Page 25 of Captive Omega

“I can get you painkillers?” Vaughn offers.

Take drugs from a man I just met in an alley and risk waking up in a sealed room, tied to a bed, with an alpha determined to fuck me?

Not a chance in hell.

I might have made a mistake letting him bring me up here. Sure, he had a business card, and this house is the sort of mansion you’d see in Architectural Digest, but bad things happen in nice houses. If anyone knows how bad those can be, I do.

“No drugs.” Watching Vaughn closely, I prepare myself for the possibility I might have to actually use this knife on him, deal with more blood I’d rather avoid and get myself down the stairs on feet that, for the first time in forever, aren’t screaming at me now I’m off them.

“If you’re sure.”

He hesitates for so long it’s clear he doesn’t want to do this, though he seemed eager before. And that reluctance is what makes me wonder if I’m signing up to more than I can handle. Then I remember the alternatives and stiffen my spine.

“I’m sure.”

“Well, I need to grab a couple of things, but I’ll be right back.” He pushes himself to his feet and walks out, leaving me alone for the first time.

I look around, absorbing my surroundings.

The room is not the nicest I’ve been in. The alphas who bought and traded me were richer than this. Animals beneath the surface, but rich.

This is okay. Not over the top elegant, but simple.

White linen or cotton bed sheets with a cream padded seat at the base of the bed. A matching pair of white bedside tables with silver lamps and a glass chandelier. Floor to ceiling silvery-gray drapes that make the window look massive.

There are two closed white doors. One leads to a closet that Vaughn retrieved the first aid kit from, and the other must lead to a bathroom.

If someone told me they’d hired an interior designer to decorate a guest room that wouldn’t offend anyone, I’d believe them. It’s clear no one has used this room. That’s okay. I don’t mind being in a room like this because there’s a lock on the inside instead of the outside, and I have a weapon to defend myself if anyone tries to enter.

Vaughn returns a couple of minutes later and nudges the door closed behind him. He’s holding a small silver torch and a pair of tweezers. He’s also tied his hair back.

“I dunked the tweezers in rubbing alcohol to disinfect them so they’re as clean as they’re gonna get.” He drops into a crouch in front of me and flicks on the torch. “Still sure about this?”

My options are this, a doctor, or the alpha downstairs.

“I’m sure.”

He flashes me a grin. “Then one quick and dirty coming up.”

I blink in surprise when he sticks the torch in his mouth and grips my right ankle with one hand and the tweezers with another.

His palm is warm, slightly calloused, and I get the sense he’s not holding me as firmly as he could. He takes his time, but it doesn’t take long for me to realize something when he starts pulling shards of glass from the soles of my feet.

Quick and dirty was a mistake.

A great big stinkin’ case of what the hell were you thinking, Resa?

But if the other option is doctors and drugs that cloud my mind and steal my ability to fight back, then I’ll take quick and dirty every single day of the week.

Swallowing hard, I press my back against my chair, silencing my mental scream.

It’s like someone repeatedly stabbing into the soles of my foot with the occasional agonizing slice.

When I peel my eyes open, I expect fragments of glass the size of my finger. I can barely even see the thin slivers of colored glass Vaughn places on the bedside table. How can something so small hurt so much?

He pulls the torch from his mouth. “Think I see where it is now.” After placing the torch aside, he goes back to digging more glass out.

I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on breathing in through my nose and out of my mouth.

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