Page 159 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
“Stupid bitch,” the man says, kicking me hard in the ribs.
I grunt, but I don’t flinch, staring up hard into his disfigured face.
“Careful Peter,” Dr. Hannah says, stretching her arms above her head, before sliding off her lounger and sidling up to the man with the chain. “We need her in one piece.” She wraps her arms around the man’s waist. “Although it probably doesn’t matter if the piece is a little bruised here and there.”
Her brother smirks at me, then slaps me hard across the face. So hard I tumble backwards, stars twinkling in front of my eyes, my fingers finally loosening.
He gives me no time to find my balance or regain my grip on the sun-lounger. He yanks me up onto my feet and brings his face right down to mine.
“I don’t think she needs both her eyes either, does she?”
“Not really,” Hannah purrs. “In fact, she probably doesn’t need any eyes at all.”
Her brother grins and lifts one hand, bringing his forefinger up to my face, hovering it in front of my right eye. I squirm in his grip, trying to break free, trying to remember what Silver had told me.
But I don’t have Nate’s knife. I’m not even wearing a pair of shoes. However, I do have my nails. My stupid fucking fake nails from the wedding. Most of them anyway.
“Hold still, little bitch,” he spits, “and let me pop your fucking eye right out of its socket.” I do exactly as he says, stilling in his grip. He sneers, his remaining eye flickering with darkness. “Such a shame to lose it, isn’t it? It’s such a damn pretty eye. Half the fucking city’s been talking about how pretty your eyes are. That and your fucking ass.” His gaze flicks down my body and I take my opportunity.
I strike at him, swiping my nails right across his cheek, cutting deep into his flesh.
“Fuck,” he cries out, letting me go and clutching at his cheek. Blood pours through his fingers. I guess he’s going to look like a proper pirate now with an eyepatch and scar. All he needs is a parrot.
I don’t wait for the counterattack, I turn and run. I run just like Silver told me to do. I run down onto the beach.
I’m fast. And with my regular practice I’m able to run far. To outrun even an alpha. Even three alphas. If I can run to the mass of trees on the horizon, I can lose them. I know I can.
Fuck, I’ll run all along the coast if I have to.
But I’m also on the brink of a heat. My legs won’t move like they should. I drive them as hard as I can, but it’s like running through treacle, every movement an effort, every muscle screaming.
I run. My heels kicking up sand, my lungs burning, my heart pounding. I run over the sand, the trees drawing closer, closer.
It’s no good. But my legs won’t move as fast as they should.
An arm swings out from behind me and wraps around my waist.
I scream again, kicking and pummeling the arm, turning to try to bite the shoulder of the alpha that grips me.
But his grip is his vise-like. His body rock hard. I don’t think he feels a single one of my blows.
It’s the man with the chain. The head of the pack. The leader of the Snakebites. His hand is covered in a tattoo of a skull, another snake twisted through the eye socket. The word hate scrawled above his knuckles.
He chuckles right by my ear, his breath warm, his scent stinging my nose and my throat.
“There, there little pussy cat. That’s enough. Put your claws away.” He yanks me in closer to his body, his other hand coming up to squeeze at my breast through my shirt. “Look at you, all riled up, all hot and bothered. You know what I think would calm you right down, little pussy cat? A good rutting. How about you get down on your hands and knees for me? How about I have you purring on the end of my cock? How does that sound, little pussy cat?”
My vision swoops in and out, my legs shake. My body’s responding to the alpha pawing at my body, pouring honey in my ear. But I don’t want him. I don’t want him.
I screw up my eyes and clench my teeth, hanging onto my reason harder than I clung to that sun-lounger. This is one thing that won’t be wrenched from my fingers.
I don’t care that I’m an omega now. I don’t care that my body isn’t always under my control. My mind is and it always fucking will be.
No more gas lighting. No more clever words. No more trickery. No more falling for the tongues that twist words around and morph my reality.
I know what I want.
I want my pack. My alphas.
