Page 222 of Claiming the Pack's Omega
It sucks worse than I thought it would.
I used to have nightmares where all the shitty men I've dealt with in the past were my sleep paralysis demons. That similar feeling of being locked in place no matter how much I strain against the chains of my own mind feels exactly like those nightmares.
The first sense I get back is touch. It's freezing, in whatever room they've put me in, but not the kind of cold you'd find outside because it's not spring yet. This is a sterile sort of cold that you'd find from setting your air conditioning to fifty degrees.
The next sense I get back is hearing. There's this incessant beeping that just gets louder and louder as I cling to the threads of consciousness.
When I finally find the strength required to open a single eyelid, I'm assaulted by the bright fluorescent lighting shining down on me from above. It pierces through my skull like an ice pick.
I let out a soft groan from the pain. When I try to lift my hands to press them against my temples to try and ease the pain, they're stopped short.
Restraints.
It takes me a few seconds to build up the courage to open my eyes again.
I'm in some sort of hospital-looking room. Every single thing about this room is sterile, from the white walls to the smell. I'm in a shitty hospital gown too. They took all my clothes. And by all my clothes, I mean all of them.
I try not to let the thought of someone undressing me while I'm completely unconscious get to me, but fear still leaks its way through.
I was expecting some sort of dingy basement somewhere. Not what looks to be a state-of-the-art lab room. They've got me attached to a bunch of expensive-looking equipment, which is where that incessant beeping is coming from.
My ankles and wrists are attached to a gurney by padded leather restraints. I twist my wrist around and examine them, a thrum of excitement flitting through my veins when I realize there's no lock mechanism. They're just the normal sort of hospital restraints with a buckle.
I immediately start twisting and turning my body to try and unlock the latch with my teeth, but with the way they're attached to the gurney, there's no way for me to get my mouth close enough.
I collapse back against the bed, my head spinning with the effort.
Whatever they injected me with? It's a bitch of a drug, that's for sure.
I have to close my eyes to try and combat the urge to start dry heaving over the edge of the gurney.
The door to the room clicks open and I jolt upwards, every muscle in my body locking with fear.
"Stop fucking around with your restraints or we'll have to restrain your head to the bed too," Dom says.
The sound of his voice grates against my brain in the perfect way to reignite the anger that's been lying dormant since I got knocked out.
"Where the fuck am I?" I snarl, my lip curling in disgust.
"You're in a facility," Dom shrugs, leaning against the wall by the foot of the gurney.
"A facility for what?" I gesture at the sterile room around us. "So much for hating working with Northsiders. You gave me shit for 'making my bed' with a Northside pack when you're doing the exact fucking thing!"
He narrows his eyes at me, his jaw ticking.
"That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble," he hisses. "I put up with it for years 'cause you were my biggest money maker, but the people that work here aren't like that, so get that through your fucking head."
My mouth clamps shut. I hate that he has a point, but that doesn't change the fact that he does. Mouthing off was what got me knocked out.
"Okay, fine then," I grit out. "What the hell are you doing working with Northsiders?"
"You know me," he shrugs. "They pay well."
And he's willing to do fucking anything for a bag.
"You should watch your face, too," he says, narrowing his eyes.
"Watch my face?" I huff.
