Page 12 of Claiming the Pack’s Omega (Riverwell Omegaverse #2)

Reyna

“ I ’m here to make sure Obsidian’s still alive,” I say with my first aid kit tucked under my arm.

“You sure you wanna go in there?” John asks, jerking his head towards the door to the room they’ve finished interrogating Obsidian in.

“From what Dom said when I saw him on his way up, he’s in bad shape.”

“Yeah,” John sighs. “Fucker wouldn’t tell us jack shit.”

“So you didn’t find out anything I should know about?”

“I don’t know if anything we found out would be something you’d need to know about, sweetheart.”

“Don’t fucking ‘sweetheart’ me.” I roll my eyes, pushing passed him. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

He grips my arm as I pass, his hold surprisingly aggressive. John’s eyes narrow on me. “If he tells you anything, you tell us, got that?”

I narrow my eyes in return, wrenching my arm from his grip. This whole traitor situation seems to have the sharks here circling. Any sign of weakness is bad right now.

“Why the hell would he tell me something?”

John shrugs. “I dunno, maybe you honeypot him or something. Just make sure to tell us.”

“Yeah, yeah. Doubt the guy can get his dick up in the shape you guys probably left him in, but fine. Now’re you gonna let me go do my job or not? I’ve got a time crunch. Gotta be back at the club before eleven.”

“Fine,” John huffs.

I wrench open the thick metal door, letting it shut completely behind me with a slam.

I blink, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the dark shadows in the room, cast by the single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

“Shit,” I whisper, my breath catching in my throat at the sight in front of me.

Obsidian’s hands are cuffed and wrenched up by a rope tying him to a beam in the ceiling, leaving him hanging.

His back is to me, giving me a clear view of the really detailed tattoo of a biblically accurate angel. It’s wings span across his entire back, shoulder to shoulder, wrapping around to his ribs.

My eyes are also drawn to his back because his right shoulder is at a horribly ugly angle, like it’s been dislocated.

I take a weary step around him, keeping out of the distance that his legs could reach me at, if he were to kick them out. Though that would probably be agonizing for him, considering it’d put more weight on that shoulder of his.

I wince when I see the way they’ve carved up his torso, leaving methodical slices. Those’ll need to be disinfected. Luckily, it doesn’t look like they’re deep enough to need stitches, considering all of them have stopped bleeding.

He’s also already starting to bruise. Pretty much everywhere.

His spicy pepper scent is thick in the small room, and bitter, probably from the pain.

God they really fucked him up.

“What’re you doing here?” He grunts out, his voice hoarse.

My gaze jumps up to his face, and I jump backward, bumping into the table with all the things they used to torture him.

I was so focused on his body and the damage they did, I didn’t realize he was awake.

My heart starts racing when I meet his deep blue eyes. They aren’t as bright as they normally are, but I’d honestly be worried if they were, considering the amount of pain he’s probably in.

“I’m—I’m here to make sure you don’t die,” I say, swallowing hard.

His gaze is assessing. Analytical. He’s seeing a lot more than I want to show him, right now.

“They sent you in here alone?” He growls. His voice is normally deep, but the hoarseness there makes a shiver run down my spine.

“Does it look like there’s anyone else in here but us right now?” I snark back before snapping my mouth shut.

“They’re fucking idiots,” he says, letting out a soft chuckle that turns into racking coughs.

Shit, they probably fucked his ribs up too.

“You going to do anything that’ll make me call them in here?” I ask warily, still making sure to keep out of his reach.

His expression softens just the slightest bit. It confuses me.

“No.”

“They’re right outside, so don’t try anything funny?—”

“I’d never hurt you,” He lowers his voice so I can barely hear him. “Reyna.”

I jerk myself backward at the sound of my name—my real name—like I was hit with a physical blow.

My hand comes to rest on the torture tool table behind me, gripping the handle of a knife. I don’t know why, I have no intention of hurting him, but the sound of my real name has stripped me of any of the carefully curated defenses I have for when I’m at work.

He doesn’t miss the way I flinch or where my hand landed. He doesn’t seem to miss anything.

“How—how do you know my name?” My voice is barely above a whisper, but I can still hear the tremor of fear there.

“How do you think?”

“I heard—I heard you’re a cop. From the Northside, is that true? Is that how you know my real name?”

His eyes tighten as he offers me a tight-lipped smile.

Ah, of course he wouldn’t answer my question.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I mutter. I scrub a hand down my face, biting back the bitter taste of betrayal as I stare up at the ceiling. “Was everything—were you—were you pretending?”

“Look at me,” he says, his voice low.

I find myself following his instructions, and kicking myself for it.

“No. I wasn’t.” His gaze is steady. I’m the first to look away when I can’t handle the intensity of his stare. “I want you to know that. It wasn’t all a lie.”

“Great,” I say, huffing out a bitter laugh. “Good to know, such perfect timing, considering you’re gonna die and I’m—” My voice breaks, remembering the current shit show that is Dom’s deal with the Sorel family and my involvement in the middle.

Obsidian seems to completely move past my mention of him dying. “You what? What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“Yes, everything is fucking going wrong,” I grit out, covering my face with my hands.

I don’t know why I continue talking, I seriously shouldn’t.

But I do. Maybe it’s because, with him hanging here in this torture chamber, knowing the Sorel family is coming to pick him up later tonight, it already feels like I’m talking to a dead man.

“Turns out I don’t have a choice with being involved with the Sorel family. ”

I shake my head, trying to clear my mind. I can deal with that bullshit later.

“That doesn’t matter,” I sigh. “Now, are you going to let me take care of your wounds or?—”

“It matters to me, what do you mean?” He pushes.

I clench my jaw, repeating my words slowly. “Are you going to let me take care of your wounds?”

He clenches his jaw in return, his eyes narrowing like he wants to fight me and push me to reveal more. But I’ve already said too much.

“Fine. Yes. I’d appreciate that,” he sighs. His expression shifts and he finally lowers his head. This is the first sign he’s showing of just how much pain he’s in.

“Do you want your shoulder first or last? I need to disinfect those knife wounds they gave you.”

“Last,” he grunts as he shifts his weight.

“Okay, cool.” I prop open my first aid kit and pull out a bottle of painkillers. “You want something to take the edge off?”

“No painkillers. I need to be aware.”

I shrug, tossing them back into the first aid kit. “Suit yourself. Personally, I wouldn’t want to be dragged away to the Sorel family’s clutches sober.”

“Are they that bad?” He says under his breath, his voice low. He doesn’t even flinch as I start cleaning the knife wounds in his side. Damn, he’s got a crazy pain tolerance.

“Whatever you’re imagining?” I stand and toss the bloody antiseptic wipe over onto the table. “It’s worse.”

“And you’re involved with them now?” He grits out.

“It’s looking like it,” I sigh, moving behind him. “This is gonna hurt like a fucking bitch since I can’t uncuff you. You want something to scream into?”

“I’m fine.”

I press my hands against his back and shoulder. His skin is hot to the touch.

“Brace yourself,” I whisper, before using all of my upper body strength to wrench his shoulder back into its socket.

I’m pretty sure I hear his jaw creak from how hard he’s clenching it. When I’m done, he slumps forward, his knees buckling from the pain. Even though I’m done setting his shoulder, I still keep my hands on him. The one on his back actually starts to rub in small circles.

Stupid hand.

I guess it’s my way of trying to ease him through the pain since he didn’t want the painkillers.

I lean to the side, trying to see his expression to gauge where he’s at. His eyelids are fluttering, like he’s fighting to stay conscious.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his lips barely moving.

I freeze. Is he apologizing for lying to me? For being sloppy and getting caught?

“I—I can help you,” he breathes out, under his breath. His eyes flutter shut. “We can help you. Just—just trust us.”

He slumps forward even further. His words leave me reeling, so it takes me a bit to realize it’s because he was unconscious.

Who was he talking about? Who’s the “we” he mentioned? Whoever he’s working for?

I take an unsteady step backward. My heart tugs as I pack up my stuff and get ready to leave. There’s a stupid, naive, idiotic part of my brain that’s screaming at me to wake him up and demand an explanation for what he’s talking about.

There’s also another stupid part of me that doesn’t want him to die.

But I can’t do anything. I’m just an omega in a world run by crazy, psychotic alphas. I have a family to feed, I can’t just stick my neck out for anyone.

I glance at my phone. Shit, I’m late. I’ve got to get back to the club and get ready for work.

My heels click on the hallway floor as I hurry down the hall. Fuck, hopefully, Theo doesn’t complain about how I was late.

I don’t get the impression he’d do that, but with how shitty my day has been and how big Obsidian’s betrayal felt, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say as I push the door open. I freeze as the door clicks shut behind me, Theo’s scent hitting me like a truck.

I’ve been doing a lot of freezing today. Not my normal MO.