Page 2 of Break Me Knot

Every passing car could be Omega Services. Every friendly face could be hunting the bounty on unregistered omegas, when families too poor to pay the exorbitant fees of The Haven Institute choose to hide their children instead of giving them up. So, I stick to darkness, to back alleys and side streets, making myself small, making myself nothing. Because nothing is exactly what I need to be to survive another day away from Haven.

I pause in the shadow of a dumpster, pressing my fist against my mouth to stifle the sob that threatens to escape. Even thinking the name of that place makes my scars ache… the ones visible on my skin and the deeper ones carved into my soul.

Emma's ragged pants are a ghost in my ear, Leah's blood-matted hair etched like a vision in my brain. We were all desperate as we crashed through the dark, unending forest that surrounded Haven. The forest shadows had been our allies until they weren't, until the baying of dogs turned our hopes to ash. We'd stared at each other one last time, three frightened omegas with nothing left to lose, before splitting up. Our last desperate gamble that it would be harder to catch a single omega than a trio, especially since the dogs were trained to hunt our scent.

I swallow back the tiny, broken sob that breaks free. Emma. Leah. My sisters in everything but blood. Two years of not knowing if they made it, if they're alive, claimed, or buried in unmarked graves. I hope they were lucky enough to find a way out like I did.

I remember the bite of metal through the tarp, the way my muscles screamed for hours as I held perfectly still in that truck bed. The freezing wind over my body after my swim across the lake had numbed everything except the fear.

But I'd made it.

I'd survived.

Shaking off the memories, I hurry down the familiar alley, keeping to the deepest shadows. The streetlight at the entrance flickers and dies, typical timingfor this neighborhood. My eyes scan the darkness, looking for Marcus's familiar silhouette. For a moment, panic rises in my throat. He must be here, he has to be… until a shadow detaches from the back wall, moving with deliberate slowness.

My hand tightens around the pathetic wad of cash in my pocket.. Without Marcus's pills, I'm as good as dead. Or worse… claimed.

Marcus melts out of the shadows, his ratty leather jacket creaking with each movement. The smell of cheap cigarettes and cheaper cologne makes my nose twitch, and I fight the urge to step back. Show weakness to someone like Marcus, and they'll use it against you every time.

“Anyone follow you?” he asks, eyes darting past my shoulder into the darkness.

“How stupid do you think I am?” I snap, though my heart hammers so hard I'm sure he can hear it. “I wouldn't lead anyone here.” The words taste bitter in my mouth. We both understand this dance. I pretend I have choices, and he pretends he's doing me a favor.

He shrugs, the dismissive gesture meant to remind me of my place in this transaction. We both know he'd sell me out in a heartbeat if the price was right. The only thing keeping my secret safe is that he makes more money from my desperate monthly visits than he would from a one-time betrayal. For now.

“I need more pills.” I hate the way my voice sounds, desperate, needy, everything an omega's supposed to be. Everything I've spent two years fighting against.

The bottle he pulls from his pocket makes my stomach drop through the floor. White plastic instead of the usual orange, with no pharmaceutical markings. When he shakes it, the rattle is too hollow, too light. My mouth dries as he unscrews the cap, showing me the contents. Five pills.Fivefucking pills that look slightly different from my usual ones. Slightly off-white, slightly larger. But beggars can't be choosers, and I'm definitely begging.

“That's it?” My voice cracks, betraying me. “Where's the rest?”

“Police are cracking down.” He picks at his teeth with a dirty nail, enjoying my distress. “Take it or leave it.”

“Five days’ worth isn’t enough,” I say.

“Come back in a week. I should have more then,” he says.

A week! Between the one pill I have and the five in the bottle, I’ll still be short. These pills should be taken every day. I’m just going to have to try and get through. Hopefully I’ll be able to pull one or two days without a pill, and… it will be all right.

I’ve taken suppressants for years, and there’ll be a build-up in my system, and it will be enough, and... I should be able to get through…

It will be all right.

I will be all right…

I pull out my carefully counted bills. A week's worth of tips, half my cleaning wages. Every dollar earned on aching feet and empty stomach. He looks at the money and laughs, an ugly sound that echoes off the alley walls.

“Full price,” he says, pulling the bottle back slightly. “Same as usual.”

“For five pills?” The alley walls seem to close in, and I taste copper when I bite the inside of my cheek. “That's not even a week's worth!”

“Market prices, sweetheart.” His grin shows tobacco-stained teeth, and his eyes gleam with satisfaction. “Supply and demand. Basic economics. Or didn't they teach you that at whatever facility you ran from?”

He can’t know I ran from The Haven Institute. I could have come from any of the facilities across the country for all he knows. It’s not like I share conversation when I’m forced to meet him. This isn’t a social visit.

I want to scream. Punch his smug beta face. I want to tell him exactly what they taught us at Haven. How to be perfect little omega whores, how to submit, how to break. Instead, I pull out the rest of my money, the entire roll that was supposed to last the month. Rent money, food money, survival money. All of it goes into his greasy palm.

He counts it slowly, making me wait, making every second of my desperation grow more. Each bill he fingers is another meal I won't eat, another night shivering. Finally, he hands over the bottle.

---