Page 44 of Fallen Omega

Steeling myself, I push up to my feet and drop the water bottle. As I clench my jaw, I look around, opening drawers. I find a remote control and, even though I heard the key turn both times in the low-tech door, I press a button.

Sound blares and I whirl. A screen has come to life, a TV, one made to take on the same image as the wall’s paint when off, making it almost invisible.

“Shit.”

I turn it off, and press the other buttons, but now I don’t switch the TV on, nothing else happens. So, I drop the remote control on the bed. I continue my search. There aren’t any windows, no secret doors or Narnia or the outside world.

But I’m not ready to concede defeat. Ignoring the agony that’s a dull whine in me, I go into the bathroom, feeling the walls either side of the door for the light. I hit it.

There’s a vent, but no windows in here, either.

Defeated, I try one last thing.

The door. Just in case.

But the door’s very much locked.

A wave hits and I stagger as misery and pain crash over me. The itch for relief, something that ebbs and flows, never leaves me.

Instead, I go to the bed and sit, taking small sips from the bowl of soup that smells of chicken and noodles and the kind of medicine that helps a little.

Then I take a bite of the sandwich. Egg and lettuce. It’s on thick whole grain and I whimper.

Because this is the kind of meal Dad made for me the second time I went into heat. And I know he’d want me to eat, to gather strength, calm, before I decide to do anything.

But the pills?

I stare at them and then I sweep them up and throw them, something I’m sure is a mistake. But no, I’m not taking them.I’m not letting these people, this Unholy Trinity, keep me out of it.

When it comes down to face to face, I want—no, I need—to be alert.

A wave of pain hits me, and my stomach tries to eat itself at the same time, like I don’t know which way’s up.

But I eat, and I drink, and when I start to feel a little woozy, like the edge has been taken off, I switch on the TV, turn the sound low.

Then I climb into the bed, dragging the hot water bottle with me, and close my eyes.

Blackness claims me.

I don’t know how long I was out, but I come awake fast.

My senses are tangled, and I can smell rain in the air, and earthy something. It’s hot, salty, and it makes me think of sex.

This time there’s pain, but desire flares up, taking me hard.

The TV is still off and I realize the scent isn’t something my sleep or drug addled mind made up—I think the food was drugged—because I’m not alone.

Someone’s in the room with me. Dark and dangerous and so compellingly male, so overwhelmingly familiar.

I know who it is before I look.

It’s the man from the car, when the cops ripped my life apart. Whenheripped it apart by turning me in.

The tall devil in black.

I throb deep inside.

Not from pain.

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