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I enter through what seems to be the living room. The house is dark, only the lights of a few electronics guiding my way. I have the rough layout in my head, and I use a small flashlight to go through each room, methodically checking for any inhabitants or dangerous items. The place is clean and well-maintained. If not for the stacks of BFOS literature I find in the office, I’d say it looks like any other middle-class home I’ve been in. Nicer even. Almost sterile.
My heart picks up speed as I make my way to the stairs, desperately praying I’ll find Espy upstairs in her room, asleep and unharmed. Brainwashing can be reversed, I assume, but what if she isn’t even here anymore?
I clench my jaw to drive away that notion. The thought of us being too late, of Leo’s sister having already been sold off to some vile, heartless alpha, makes me want to scream. She’s eighteen—not an uncommon age for omegas to reach maturity and go into a first heat. If her bastard of a father managed to brainwash her enough to trick her body into responding to an alpha ...
This is just another mission.This is just another mission. This is just another mission.
I let the mantra take over to blank out my thoughts as I reach the top of the stairs. There are only a few doors leading off the hallway, and I know from Leo that his and Espy’s rooms are to the left and their father’s to the right. I’m relieved to hear snoring coming from behind their father’s door. I affix a quick locking mechanism to the door handle—a small attempt to secure the scene and contain him should he wake up—and double-check Leo’s old room and the bathroom to make sure there’s no one else hiding up here. And then I can’t delay it any longer.
Looking at the closed door to Espy’s room, I start to think about that Schrödinger’s cat thing from high school Psych classes. Right now, with the door closed, Espy is both safe and unsafe. She’s alive, unhurt, happy even, at the same time as she’s brainwashed, locked up, perhaps harmed, sold, or—Gods forbid—dead. My hand starts to shake as I extend it, wanting to preserve for a few more precious seconds the suspension of her fate.
I turn the handle and enter cautiously. The room is dark, and it is empty.
FUCK!
* * *
My head spinsas I frantically scan the room for any sign of Esperanza. From the scent alone it’s obvious an omega was staying here. My nose picks up faded floral notes, but the more prominent aroma is the acrid smell of burned sugar. Classic markings of an omega in distress. The strong scent of whiskey and a sort of burned oil filter in next, along with a few other stale scents of alpha.
My knees buckle as I move toward the nest and get assaulted by sharp copper. The smell of blood. I shine my light over the piles of blankets. I’m barely able to repress the growl that rumbles up my throat at the sight of the wet, red streaks.She was here! Fuck! She was here and she was hurt, and now she’s missing, and the scent of an alpha is all over this room.
I frantically check the closet, just in case, but no luck. I drop to my knees in the middle of the room, pulling at my hair as I think through my next steps. Leo is out in the car, probably tearing his own hair out waiting for any news. Backup is on the way—thirty minutes out if their estimates are correct. Leo’s father is secured in his room, and Espy is missing.
Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!
I give myself a moment to silently rage before getting back to my feet. I should go back to the car and wait for the true professionals to process the scene. Perhaps her father can be persuaded to give up the details on who he sold her to. There’s no way I’m willing to entertain the possibility she’s already dead, or beyond saving. The blood from the nest is still wet, and there isn’t enough there for her to have possibly—
Wait! The blood! The blood on the bed is still wet!
I rush over to confirm, smearing my hand a dark red. Her clothes are still in her closet; the dresser looks full ... I silently rush to the family bathroom, confirming there are toiletries that look like they belong to a female. All her stuff is still here, andshewas here recently. Maybe, by some miracle, she still is.
It’s equally as likely whichever alpha assaulted her in her room carted her away without any of her belongings, but I allow myself a small moment of desperate hope as I hurry back down the stairs. There is one final part of the house I haven’t checked yet.Time for a Hail Mary ...
The door to the basement is locked, but a quick twist of my wrist solves that problem. I turn on the light as I rush down the steps, done with subtlety at this point. It only takes two seconds for joy to spear through me.
There, right near the base of the stairs, is my missing omega. Espy. It has to be.
She’s not in good shape, but I can tell immediately that she’s alive, her chest moving in a shallow but steady rhythm. She’s lying against the wall on the bare concrete, her hands cuffed and chained to a metal ring drilled a few feet up the wall. She’s only half-dressed, and I give her body a quick, professional scan. She’s covered in bruises. They seem to be concentrated around her arms and legs, but I suspect I’ll find more on her back. Classic defensive wounds. She’s small—seemingly child-size. Not just her height. She looks far too skinny for a woman who’s gone through puberty. Especially an omega.
My eyes briefly take in the harsh jut of her ribs against her skin before they catch on the cuts along her arm and hip. There are a few other scrapes, but these two look deep, based on the amount of blood covering her skin and pooling on the ground below her.
The alpha instincts inside me roar to the surface.Omega! Must protect!
I can tell she’s gorgeous, even beneath the evidence of her abuse and obvious malnutrition. The delicate lines of her face and her full lips have me gulping. Her resemblance to Leo is clear. I keep my eyes firmly above her neck now that I’ve visually assessed her injuries, but my mind flashes guiltily to the small curves just barely hidden behind her bra and underwear. I look around for a blanket, but it seems modesty will have to wait.
“Espy,” I whisper, kneeling down next to her. “Please, wake up.”
She doesn’t move, so I reach out a hand to tap gently against her nearest arm. “Espy?”
Suddenly I’m staring into a pair of wide, greenish-brown eyes.
“Don’t be scar—”
My attempt at calming her is cut off by a terrified scream. I instinctively fall back and away from her.
“Don’t touch me!” she screams again, the sound echoing through the small basement and making my ears ring.
She looks absolutely panicked. I watch helplessly as she sits up and begins frantically pulling at her restraints, seemingly throwing her whole body against the chains in her attempt to get free.
