Page 15 of Omega Untamed
I stared at the phone.
“Have I made myself clear?” Sam asked.
“Crystal.” I put as much venom into that one word as I could muster, then flipped the phone closed effectively cutting off my handler.
I put everything back in the plastic bag, sealed it, and put it back in the tank of the toilet.
By the time I got back to the casino and the top floor, not even a half an hour had passed. I stopped by the corner market and bought two packs of cigs.
When I came out of the elevator, I handed one pack to Spiro. The brand was his favorite.
“Hey, thanks.”
“Going back to bed now,” I mumbled.
Chapter Five
Kee
Seriously, the guy must have spent too long in the desert. Myre’s wrinkles were too many to count. His brain appeared fried. He asked me questions that made no sense. Stuff about evidence the cops had on his beloved cousin and friend. Stuff about their activities I’d never heard of before, not from their lips while they fucked me, or anyone else’s.
“It wasn’t me.”
How many times had I said those words? Dozens. How many times did they make no difference? More dozens.
It seemed to go on for hours. When the jerk with the pliers squeezed my middle toe, I peed myself. None of them seemed to care, like they saw it every day—guys begging for relief, guys crying and denying, guys emptying their bladders in pain and fear.
I wasn’t ignorant. I knew there was a system in place on the streets for drug supplies and other harsher stuff, but I steered clear of it. It was only the steam I liked a little too much. If I sold any extra steam I had, it was only to friends. I bought mainly at clubs or bars, not in the open in the Trenches.
After the questioning became more detailed and furious, Myre wasn’t buying my answers. He kept at it, though, for what seemed like hours, though it was still night. I could see the shadows behind the floor-to-ceiling curtains on the wall that faced the cage, and they were darker than dawn or pre-dawn. The middle of the night had never lasted so long.
I couldn’t speak anymore. I couldn’t think. I was dizzy and sticky and bloody on my toe, and my split lip had started to bleed again.
Someone was undoing the straps at my wrists. My legs were already free, my bare feet dragging the floor as I was yanked up and out of the chair.
The last few minutes were a blur. Had I passed out?
“Clean him up.” Myre’s voice came as if from far away. “Let him rest and then get him ready for a drive. Dawn.”
The hands that held me tossed me to the floor of the cell and I hit my sore hand and scraped my knees through my now even more ripped up blue jeans. I couldn’t move, see or think.
Hands with a rough, wet towel washed my face, hands and feet. The towel met my blurry vision, spotted red.
“Please,” I said. “I don’t know anything.” My words fell on dead air. The cell door banged shut.
I crawled on my knees and one good hand to the cot, and curled up on the thin mattress, strange lights and images swirling through my mind. My throat was so dry it hurt to breathe. It seemed like eons had passed since Bast had given me the soda in a plastic cup.
My damp jeans pulled at the crotch, the smell sour agonizing combined with everything else. This was it. I’d reached the end of my path. I hoped it would be quick, then began to sob at the thought. Quick, hoarse sounds that wrenched my already sore body.
My broken finger had gone numb; my toe throbbed with fierce stabs.
My last thought as I lost consciousness for a bit was:That old man Alpha—it wasn’t the desert he’d come from; it was Hell.
*
When I woke, I could not ascertain time at all. Had I slept minutes or hours?
I rolled onto my back, forgetting for a moment where I was. The pain hit me full force and my muscles went taut, my legs and arms stiffening. I cried out.
