Page 1 of Who We Were

PROLOGUE

AMAYA

Chaos.

I'm not sure what's going on, but my body is rioting against its surroundings.

Everything feels like a blur. Maybe it's because I'm absolutely starving, or maybe it's the dehydration. There's also the possibility I have completely disassociated just to keep myself sane.

But am I sane?

I highly doubt it.

It's been four years of being manipulated and forced into being a person I never wanted to become. A docile, fearful, and submissive little omega.

Soldiers zip from left to right. My skin itches with each new hand pushing me forward into another vehicle.

Where will this one take me?

The old Amaya would be getting her hopes up, letting herself salivate over the prospect of food. I would probably have let my shoulders slump in preparation for something soft too. But the new one, the Amaya currently allowing herself to be manhandled and barked at, doesn't really care.

I don't ask any questions. I follow. I listen. I do as I'm told.That'sthe omega the academy forced me to become. It's safer this way.

Gunfire doesn't even rouse me from my zoned out, half-dead coping mechanisms. I could be getting rescued, or hell, all of us omegas could be getting kidnapped by the traffickers I've heard so much about.

Time doesn't tick by in this state, which I am thankful for. I wish I could completely tune out the conversations and cries happening around me, but it's impossible, especially when I'm being slammed by different scents over and over again. The only thing that has the power to snap me out of this sorry state I'm in is the overwhelming clusterfuck of alphas surrounding me.

I'm not sure when, but I'm no longer being tossed about in another vehicle. Now I'm being jostled and escorted through, what seems to be a ginormous and luxurious police station type thing. It's a struggle to keep myself upright on my wobbly, numb legs.

Unfortunately, my omega, who holds the only pieces of me worth keeping, perks her little nose up. Lemon infiltrates my nostrils and makes my mouth fill with saliva.

‘Home?’my omega whispers in my head anxiously. But we both know the truth—I have no home.

It's gone before I can figure out what or who it came from. What I wouldn't give to smell it again if only so I can be reminded of my Nana's house.

My awareness follows the disappearing scent at the ruckus of shouts and alpha growls. Bubbliness and hopefulness might linger with my omega, but I've been on the receiving end of punishments long enough to know when to keep my head down. And if I can ignore the entire world for a little longer, I'll happily sink into the depressing nothingness I have become.

1

AMAYA

Always read the fine print.

You'd think after the year I've spent here, I would have learned that lesson. Every moment and interaction at the OPS Rehabilitation Center is filled with cloaked layers.

Even in the most basic daily activities like eating. I didn't eat a meal without being watched and tracked the entire time I've been here. But it's okay right, because they need to make sure we omegas were eating enough and behavingnormallywith our food.

The dietary rule from the academy shifted just a bit.Diet MUST be followed at ALL timesturned intoomegas are allowed to eat what they choose but MUST be monitored.

Then there's the hygiene. At the academy, we weren't allowed to bring our own soaps. Only descenting products were available for us.Scent dampening shampoo, conditioner, and body soaps will be provided - MUST use twice daily.

At rehab, there are bins upon bins of options with different scents available for us to choose from. The Premium Designation Academy stripped us of our scents, and here theygive us the freedom to decide what we bathe ourselves in as long as wedobathe. Our choices don't go unnoticed, though.

There are also the nesting materials that were shoved at all of us on our first day. Anything to make the omegas more comfortable. Except, these people didn't understandhalfof what we experienced at the academy.

Nesting is FORBIDDEN.

Rock solid mattresses, one ripped sheet, abrasive lighting, cracked ceilings, and doors that never locked. Yeah, we gave the OPS a run for their fucking money those first few months. Some of us still test the degrees our therapists have. Like me.

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