd now. Through the splintered doorway, I can see other omegas gathering—my fellow squatters, the community we’ve built in this abandoned building. Jules pushes to the front, phone already raised, recording everything.

Our eyes meet for a brief second and I can see him understand what we need. Document everything. Get it online.

The lead officer turns, gesturing sharply to his colleagues. “Secure the subject. Now.”

They move with brutal efficiency. One grabs my arms, twisting them behind my back while another forces me to my knees. The zip ties cut into my wrists, plastic biting deep. I struggle, shouting, but it’s useless against their strength.

“Get his phone,” the lead officer orders, nodding toward my nightstand where my phone sits charging.

“You can’t take my property!” I yell, struggling harder as they yank me to my feet. “Jules, call Meg!”

“Already on it,” Jules calls back, still filming. “We’re getting legal involved right now, Leo. Don’t say anything else to them!”

The officers drag me toward the door, not bothering to let me dress. My bare feet scrape against the rough carpet, my body exposed in nothing but my underwear. It’s a deliberate humiliation tactic I recognize from other Bureau enforcement actions.

“This is what the Bureau does!” I shout to the growing crowd of omegas in the hallway. “This is what they call choice!”

As they haul me past, more phones come out, more witnesses capturing their tactics. This is perfect. Every video is a weapon we can use later.

“Get in,” the officer directs, opening the rear door of a black sedan.

I hesitate one last moment, scanning the growing cluster of onlookers.

“Now, Mr. Torres.”

I don’t move. He shoves my head down, pushing me into the back seat. The leather is cold against my bare thighs.

I stay silent as we drive. There’s no point asking where we’re going, though the city gradually gives way to suburbs, then to forested hills rolling toward distant mountains. The officers don’t attempt conversation either. Nor do they turn up the heat to counteract my lack of clothes. I sit with my skin goose pimpled and shivering, although the fury in my veins warms me well enough.

After nearly two hours, the vehicle turns onto a private road winding upward through dense pines. Security checkpoints appear every few miles. We go through gates that require biometric verification from the officers and cameras that track our progress. With each barrier, my stomach tightens further.

We crest a final hill, and the compound spreads before us: a cluster of modern cottages nestled around a pristine lake. In the golden morning light, it looks like an exclusive resort, but I see past the aesthetics. Resorts don’t have perimeter fences this tall or ugly. They definitely don’t have guards positioned at regular intervals. It’s a beautiful prison.

The vehicle stops before one of the lakeside cottages.

“End of the line,” the officer announces, unlocking the doors.

“And if I refuse to get out?”

The officer glances at me in the rearview mirror, something almost like sympathy crossing his face. “Then we carry you in. Your choice, as always.”

Choice. As if I have any.

There are no cameras here or at least no friendly ones. There’s no point in letting myself get dragged out.

I step out of the vehicle with as much dignity as I can manage with my hands tied. The air smells of pine and clean water, none of the city’s exhaust and concrete heat. Under different circumstances, I would love the place.

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