Page 7 of Chain Me Knot

It’s fucked up, but because he lost his shit and bonded her, it’s quite possibly the only legal thing on our side.

“I'll bury them.” Asher's eyes have gone dark, deadly. His finger traces a bruise on her cheek with heartbreaking gentleness that contrasts with his tone. “They’ll pay for every mark on her skin. For everything they’ve done to her. I’ll make sure of it.”

All of us will. I have a new calling and its name is vengeance.

“We need to get her to a hospital. But first...” Phoenix’s eyes fix on the chain around her ankle.

“I’ve got it, brother.” I find the smaller key on the ring Asher ripped from the wall. My stomach lurches as I follow the line of her leg to the thick metal cuff around her ankle. Angry red streaks climb up her calf from where the metal has eaten into her flesh.

The cuff speaks of a whole other level of cruelty, as though being locked in a basement behind thick iron bars wasn’t enough to contain her. This was meant to fuck with her mind, and I have to wonder just how damaged she is, inside and out.

“They’re not going to be buried, brother. The pieces of their bodies left after we’ve shredded them with our bare hands won’t be big enough for any grave.” This is my solemn vow.

I take several deep breaths before I can steady my hands enough to work the key into the lock. I ease the cuff off her skin as gently as I can and throw it into the farthest moldy corner of the dank cell.

Phoenix's voice shakes as he radios for medical support. “We need an ambulance. It’s urgent. We’ve found the omega and…there’s multiple trauma, severe infection, possible sepsis.”

The tremor in his voice echoes what we're all feeling. Rage, helplessness, and a burning need for justice we might not be able to deliver because the same laws we are meant to enforce are the same laws working against us.

The stairs creak under our combined weight as we emerge from that pit of hell. My eyes burn adjusting to the bright kitchen lights after the basement's darkness. Even my gear is heavier, like it's absorbed the damp misery from below. The stench follows us up, the mold, infection, human suffering a stark contrast to the wealth above.

Who keeps this much food on hand when they’re torturing someone below it? The thought hits me as I take in the obscene display of abundance. Fresh fruit overflowing from ceramic bowls. Half-eaten pizzas left in boxes stacked on the counter. Bottles of soda and wine, top-of-the-line appliances gleaming under recessed lighting. Through the glass-front refrigerator, I glimpse shelf after shelf of gourmet meals—so much plenty just a floor above someone’s suffering.

I don’t contain the growl that rattles from me.

They had all this, and they fuckingstarvedher.

Defiled her.

Tortured her.

Asher cradles our omega, her head lolling against his shoulder. The overhead lights are cruel, highlighting every shadow of abuse on her body. Each pronounced rib, every bruise, the cadaver gray pallor of her skin. It hits me how close to complete physical failure she is.

In the living room, our squad has the three alphas face-down, surrounded. Matthew Carmichael starts thrashing when he sees us emerge with her. The entitled rage in his expression tells me all I need to know.

“Give it back. That's theft!” he shouts, trying to push himself up despite the officer's knee in his back. “You can't take my property! I'll have your badges for this!”

The word 'property' rips another growl from me. Phoenix's reaction is more direct. He takes a step toward the restrained alpha. “Property?” His voice drops to something dangerous. “You kept her chained in a basement. Starved her. And you dare—”

“Phoenix.” I grab his arm, feeling the tremors of rage running through him. Not that I blame him. Every instinct I possess screams to let him go, to watch these monsters learn exactly how it feels to be treated like property.

“Don’t give them a reason to take her away from us.” He vibrates under my touch, but at least he stops in his tracks.

Asher doesn't move, doesn't speak, but his stillness is more terrifying than any rage. Our unconscious omega looks impossibly small in his arms. A muscle in his jaw works as he stares down at her captors, and I recognize that look. It is one that would have me pissing my pants if I weren’t his bond brother.

“She's mine by law,” their prime spits, either too stupid or too arrogant to recognize the danger he's in. “My omega. My property. And when I get out…”

The temperature in the room drops. Asher's voice, when it comes, is barely above a whisper. “When you get out?” Matthew finally looks at Asher’s face, and whatever he sees makes the man flinch. “Bold of you to assume I won’t go out of my way to bury you under enough charges to rot away in a prison cell for the rest of your life.”

“I can treat my property however I see fit and if you don’t hand it back over to us…”

It. Our mate isn’t even a human being to this piece of shit. My fingers tense around the handle of my gun, itching to put a bullet through Pack Carmichaels’brains. I restrain myself, because if we go down, our omega will have no one on her side. Again.

Asher's growl fills the room, silencing everyone. “Get them out of my sight,” he orders, voice deadly but quiet. “Full restraints. Separate cars. Separate holding cells.”

The prime alpha's face purples. “It's mine! My omega! You—”

“One more word,” Asher says, “and I'll add resisting arrest to your long list of charges.” His arms tighten around our unconscious omega, and I catch the slight tremor in them. He's barely holding onto control.

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