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Suddenly, I’m hot.
No more ice, but flames.
All heat and blood and smoke.
That night.
That fucking night.
I can barely see the cell.
I’m lost.
Shaking.
Sweating.
Sick.
Remembering the pain and the fire.
Snapping teeth and heat, fury and fear.
All my sister’s fucking fault.
“Yo.” The one with the water bottle squints. “That’s not the princess.”
Their growls shift.
Their gazes harden.
“Her hair’s wrong. And the eyes.”
“Tits are too big.” The smallest slurps his lips.
The schnasty sound brings me back to the darkness and their spiking scents, a whiff of bitter smoke lingering in my nose.
“Marisol Darling.” The speakers click. “Five minutes have elapsed. You have five minutes to subdue the prisoners.”
Brandon’s announcement destroys my flimsy cover, tossing me under the rubber of this speeding prison bus.
“Fucking tricks,” the packleader spits.
The pack fans out, wordlessly herding me to the corner.
Not their first time ganging up on an omega.
My arms shake.
My jaw trembles.
They read my strain as fear and slip feral smiles.
The only thing I’m afraid of is four more counts of murder—this time, caught on camera.
And once Brandon has proof of what I can do?
Goodbye, freedom.
