Page 176 of Carmichael's Omega

Devel is a good distraction.

More of my males pour into the brothel. I see some of the Beta's unit here, too. The walkie-talkie is crackling to life again, the words in Spanish blurring together so quickly that I have trouble understanding it.

The ClearHowl male on my team, with his communication with Amaranthe and Diego, signals me. "The spell is down."

"Move," I order.

We flow up the stairs. Any resistance is met with a swift and brutal death from teeth, or claw, or bullet. The ClearHowl wolf has a knife that he uses with excellent precision.

We don't see the girls until the second floor. Terrified, quaking, when we tell them to leave, they all shake their heads, 'no.'

"Kill the cartel, then round them up," I order, furious at how fearful these young girls are. They are so terrified that they can't even grasp freedom when it's offered.

On the third floor, we find a door, reinforced steel, out of place in this shithole.

"Break it down."

Rodrigo and Holt are the ones to take the first hits, using a thick cement post wrapped in a blanket as a makeshift battering ram. Their attack the door for a full five minutes before the next two males step up. After another two, the metal begins to warp.

"Hit it again!" I snarl, pacing behind them. The town has fallen silent, too quiet. Eventually, the outliers in the cartel will come here.

The Beta joins me as the door takes more damage, the locks still holding even as the steel starts to crumble.

When the jamb starts to give but gets caught on the locks, we pause, waiting for hellfire to erupt from the other room. Nothing moves. When the ringing from the reverberation of metal dies down, no sounds can be heard from the other side of the door. I inhale deeply and nearly choke on the stale smell of sex and smoke. My alpha-wolf peels his upper lip back. It reminds him too much of our packhouse.

More importantly, it's stale. There's no one behind the door.

"Together, Punk?" the Beta grins ferally, flexing his fingers.

"Si, Jefe," I respond.

We hit the door together, sending it flying off its hinges.

The inside of the room isn't what I expected. The rest of this shithole may be dingy and run-down, but this room is like stepping into a different world. I had this picture in my head of Benito living in obnoxious luxury off the money paid from prostitution and drugs.

This place is staged like a horror movie for some psychopath's torture room. There is nothing on the walls except pieces of plywood tacked haphazardly over holes. Some of it is missing, revealing crumbling plaster, exposed wires, even a leaking pipe. Yellow stains litter the floor under heaps of trash.

I kick a wrapper from a fast-food place out of the way as I stalk through the room. More wrappers, burned-out cigarettes, empty beer cans, even a used tampon are thrown everywhere, but mainly in a pile of trash shoved into one corner.

There are two doors. Unlike the steel door, these are flimsy wood. "Which one you want?" the Beta asks me.

I nod to the right one, the one closest to me.

He nods and heads to the left without any hesitation. I hear the door open and a long, slow chuckle, "hello, Benny-Boy. Not nice to fucking meet you."

¡Chale!

Gritting my teeth at the Beta's luck, I open the other door and immediately feel better.

"Dylan." My alpha-wolf purrs.

I walk toward theputowith bloodlust tainting my mouth and the music of Benito's sobs in my ears.

Dylan quakes, nude, tied to a mattress covered in a red satin sheet. It's stained with dried white jizz. He's wearing some sort of...chale... I don't know what it is. A metal belt encircles the base of his balls, holding them so tight that they are tinged purple. A thin ring of metal crosses from the belt to his ass, where two hooks force his ass cheeks apart. He's been well-fucked, his hole enflamed and the skin bleeding.

"Looks sore,puto," I croon to him mockingly.

Crazy eyes meet mine. "You stole him from me!" he sobs.

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