Page 79 of Unbonded
To my surprise, Corbus says something to him in an unfamiliar language and Volk’s posture relaxes as they chat for a moment. “He is the Count of Rosenborg,” Corbus informs me. “We are distantly related, through my father’s Danish line.”
I shake my head, but I suppose having two European royals in the mix isn’t any stranger than two uber alphas.
“We already have a man inside,” Volk tells us, taking an iPad from one of his men and pulling up the warehouse schematics. “The auction doesn’t start for another half hour, but the buyers are all in place. They’re congregated on the third floor, and the omegas are being held in a locker room on the second. He hasn’t been able to confirm that your mate is there, but he’s asked for a pre-auction viewing.”
To check the merchandise over and maybe put in an early bid.
“We clear out the first floor,” he goes on, tracking his planned route across the blueprint with a finger, “and hopefully we’re there in time to extract the omegas from the second. If not, our inside man will neutralize those in range, and we split into two groups – those who get the omegas to safety, and those who deal with any resistance.” He swipes to show a headshot of a good-looking man in a tux. “This is Declan, our contact, so don’t fucking shoot him.”
“King and Brennan are ours.”
I expect Patrick to protest about that, but he just shrugs. “I’ve got my eye on a couple of cockroaches posing as buyers, but if you need help with Brennan, I’m your man.”
I don’t plan on needing help with anything, but we shake hands, the security guys passing out tactical vests and handguns. My fingers twitch to fit Lachlan into his, but he gives me a confident nod. “I’ve got this, Alpha.”
“I know you do.” Not that I intend on him getting anywhere near harm’s way. “Stick close, no matter what.”
He grins and straps up his vest. “Like Velcro.”
Breaching the actual warehouse is a lot easier than I expected. Our combined security forces take out the guards on the perimeter and front door with minimal fuss. Once inside, they quickly sweep across the first floor, securing all exits. In the dim lighting, it looks like your typical criminal enterprise, with a dozen luxury vehicles in different stages of divestiture. I’mannoyed to realize there’s only one access point to the second floor, and we’re forced to mount the metal staircase in single file. I clamp down on the urge to push past our cautious escort, my temper fraying further when we get to the landing and realize the omegas have already been moved.
We’re about to head upstairs when one of Volk’s men comes out of a bedroom with Corbus’ scarf in hand. His eyes darken, Lachlan’s breath catching in his throat. “She’s here,” he hisses, staring up at me with fear etched into his face. “Do you think we’re too late?”
I open my mouth to reassure him when there’s a loud clatter from back down the hall. Curtis and his guys lead us through a rank bathroom to a bank of lockers, the stench of terrified omegas thick in the air. Volk has a lanky beta up against the wall, his arm twisted at an awkward angle against the back of his biker jacket. “They moved them upstairs,” Volk says, his face grim. “It was this asshole’s job to keep them drugged up and subdued.”
“Is this omega among them?” Corbus asks the beta, stepping forward with a picture of Kate on his phone. “Is she hurt? Did you drug her?”
The biker squints through a rapidly swelling eye. “I don’t look at them, man. I just make sure they’re not freaking out.”
Lachlan is moving around the room, his movements jerky and agitated as he circles a small bench. “She was here,” he mutters, crouching down to touch the wooden slats. “I can smell her.”
“I can smell her, too.” Not suppressants, but something that burns my nose like scorched syrup. Sweet, but bitter, with enough layers of pain and fear to make the back of my throat clench around a howl.
Corbus looks at me, but I jerk my head at Volk, and he steps back, leaving the biker slumped against the wall. There’s a wild glint in the asshole’s eye, but a lazy twist to his mouth. He probably thinks I’m just going to rough him up a bit, maybepump him for answers. But we don’t have time for that. Instead, I grab his nape and twist, the bones of his neck snapping under my hand like brittle sticks.
Volk stares at me, his jaw flexing. “Was that really necessary?”
“Our omega is in pain,” I grit out, tossing the biker into the nearest shower stall. “Someone hurt her in here, and he’s lucky all I gave him was a broken neck.”
Volk grunts, but Lachlan makes a forlorn sound behind me.
“It’s worse than that,” he says, eyes wide with shock as he takes a syringe from an open locker. “I think those motherfuckers induced Katie’s heat.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - KATE
Heat rolls through me, a prickling rash that slices across my raw nerve endings like a blunt scythe. It’s the third wave I’ve had to suffer through since they brought me up to the auction floor, and the thin gown they dressed me in is plastered to my overheated body. I brace against the agonizing rush of hot needles through my limbs, trying to fight the urge to writhe through the pain. My hands are still cuffed, and they rattle on my wrists as I dig my nails into the wooden floorboards.
I don’t want to give the assholes the satisfaction of seeing me react to their pheromones, but I’m fighting a losing battle.
The drug had already kicked in when one of Brennan’s minions dragged me into this room. The first wave of my forced heat was already surging through my body, but my heart still sank as I took in my surroundings. Little effort has been made to pretend this is anything but a meat market, with clusters of mismatched chairs gathered around a small stage. It’s painted a garish red, like it was plucked from a low-rent strip club, and a harsh spotlight is rigged to the roof. The rest of the room is lined with shelving units for storage and boxes of stolen goods with their big brand stickers still on the side. No back door that I cansee, but large windows taped over with black plastic. It could be any dusty, grimy warehouse in the city, only this one attracts the kind of alphas who buy and sell omega flesh.
There are six groups of buyers, although I don’t think they’re all here to bid. A lot of them are muscle, watching the other alphas more than the omegas. They have bulges under their sports jackets, while their bosses lounge on the worn furniture with matching bulges in their pants. Lust and paranoia hover over them like an oily mist. I try not to let it touch me, but every omega in the room is infected by their pheromones, and I’m the worst of all.
As I rattle and sweat my way through the third wave, I can taste blood in my mouth from where I’ve chewed my lip. Anything to hold in the moans that draw the alphas like moths to a flame. At first, I snarled at them when they came close, but then I discovered it was more effective just to give into my nausea and puke on them.
I catch the eye of the muscle who had to wipe my vomit off his boss’ shoes. There’s so much violence in his black gaze, I feel it like a hand squeezing my throat. But instead of making me cower in the corner like the other omegas, it sends a prickle of rage across my skin, and I bare my teeth in a bloody smile. If he wants to hurt me, he has to come closer, and he will only be able to do that if his boss wins the bid. Hopefully puking on him put him off buying me, but even if it hasn’t, I won’t go down without a fight.
Something the alpha next to him worked out the hard way. Before the puking incident, the asshole tried to grab my breast, and I stabbed him in the wrist with the hair pin I had hidden between my cuffed wrists. Not enough to do real damage, but he’d backed off with a string of curses, and I can still see the blot of blood staining his white shirt cuff.
