The biological imperative to survive relies heavily on the release of adrenaline and cortisol, both of which occurred in higher percentages in Alphas. And I also knew the “fight or flight” reaction was actually more nuanced. There were plenty of studies showing there were four F’s: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. And research also showed that Alphas, when confronted with danger, were much more likely to respond with aggression, while Omegas were prone to freezing, and Betas fell all across the spectrum.
In the end, I was no different from most Alphas. As he sighed and lifted the gun a bit higher, I launched myself at him. Yes, I was inexperienced, but I had the advantage of size. And hopefully surprise.
I was wrong about the surprise. He reacted quickly, dropping to the floor, so I overshot him and landed roughly on my bed. A shot rang out, louder than I expected, and I scrambled free of the mattress. In the absence of any immediate pain, I would keep fighting.
My bark needed two things to be successful: eye contact and an audible command. Without these two things, an Alpha’s bark would have little to no effect. And even under those circumstances, sometimes an Alpha still could not compel any kind of behavior. I had one chance.
The man was waiting for me as I leapt off the bed and landed in an ungainly crouch. “Drop the gun,” I barked as soon as my eyes met his. “Drop it now.”
The effect was instantaneous. He dropped it, but not before he’d squeezed the trigger again.
Pain seared across the outside of my left forearm as the gun fired, then toppled end over end to the ground. I threw myself over it, scooped it in my right hand, and sprinted from the bedroom as fast as I could.
I could hear him pursuing me as I fled the apartment and barreled down the staircase. When I burst out onto the street, I turned, panting, expecting to see him close on my heels. No one followed me, but I did stumble backwards into a group of women, clearly on a night out.
“What the fuck, dude?” I’d knocked one woman to the ground. She stared up at me from a dirty puddle on the sidewalk, indignant. But when her eyes landed on the gun cradled in my right hand, she scrambled backwards.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and jogged up the street. I wasn’t wearing a coat, but the rain had slowed to a drizzle so I wasn’t immediately soaked. The gun was slippery in my hand. There was only a matter of time until someone called the cops on a bleeding, armed Alpha running the streets.
I needed a safe place to figure out my next move. Without thinking, I followed the familiar route to my gym. I ducked down a side alley before I got there, dropped the gun unceremoniously into a dumpster, and entered the lobby.
The young man behind the counter barely acknowledged me as I scanned my membership tag. Thank god I’d kept my keys in my back pocket. There was a decent crowd on the floor, which made sense for after work, so I headed for the locker room, cradling my throbbing forearm in my other hand.
It was empty. I locked the door behind me. I would have to be quick.
Blood dripped down my forearm and over my hand. For the first time, I examined the wound. I had no medical training, but it didn’t seem to be serious. I could move all of my fingers and make a fist.
I fished my phone out of my other pocket and called Soren.
“Detective Murray,” he answered in his clipped tone.
“I believe someone just tried to kill me,” I said, and recounted the last few minutes as economically as I could.
“Fuck. We need to get you out of there,” he said as soon as I finished. “You can’t come here, but I’ll make a few calls. Go to this address and wait.”
After I hung up, I hunted for a first aid kit. One was stashed in a supply cabinet, and I wrapped the wound. It needed to be cleaned, but speed was more important.
A veil of unreality had dropped over me. It couldn’t be my shaking hands wrapping a gunshot wound. But then who else’shands could it be? My mind kept fracturing, trying to go back to the point before I’d opened my bedroom door, even while I desperately tried to focus.
I started trying lockers, hoping I’d find one unlocked. I got lucky and pulled out a large black coat, emptied the pockets of a wallet and keys, and walked out as casually as possible.
A police car whizzed past, sirens blaring, as I gained the street.
The address Soren gave me was for a 24-hour drugstore. It was about twenty blocks away, and I normally would have taken the train. But the thought of being trapped underground was unbearable. So I walked.
After a few blocks, the drizzle stopped and the crowds on the sidewalks thickened, making it easier for me to blend in. Adrenaline kept my steps quick and my mind focused.
When I reached the drugstore, I checked my phone. No calls. I debated calling Soren again. Instead, I bought antibiotic cream and a pack of gauze at the self-checkout, then barricaded myself in the dingy bathroom to clean the bullet wound.
The gash was under my elbow. It was still oozing blood, but had slowed significantly. I gobbed some Neosporin on it then re-wrapped my arm.
A pounding on the door made me jump.
“Hey man, you can’t do drugs in there,” an exasperated male voice said. “I’ll get written up and I’m this close to being fired.”
“I’m not doing drugs,” I called back.
“That’s what everyone says. Just don’t fucking die in there, please.”
