Page 1 of Pack Frenzy
CHAPTER 1
JESS
The first thing I register is the burn of cold air scraping the inside of my throat, slicing through the swampy funk at the back of my mouth.
Opening my eyes is harder than it should be. The lids feel gummy, weighted. When I finally pry them open, a sickly fluorescent buzz above me flickers like it’s trying to induce a seizure, and each flash carves a pulse of panic behind my ribs.
Wherever I am, it smells like bleach and metal. Like somewhere bad things happen quietly.
I lurch upright, or try to, my back spasms along with most of my other muscles, and I nearly roll off a slab of metal disguised as a cot. The room tilts violently.
“Fuck,” I wheeze, pressing my palm against my temple where a headache pounds in time with my heartbeat. Did I hit my head? Everything’s fuzzy.
No windows. Four gray walls. A metal-barred door with a narrow slot that’s big enough to slide a tray of food through but not much else.
Something’s wrong with my clothes. Instead of black halter and jeans I was wearing, I’m swimming in an itchy grayjumpsuit, the kind that telegraphsproperty of.A strip of Velcro wraps my left ankle, bright orange lettering stitched into the strap:Nexus.My feet are bare. When I prod at the device, it zaps me with a static nip.
I hiss, yank my hand back, and shake out the sting.
This can’t be Nexus. It’s supposed to be where Omegas go to get pampered and perfumed in some glass suite, not barefoot in a concrete cell.
My right shoulder throbs, probably from hitting the ground after fifty thousand volts turned my nervous system into scrambled eggs. There’s no knot on my head, but I definitely feel like I smacked my skull on something.
Wait—Casey, Danica, Kayla. Where are they?
Memories pour in, quick and mean: the bus fishtailing in the storm, the crunch of metal, Kayla shrieking. The smell of burning rubber and electrical smoke chokes my lungs.
Then the rain, Casey yelling something, but her words cut off when the world turned blue and white. Every nerve lit up at once, muscles locking, pain like nothing I’d ever felt. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe, only feel my body betray me as I collapsed.
Goddamn it. Everything after that is static.
I grip the edge of the cot and breathe slow, counting each inhale like it’ll keep my head from splitting open. If they’re here, I’ll find them. We’ll figure this out. I try to piece together the last thing I saw, though I have no idea if it was an hour ago or a day or more.
Okay, focus. Find out what other injuries I have.
I run a mental checklist: limbs still attached, neck functional, no gaping wounds. My right shoulder throbs, probably from hitting the ground after fifty thousand volts. The only thing I can actually see is a needle mark in the crook of my elbow,surrounded by a faint bruise. Fresh. Whatever they pumped into me.
Nice touch, assholes. Could’ve at least bought me a drink first.
Shit. Did they dose me to trigger heat, or freeze it until I’m ready for shipment?
My hands shake. Not from fear—okay, maybe a little—but from my body rebooting after someone yanked the plug. I flex my fingers, glare at the camera pulsing red in the corner.
“Hey!” I shout. “If you’re gonna roofie a girl and drag her off, at least buy me dinner. Or some pants that aren’t one-size-fits-nobody.”
No answer. Just the white-noise hum of vents pushing air that smells like hospital disinfectant and regret. I pace, three steps before my toes meet the opposite wall, a seam so smooth even a cockroach couldn’t wedge in for a cigarette break.
A dry laugh bubbles up. I’m the only daughter in the Mancini line who skipped debutante season. Learned to throw a left hook before I learned to flirt. And now they’ve got me in a box like a goddamn action figure, waiting for some sociopath to unbox me and see what features I have.
A faint female whimper cuts through the air.
The sound punches the air out of me. Christ, that sound is what Mom sounded like the night after Sabrina disappeared.
“Hello?” I press my body against the cold bars, trying to peer down the dim hallway. “Hey, you okay over there?”
Silence. Then, so faint I almost miss it: “You shouldn’t talk. They—they punish you.”
The fear in her voice makes my stomach drop. She’s not just scared. She’s been trained to be scared.
