Page 75 of Beta Lies and Cursed Lives
“Here I thought you’d forgotten about me,” her voice is droll as she peers at the three rebellion soldiers with narrowed eyes before stepping out of the room, allowing me to see inside to a small but tidy office. “We don’t have much time,” she says on a frustrated sigh and begins to move through the hall. “I received word just an hour ago that there’s going to be a surprise inspection. Prepare yourselves.”
“What does that mean?” Colt asks as we stop at a door the doctor punches a code into.
“If we don’t hurry, we’ll have more GBE soldiers on our asses.” The door opens, and she turns to look at us. “And a member of the Council.”
“Shit,” Colt says as we pass through the door. “I bet it’s that asshole Ivanov from the assembly.”
“One point for Blondie,” Dr. Song calls sarcastically before stopping at a split in the hall. She turns to the rebellion soldiers, who nod at her, the shooter and Boomerang Guy taking off down one side. “This way,” she tells the rest of us, leading us the other way.
Shield Guy takes point and extends his arm, palm forward, that glistening shield taking up the entire corridor’s width and height. When pounding boots echo from behind me, I know they’re not friendly.
Turning, I do something I’d practiced with my pack back in the bunker, a suggestion of Colt’s. A soft, childish sound effect, “pew-pew,”comes from my mouth, my lips forming an O at the end of each one, aimed right at the chests of each incoming soldier. They fly backward, their limbs flailing in front of them, weapons dropped to the ground.
“Nice!” Colt shouts, probably more proud of himself for the idea than of me for implementing it.
“Hurry,” Dr. Song urges, and we hustle down the hall to another security door. “The cells are below,” she tells us. “I’ll let you in. Wait for the collars to disengage before opening the cell doors.”
As the door opens, she rushes off in another direction, Shield Guy leading us down a steep flight of metal stairs.
The basement level is even brighter than the ground floor, almost blinding. Everything is white aside from electronic lights along the walls, some medical instruments, and the gray examination tables inside glass containment cells. The first few we pass are empty and clean, but when we come across an occupied cell, the female inside screeches, grips her head and ducks into the far corner, body rocking back and forth.
Colt winces, his head shakes, likely trying to rid himself of her intrusive thoughts. Perhaps the memories of what was done to her.
Not all the others are the same, but some are. The rest watch us, questioning and silent. Some angry. I frown, no longer sure of the wisdom behind freeing all of these Cursed. I can’t imagine the mental effects of years of torture and experimentation. They may have arrived sane, but what about now?
“Most are okay,” Colt says aloud before stopping in the walkway. He raises his voice. “We’re getting you all out of here,” he tells them, his expression so determined. “When your collars disengage, we’ll unlock your cells.”
A young male Omega walks slowly to the glass, his wary pale lavender eyes roving over Colt, his light blond hair long and scraggly about his face. “You’re one of us,” he says, his Irish lilt pronounced. He looks at Shield Guy, and his brow twitches. “Cheeky cunt. This was your plan all along?”
Shield Guy gives him a noncommittal shrug, keeping his gaze trained behind us.
Mira approaches the glass, puts her hand on the clear barrier between them. Her voice is fierce when she tells the Omega, “We’re bringing this entire facility down. No one who hurt any of you lives past tonight.”
The Omega’s head tilts, his hand tentatively pressing against the glass at Mira’s palm, and a slow, deadly smile spreads across his unhinged face. “Oh, yes. I like that. I like you.”
My eyes narrow at him, and his head turns to me. “Not to worry, Alpha. I mean what I say and no more.”
Odd guy, but the look in his eyes compels me to believe him. His expression is crazed, but his eyes are somehow sane and steady. Either he’s perfected an act, or something deeper is going on with this one.
“Name’s Zephyr.” He gives a little bow like a showman. “I’m at your disposal. If we get out of here.”
“We will.” I know it.
“Your target is down this way,” Shield Guy says, gesturing further down the pathway.
“We’ll be right back,” Mira says before hustling down the cells until a male voice, hoarse and watery, cries, “Mira!”
She stops short, her hands slamming into the glass barrier. “Dad!”
Miranda
I choke on tears at the sight before me.
My dad looks like death. His face is gaunt, his movements sluggish. His brown hair is dirty and stringy, longer than I’ve ever seen it. His eyes, once the same color as mine, are dark like steel now, even in the bright lights.
But he’s alive.
I don’t see any obvious signs of physical abuse or torture, though there will be time for questions later, once we get out of here.
