Page 52 of Rescued By Four Alphas
I take my seat in the uncomfortable metal chair, placing my palms flat on the cold surface of the table. The room smells of disinfectant and stale air. I count the seconds in my head as I wait, focusing on my breath to control the fury threatening to boil over.
After exactly seven minutes, the door on the opposite side opens, and two guards escort Hammond into the room. He shuffles in as the chains between his ankles limit his stride. His hands are cuffed in front of him, and the orange jumpsuit hangs loose on his frame.
Hammond looks thinner than I remember, his cheeks hollow, his once-styled hair now limp and too long, and grey stubble covers his jaw. He looks like the caricature of his immaculate appearance, which he maintained during his time as a respected scientist. But his eyes - fuck, those soulless eyes have not changed. They're still cold, withdrawn, and studying everything around.
The guards secure Hammond's cuffs to a ring on the table, then step back to positions near the door. Hammond slowly lowers himself into his chair, wincing slightly. Prison hasn't been kind to him physically, but I know better than to mistake that for weakness.
"Well, well," Hammond says, his voice raspy but still carrying that same arrogance. "The great Evan Blackthorn graces me with his presence. To what do I owe this honor?"
His lips spread in a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"You know why I'm here," I say, keeping my voice level.
Hammond tilts his head, and his smile spreads wider. "Do I? I've been in this concrete box for eight months, Mr. Blackthorn. I don't exactly keep up with current events."
"Dr. Reid has taken Dahlia."
A flicker of genuine surprise crosses his face before it's replaced by undisguised pleasure. Hammond leans back in his metal chair, and the restraints clank against the table.
"So, the mighty Evan Blackthorn has finally come crawling to me for help," he says, savoring each word. "How deliciously ironic. The billionaire Alpha, who has everything, is reduced to begging a prisoner for scraps of information."
"I'm not begging," I snap.
"You can call it what you want." Hammond's smile grows cruel. "But we both know you wouldn't be sitting across from me if you had any other options. Tell me, how did it happen? Did Reid snatch her right from under your nose… again?"
My jaw clenches so hard I feel a tooth crack. "That's not your concern."
"Oh, but it is," Hammond leans forward, his chains rattling. "You see, I find it fascinating that you've managed to lose the most valuable Omega on the planet, who is pregnant with four Alpha-sired babies, no less. You had all your resources, all your money, all your power... and still, Reid outsmarted you."
"I didn't come here to be taunted,"
Hammond shrugs. "Then why did you come? Surely you don't expect me to help you out of the goodness of my heart."
"I want information on Reid. His operations, his facilities, and where he might have taken her."
"And what do I get in return?" Hammond raises his eyebrows.
"What do you want?"
Hammond's fingers tap a slow rhythm on the metal table. "I want better accommodations. Access to scientific journals…and a reduced sentence."
"I can arrange the first two," I say. "The third isn't up to me."
"You have the influence," Hammond counters. "Pull some fucking strings. Get me moved to a minimum-security facility. Somewhere with a library and decent food."
I weigh his demands against what his information might be worth. Every minute I spend negotiating is another minute Dahlia remains in Reid's hands.
"I'll see what I can do," I concede finally. "Now tell me about Reid."
Hammond's eyes gleam with victory. "My, how the tables have turned. But I suppose if anyone deserves to suffer in Reid's hands, it's your precious Omega. I wonder if he'll let me visit once he has her properly secured in his lab."
I dig my fingernails into my palms, focusing on that pain rather than the urge to reach across the barrier and tear Hammond's throat out.
"Reid," I prompt, my voice tight.
"Leonard Reid," Hammond says, settling into his chair like he's about to give a lecture. "He's a brilliant man. Truly brilliant. Did you know he completed his first PhD at nineteen? It was on genetics. Then another in neurochemistry by twenty-four. The military recruited him straight out of university."
"I know his resume," I interrupt. "I want to know where he operates."
