Page 177 of Carmichael's Omega

I'm slightly impressed that he's cognizant enough to remember my Mattie. On the other hand, my wolf isn't happy to hear Dylan's insane obsessiveness with his male.

"Mattie..." I murmur. "I popped his tight little cherry, Dylan. I popped his sisters too, did you know?"

He starts to struggle, hysterical. The hooks dig in deeper, leaving two thin trails of blood dripping down his legs. "You're all sick!" he rasps out. Just that quickly, he starts to scream, hiding his face from me.

I wrench his head to one side and slice his throat with my claws. It's fast. Merciful. I can't bring myself to torture him more when he's been living in this hellhole.

Standing, I look around. The only thing of interest in this room is Dylan's corpse. I walk back into the filthy room, heading toward the Beta and Benito.

"Find anything interesting, Punk?" the Beta asks. He's holding a file folder in his hand, a drawer at a desk spilled open.

I glance around this room in silent amazement. Unlike the other two rooms, this is a reasonably normal-looking apartment. Why the shitty entrance?

I take a handful of documents from the desk and listen to Benito whimper. Strange that he keeps so much paper. I thought even drug lords would have digital shit by now.

I leaf through the papers to find nothing that's too interesting. The human authorities may find it useful. I'm sure the Beta can make sure it all finds its way to them.

Benito is tied in the corner, sitting on his ass with silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Two of the Beta's males stand over him, openly discussing ways to hide his body. Despite that, he's watching me with a look of horror. At first, I wonder why. Then I remember Dylan's blood coating my hands and chest.

I pick up a small black book and snicker openly at Benito. "This is your little black book,culero?"

Benito's face pales, and I smile cruelly. Flipping it open, I see lists of names, prices, and services. Sexual services. Frowning, I run my finger down the page, looking at the different prices, the shorthand.

I flip through it, feeling sick at how many names are in the book. Something catches my attention just a few pages in.

H Castile.

My wolf snarls, the sound reverberating through the room.

"Yo, Punk," the Beta says mildly. "You find something?"

I can't answer. My focus is on Benito. I walk over and crouch down over him. "Hola, Benito," I say quietly.

He whimpers, turning his head away from me.

"This is your book, Benito,si?" I tap the black leather. His eyes widen, but he's too afraid to answer. "Who is this? This name?" I open the book and show him the name. He glances at it and freezes but says nothing. "Did you rip his tongue out,Jefe?" I call out to the Beta.

"Nah."

"I will," I tell Benito with deadly calm. "I will pry your teeth open and grasp your tongue; then I will pull until it rips from the pressure,si?" I repeat my threat in Spanish, just in case he has trouble following me.

He's sweating profusely, terror making him stink. He nods once, then opens his mouth, then closes it again, then opens it. "H-Hugh Castile. A g-good client."

I tamp down the emotion raging through me. When I tap the entry again, my finger is trembling from rage. "And what does this mean? These initials, NN?"

"N-ni-n-nino," he whispers.

I blank.

"Little boys, yeah? You sick fucker. How young were these little boys?" The Beta walks over and kicks Benito's thigh.

The pig squeals in pain, blubbering, "young!¡Joven!"

I stand up, feeling my stomach pitch and roll. Where is Bembe?

With a growl, I punch the wall. The sheetrock bursts into small pieces, dust falling down onto Benito's head as he screams in fear. I stare at the hole, numb. Now Benito's little hide-a-way can look like the rest of this place.

"You alright, Punk?" the Beta asks me.

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