Page 3 of Snatched Up By the Cartel

"I know all about family, about the things we do for them." His voice was quiet, almost gentle, and I sensed there was a story there, one that perhaps mirrored my own.

And yet, he wasn't going to tell me anything. He didn't have a reason to do that.

I nodded, my eyes downcast as I struggled to keep the tears at bay. "He used me," I whispered. "And now I'm paying the price."

And I didn't think Mateo believed me. Why would he believe me, anyway? There was no reason he should. Not without evidence, anyway.

"Seems like you're paying for more than just your own crimes." Mateo accused and I dared to meet his gaze again. It was probably the bravest thing I was going to do in a while.

"It's the way of the world, little omega." He took another step closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. "And it's also the reason why you're here with me."

I anticipated a different response from him, but instead, he simply turned away and resumed his push-ups. As I stood there, observing him, my body trembling and my mind racing, I realized there was much to contemplate, and none of it seemed good.

Chapter 2

Mateo

The moon cast an eerie silver light through the small window of our cell, rousing me from my fitful sleep. I groaned slightly. I didn't want to wake up. Waking up in the middle of the night always sucked.

I shifted on the narrow bed, my body tense and my mind alert. This bed was horrible. This prison should be closed just because of that. This was no way for someone to sleep.

Something had disturbed my slumber, a sound that didn't belong in the quiet of the night. I had been living here for a long time, so I was used to quietness. I was used to not having a cellmate.

I turned my head, my eyes adjusting to the dim light, and saw Rylan tossing and turning on his bed, his face contorted in distress. The omega was having a nightmare.

I sighed inwardly, a mix of annoyance and something akin to pity stirring within me. I hated showing weakness, and Rylan was the epitome of weakness.

Everything about him showed his weakness. He couldn't help it. He was completely out of his element.

But there he was, huddled under the thin blanket, his breath coming in short gasps as he dreamed of whatever horrors haunted him. I couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of sympathy for the kid. He was new to this place, and the weight of his sentence was no doubt crushing him.

But I didn't feel a lot of pity for him. It really was only a little. Because he was a Nightfang, he did a lot of bad things. Everybody here hated him. Thanks to the way he was, I didn't think he was going to survive here for much longer.

I sat up, the metal frame of the bed creaking in protest. The moonlight illuminated the cell, casting shadows that danced across the walls, adding to the atmosphere.

Never again in my life would complain about my previous accommodations. They were so much better than what I had here.

I ran a hand through my hair, the stubble on my scalp a constant reminder of my captivity. The prison was no place for sentiment, and yet here I was, contemplating checking on my cellmate.

What was causing this feeling? His family was shit, and it was likely he wasn't any different. Like father, like son—they say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And, in my experience, that was usually true.

With a huff, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, my bare feet padding softly against the cold concrete floor. I hoped I wasn't going to regret this.

I crossed the small space between our beds and shook Rylan's shoulder. He was warm — warmer than he should be. Did he have a fever? This was making me think he had.

"Hey, kid. Wake up." My voice was rough, my usual gravelly tone softened slightly by the hour. He was much younger than me and I could tell that just by looking at him, so I couldn't help but call him a kid sometimes.

Rylan jolted awake, his eyes wide and fearful as he took in his surroundings. He was suffering in his nightmare and now he was afraid of me. I could see it in his eyes.

For a moment, he looked confused, disoriented, before recognition dawned, and he seemed to remember where he was. I imagined that, for a moment, he thought he wasn't in this prison anymore.

"W-what?" He stammered.

"You were having a nightmare," I said, my tone matter-of-fact. "You wanna tell me what it was about?" I asked, though I knew he wouldn't — or couldn't — answer. I didn't think he was going to feel comfortable telling me about it. He was the kind of person who kept his feelings and thoughts to himself. That was something we had in common.

Rylan averted his gaze, his eyes darting around the cell as if searching for an escape. He knew there was none, but he still couldn't help but wish it was different. If there was an escape, I would have already used it.

"I-I don't remember," he lied, his voice shaking. I could smell the fear rolling off him, his heart racing as he tried to collect himself. He was also sweaty. Whatever his nightmare was about, it was probably one of the nastiest he had in a long while.

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