Page 50 of Broken Pregnant Mate
We come into the Blacklock mansion through a back door, shuffle through dirt, and are led down a long hallway. I came to at some point on the floor of Vern’s truck, my hands tied behind my back, barely able to think through the haze.
And the first thing I thought of was Aidan. That I have to get to him—have to warn him before he walks right into a trap.
After driving for a while, Vern and his men had hauled us to our feet, his hands groping over my body roughly, before trading us off to someone else.
“…two of them should be twice as much, right?” Vern asked, his voice reedy and annoying to me even in these circumstances.
“Consider keeping your fucking life a tip then, mate.”
Vern said nothing else, and Ash and I were loaded into another vehicle before eventually turning up here.
Now, the guards haul Ash and me down a tall, ornate hallway. We shuffle along, and I have to focus to keep my feet moving, not flopping loosely. Somewhere in the distance, across the building, there’s the faint sound of music, and I get the impression that something is happening. A party.
But the side of the building we’re on is the opposite of a party.
Even through my drug-induced haze, I can’t help but notice the atmosphere. Unlike the warm bustle of the Ambersky pack hall or Dorian and Kira’s home, this place reeks of fear. Servants scurry along the walls, eyes downcast, flinching at the sound of approaching footsteps, jumping at every person who walks past them.
“Move it,” the taller guard growls, shoving me forward when I slow to stare at a maid who’s frantically polishing an already gleaming vase, her hands trembling. The woman doesn’t even look up, just scrubs harder as we pass, like that might keep the guard from turning on her, instead.
“What’s happening here?” I try whispering to Ash, whose steps are still unsteady from the sedative. She looks up at me, but her eyes are foggy, unclear. Something about her has changed in the past hour, and I can’t pinpoint what it is.
“Shut up,” the guard snaps, his hand tightening on my arm to the point where I should feel pain. One benefit of whatever Vern stuck me with is that I can sense the pressure, but not the pinch. “Brains don’t speak unless spoken to.”
Brains?
We’re led down a sweeping staircase to a lower level of the mansion. Then we turn and take another, plainer staircase down another floor. The opulence of the upper floors gives way to sterile, institutional corridors—all cold tile and harsh lighting. My stomach tenses as we approach a set of heavy metal doors guarded by two tall, thick men.
One of them nods at the guards on either side of Ash and me. “Found the ones the boss wanted?”
“Yeah. Got them from that fucking drug dealer. Don’t know how he keeps turning up with anything useful.”
Their words register dimly as the door swings open to reveal a large room. At one time, it might have been a ballroom or indoor training area. Now, it’s filled with people—at least twenty—sitting or lying on thin mattresses arranged in rows across the floor. Most wear simple gray clothing, and all have metal bands around their wrists connected to chains that allow limited movement around their assigned spaces.
Like a dog kennel, seeing people confined like this makes me feel instantly sick, trapped. They’re mostly shifters, mostly women.
The smell hits me first—unwashed bodies, fear, and something else—the sweet, subtle scent of whatever drug they’re using to keep everyone compliant. A woman moans softly in the corner, rocking back and forth, while nearby a teenager stares vacantly at the ceiling, eyes wide and milky white, mouth moving slowly, as though in a silent, stretching scream.
“Welcome to your new home,” the guard says with mock cheerfulness. “The alpha will want to see you personally later, but for now, go ahead and get acquainted with your fellow freaks.”
His laugh rings out through the room, startling several of the prisoners as he unlocks our handcuffs, only to replace them with the metal bands. Mine click shut with a finality that sends panic surging through me. I look frantically for Ash and see her being chained several mattresses away from me, eyes still vacant.
As soon as the guards retreat, the reality of what’s happening settles over me.
My entire life, I’ve just been moving from one prison to another. I actually let out a little laugh at the realization—first the home, then being with Vern, then in the Ambersky prison.
I stand, pacing along the stretch of chain that confines me, heart racing, something inside me shifting and cracking. It feels like, since Aidan found me in that cell, something has been slowly changing inside me.
And now I’m done. I’mreally,finally done with letting other people have control over me, dictating my life. Aidanleaving and potentially lying to me to make me stay. Vern stringing me along, touching me when I didn’t want him to.
I’mdone.
“Hey,” I say, turning and talking to the woman next to me. The guard on the other side of the room is spacing out and clearly doesn’t care if we talk to one another.
She turns to look at me, her long, stringy brown hair shimmering with a strange color I can’t place. Her face is wan, her eyes looking hollow. On her left wrist, I catch the faint outline of a star tattoo, faded with time.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, bending down to get closer to her. I expect her to scramble away, but she just studies me, eyes sweeping up and down my form.
When she cracks her lips to speak, I see how dry her mouth is, her tongue rasping like a leaf against her lips. It makes me cringe, stomach turning.
