Page 75 of Claiming the Pack’s Omega (Riverwell Omegaverse #2)

Reyna

I 've never been drugged before.

It sucks worse than I thought it would.

I used to have nightmares where all the shitty men I've dealt with in the past were my sleep paralysis demons. That similar feeling of being locked in place no matter how much I strain against the chains of my own mind feels exactly like those nightmares.

The first sense I get back is touch. It's freezing, in whatever room they've put me in, but not the kind of cold you'd find outside because it's not spring yet. This is a sterile sort of cold that you'd find from setting your air conditioning to fifty degrees.

The next sense I get back is hearing. There's this incessant beeping that just gets louder and louder as I cling to the threads of consciousness.

When I finally find the strength required to open a single eyelid, I'm assaulted by the bright fluorescent lighting shining down on me from above. It pierces through my skull like an ice pick.

I let out a soft groan from the pain. When I try to lift my hands to press them against my temples to try and ease the pain, they're stopped short.

Restraints.

It takes me a few seconds to build up the courage to open my eyes again.

I'm in some sort of hospital-looking room. Every single thing about this room is sterile, from the white walls to the smell. I'm in a shitty hospital gown too. They took all my clothes. And by all my clothes, I mean all of them.

I try not to let the thought of someone undressing me while I'm completely unconscious get to me, but fear still leaks its way through.

I was expecting some sort of dingy basement somewhere. Not what looks to be a state-of-the-art lab room. They've got me attached to a bunch of expensive-looking equipment, which is where that incessant beeping is coming from.

My ankles and wrists are attached to a gurney by padded leather restraints. I twist my wrist around and examine them, a thrum of excitement flitting through my veins when I realize there's no lock mechanism. They're just the normal sort of hospital restraints with a buckle.

I immediately start twisting and turning my body to try and unlock the latch with my teeth, but with the way they're attached to the gurney, there's no way for me to get my mouth close enough.

I collapse back against the bed, my head spinning with the effort.

Whatever they injected me with? It's a bitch of a drug, that's for sure.

I have to close my eyes to try and combat the urge to start dry heaving over the edge of the gurney.

The door to the room clicks open and I jolt upwards, every muscle in my body locking with fear.

"Stop fucking around with your restraints or we'll have to restrain your head to the bed too," Dom says.

The sound of his voice grates against my brain in the perfect way to reignite the anger that's been lying dormant since I got knocked out.

"Where the fuck am I?" I snarl, my lip curling in disgust.

"You're in a facility," Dom shrugs, leaning against the wall by the foot of the gurney.

"A facility for what?" I gesture at the sterile room around us. "So much for hating working with Northsiders. You gave me shit for 'making my bed' with a Northside pack when you're doing the exact fucking thing!"

He narrows his eyes at me, his jaw ticking.

"That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble," he hisses. "I put up with it for years 'cause you were my biggest money maker, but the people that work here aren't like that, so get that through your fucking head."

My mouth clamps shut. I hate that he has a point, but that doesn't change the fact that he does. Mouthing off was what got me knocked out.

"Okay, fine then," I grit out. "What the hell are you doing working with Northsiders?"

"You know me," he shrugs. "They pay well."

And he's willing to do fucking anything for a bag.

"You should watch your face, too," he says, narrowing his eyes.

"Watch my face?" I huff.

"I can tell exactly what you're thinking."

Dammit. He probably can. I've never been good at concealing my emotions when I'm angry.

And I'm fucking pissed right now. I cling to that fury because if I hold onto it, then I won't be paralyzed by the fear of being helpless and stuck in a situation I know nothing about. Which means I need to learn more about what in the world is going on.

Information is my currency, especially against alphas and their strength. I have no hope of competing with them on that playing field.

"What is this facility for, Dom?" I ask, careful to watch my tone this time.

"You're smart," he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "You've already picked up on the fact that this is a Northsider's idea."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I'm getting there. God, you're impatient."

Patience is a virtue I don't have very much of, unless it comes to my siblings. It's definitely not a virtue I have after I've been drugged and kidnapped .

"You know the Sorel Family has been expanding its drug trade throughout the entire Southside," he continues. "They've been doing a good job buying out competitors and bringing other people into the fold for a while."

Long enough for them to sink their claws into Dom too, and he's known for being a solo business guy.

"They're backed by Northsiders, aren't they?" I ask.

"They are," he nods. "Turns out they always have been. The whole drug trade? It's been some Northsider's idea."

"And that includes suppressants for omegas and those crazy enhancement drugs for betas and alphas?"

"Exactly."

Something doesn't make sense to me. Dom's being far too open with information, right now. Either he's being so open because he's just that confident that I won't be able to escape, or he's telling me all this stuff because he knows that I won't be around long enough to tell anyone.

Both of those options freak me the hell out.

"Why're you telling me this?"

He glances to the side, and something real close to guilt crosses his expression.

That look? It completely shatters the flimsy barriers holding my fear at bay.

Dom never feels guilty. Ever. He's too self-interested for an emotion like that.

"Tell me—" I have to swallow hard, but it feels like my mouth is still as dry as the Sahara desert. "You have to tell me. You can't just—you can't just give me that look and then clam up like this."

"This whole operation's run by a Northside pharmaceutical company. This is one of their 'production labs' or whatever they call it," he says, using his fingers to make air quotes. "This is where the drugs are developed."

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"Your bonds," he says, nodding to where the neckline of my flimsy hospital gown has shifted. "I've known you for a long time, Raine, and the shit they have planned for you? It's insane."

"How insane?" My voice is barely above a whisper. The beeping from the machine beside me starts to pick up its pace, filling the silence between us.

The door slams open and the two of us jump.

A beta man, who looks a couple of years younger than me, with slicked back hair and an expensive suit, walks into the room.

"Spilling all the company secrets, are you, Dominic?" He chuckles, a maniacal grin on his face.

Dom stiffens, but he keeps his mouth shut.

I immediately hate this new man. There's an evil, almost soulless look in his eyes that makes me want to get as far away from him as I possibly can.

I instantly know exactly the kind of man he is. He's a spoiled, rich, Northside trust fund baby who's never been told no in his entire life. Or if he has been told no, every single protest was insignificant enough to him that he completely disregarded them.

The way he walks, the way he talks, it all screams that he's the one in charge here. Which is strange, considering how young he is and the fact that he's a beta.

I expect that unchecked swagger and confidence from an alpha. Not a beta.

I take Dom's earlier warnings about keeping my mouth shut to heart. This man is dangerous, regardless of his designation.

He steps up next to the gurney, and it takes everything I have not to flinch away from his touch as he reaches out and touches a strand of my hair. His mild, almond scent hits me. It's not terribly offensive, like I've found some alpha scents to be, but the bitterness there puts me on edge.

"You're a brunette," he hums. "Just my type."

"Brunette courtesy of a box," I say. "So am I really your type?"

Something tells me that I really don't want to be this guy's type.

He shrugs as he wraps that strand of hair around his finger. The way his gaze lingers on my body makes me want to scream. It feels like there's a layer of filth on my skin everywhere his eyes touch.

"I'm sure I can get someone to dye your hair for you while you're down here," he says. "Keep you just the way I like."

I've never felt the urge to change my hair color in my entire life. Hell, if it means making myself less appealing to the dangerous man in front of me, I'd shave it all off right now.

"That's ridiculous." The words leave my lips in the faintest of whispers before I can stop them.

Dom's jaw clenches shut across from me, and I freeze, waiting to see this new beta’s reaction.

He seems to find it amusing, if anything.

"Ridiculous? To take care of my new plaything?"

I want to vomit.

If I had anything left in my system, I'd spew it all up over his expensive fucking suit.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice strained.

"Sebastian Montgomery," he says, a grin appearing on his face like he expects me to recognize the name.

What is it with douchebag Northsiders having stupid fancy names?

I run through my Rolodex of important Northside families, but nothing rings a bell.

He can tell. And it irritates him.

"Son of Derek Montgomery," he says, a tightness appearing around his eyes.

I shake my head. Still not ringing a bell.

"My father is the CEO of Novacure Pharmaceuticals."

It's still not quite ringing a bell, but I have to say something.

"Oh, so you're in charge here?"