Page 12 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)

Miley

I stare at myself in the mirror as I run a brush through the ends of my hair, trying to ignore the trembling in my fingers while I tame the last few flyaway strands.

My reflection is calm and composed, makeup flawless, hair pulled back in my signature satin bow.

On the outside, I’m polished as ever. Inside, I’m a live wire, coiled tight and ready to snap.

I’ve been dreading this day almost as much as the upcoming full moon. In a few minutes, I’ll be heading up to the fortieth floor of the Tower, where I’ll undergo the procedure – the final step to prepare for my pairing with Elias Burke.

Not counting annual check-ups, I’ve only had to go to the medical floor a handful of times, and the place gives me the creeps.

It’s all bright lights, white walls, and the pungent smell of antiseptic.

Exam rooms for medical care, where doctors assist when injuries go beyond what shifter healing can manage.

Laboratories where they do research, looking for ways to bypass nature and control what should be instinct.

It’s a place I’d rather avoid, but my appointment there today is mandatory.

I set my brush down on the vanity with a soft clink, rising to my feet and checking my reflection one last time in the mirror. Poised, primped, polished– the perfect image of a docile daughter, pretending she’s not being slowly strangled by the golden leash around her neck.

Padding out to the living room, I slip on my shoes, open the door, and exit my apartment to head for the elevator. My feet move on their own accord, body numbly going through the motions. Every step feels rehearsed, like I’m just acting out a part in a play I didn’t audition for.

I step into the elevator when it arrives, punching the button for my destination. The metal box hums as it ascends, my stomach twisting while I watch the numbers on the panel above the doors climb.

Twenty-eight.

Thirty-three.

Thirty-nine.

The doors glide open with a soft chime on the fortieth floor and that awful smell hits me instantly, nausea curling in my gut. I squint against the brightness as I step out, the woman sitting behind the reception desk smiling at me like I’ve just arrived for a spa visit.

“Miss Beckett,” she greets brightly, calling me by name even though I swear I’ve never seen this lady in my life. “Right on schedule.”

I offer her a tight-lipped smile, hoping it passes for something normal.

“Take a seat,” she directs, gesturing toward the row of chairs lined up under the massive window. “I’ll let Dr. Aspen know you’ve arrived.”

I nod numbly and cross the lobby to the waiting area, sinking down into one of the stiff fiberglass chairs.

Glancing out the window over my shoulder, I try to distract my mind and steel my nerves.

My knee bounces, pulse spiking. The city below almost looks fake from this vantage point, like a model someone built for a school project.

“Miss Beckett?” a male voice calls.

I snap my head around to see Dr. Aspen standing beside the reception desk, wearing a white coat that swallows up his scrawny frame. His thin lips spread into a smile when our eyes meet, bile crawling up my throat.

I’ve never been a fan of Dr. Aspen. He’s creepy in the worst kind of way, looking every bit the part of the mad scientist he’s rumored to be.

“Are you ready for your procedure?” he asks, as if I have a choice in the matter.

I jerk a nod, forcing my legs to work and pushing up to my feet. With one last backwards glance at the world outside, I cross the lobby to join him, allowing him to lead me down the sterile hallway. My heart pounds harder with every step, anxiety sinking its claws in deep.

We reach an exam room near the end of the hall and Dr. Aspen ushers me inside, gesturing to the padded table in the center.

“Hop up,” he directs with a look of smug anticipation, like I’m a bug he’s about to dissect.

The paper crinkles beneath my weight as I climb on, positioning myself in the center of the table and easing back to lie down.

The doctor’s assistant enters a heartbeat later– some young guy I don’t recognize– and Dr. Aspen casually directs him to fasten the restraints affixed to the table around my wrists and ankles.

His assistant mutely complies, moving around the table to strap me down while I struggle not to flinch at every touch.

“Mouthpiece,” Dr. Aspen mutters, and his assistant slips a spreader between my lips that pulls them back from my teeth– like something a dentist would use, but worse, since my limbs are also restrained.

I can’t talk. Can’t move. All I can do is press my eyes closed, drawing deep breaths while trying to steady my nerves.

I startle at the brush of fingertips against my cheek, eyes flying open to find Dr. Aspen’s face hovering right above mine.

He smiles as he strokes my hair back, tucking it behind my ear and pressing a small sticker to my temple.

My stomach curls in on itself as he connects a wire, then repeats the same motion on the other side before his icy blue gaze drops to my chest, pupils blowing out.

This guy is such a goddamn creep.

Slowly and meticulously, he places two more stickers just under my collarbones and connects electrodes to them, his fingers lingering a little too long.

“You’ll feel some pain,” Dr. Aspen murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes return to mine. “But don’t worry, it’ll be over quickly.”

My heart pounds like a drumbeat, throat tightening with apprehension. I know what comes next. There are several ways to bring a shifter’s inner animal forward– rage, pain, fear, arousal….

Dr. Aspen flips a switch, and a white-hot jolt tears through me like a lightning strike.

Pain is the most predictable and easiest to trigger.

I jerk against the table, a choked whimper breaking from my throat as my skin sizzles with electricity and agony sears into every nerve ending. My inner wolf snarls, surging to the surface to protect me– the exact response this brand of torture is designed to elicit.

The doctor watches with morbid fascination, a satisfied smile curling his lips.

Then he approaches with a syringe, positioning the long tip of the needle above my canines and jabbing it into my gums. The burn is immediate and fierce as he pulls back the plunger.

I try to scream, but the sound gets caught in my throat, muffled by the mouthpiece.

Dr. Aspen slowly draws the serum out of me as I thrash against the restraints. It pools in the vial, thick and tinged red, while my wolf gives a strangled whine in my head.

This isn’t right.

It isn’t natural.

We’re supposed to seal mate bonds with a bite, not with medical procedures and injections.

My wolf should have a choice.

I should have a choice.

Neither of us do.

At least it’s over quickly. I lie there gasping for breath while the doctor disconnects the wires and carefully removes the stickers, his touch subtly lingering on my skin as he peels them away. His silent assistant unstraps my wrists and ankles, bile crawling up my throat as a wave of nausea hits.

“See?” Dr. Aspen says as he sits back with a smile. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

I resist the urge to punch him in the face. My gums are on fire, my limbs feel like jelly. I rub my wrists as I slowly sit up, the skin raw where the restraints dug in.

The doctor turns away, labeling the vial of my serum and placing it into a small fridge. “You’re all set, Miss Beckett,” he murmurs, dismissing me. “Congratulations on your upcoming pairing. My assistant will see you out.”

I slide off the table, grabbing onto the edge to steady myself when my knees immediately buckle beneath my weight.

It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings before I can move to follow Dr. Aspen’s assistant out of the room and down the hall.

My wolf is a shadow in my mind, curled up and quiet, the burning in my gums a constant reminder of what just happened .

The only consolation is that my future mate also had to endure this barbaric procedure .

I hope the asshole screamed.

It’s a relief when I get to the lobby and see the elevator ahead, ignoring the cheery receptionist’s parting remarks as I head straight for it and punch the call button.

The doors open and I stumble inside, jabbing the button for the twentieth floor and sagging back against the wall as the doors slide closed.

I swear I can still feel little aftershocks of the electrical current running through my body, my fingers twitching at my sides and a metallic taste lingering in my mouth. My eyes glaze over as I stare blankly at the panel above the elevator doors, watching the numbers count down with its descent.

Thirty-eight. Thirty-five. Thirty-three.

The elevator unexpectedly stops at the thirty-second floor, and when the doors glide open, Ares Raines is waiting on the other side.

Just my luck.

He looks good– too good – like something carved out of stone and dressed in sin.

His lips tip up in his signature smirk when our eyes meet, but I can’t even muster the energy to glare back at him like usual.

I just stare blankly as he steps into the elevator, his playful expression dissolving on a dime.

“What’s wrong?” he demands.

“Nothing,” I reply, my voice hollow.

Concern furrows his brow as he moves in closer, reaching out for me. I jerk backwards on instinct, hands flying up to halt his advance, eyes flicking to the corner of the ceiling. He follows my gaze to the little black security camera, arms dropping to his sides as he registers my warning.

Ares’ jaw clenches, eyes darkening. “You sure?” he asks, posture tense.

I nod, even though we both know it’s a lie.

He swallows hard, punching the button for the lobby before shoving his hands in his pockets. The elevator doors glide shut and the box hums with its descent.

“You look like you’ve been hit by a truck,” Ares murmurs, his tone somehow both teasing and tinged with worry.

“I’m fine,” I grit out, watching the numbers on the panel count down. “Just let it go, okay? ”

His jaw tightens, lips pressing into a stubborn line.

Please just let it go…

The elevator chimes as it arrives at the twentieth floor and I exhale a ragged breath, stepping past Ares to exit. He moves to follow me, but I whip back around, shaking my head.

“You can’t,” I say firmly.

His jaw flexes, hands clenching into fists at his sides. He obviously doesn’t like it, but by some miracle, he actually heeds my warning.

“Miley,” he rasps, the raw edge in his voice scratching at something buried deep inside me.

I give another quick shake of my head, holding his eye contact as the elevator doors begin to close between us.

The moment seems to stretch on forever as we stare at one another, until the last sliver of him disappears behind them.

Then I blow out a shaky breath, turning on a heel to stride away down the hall.

The sting of tears pricks behind my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. What’s the point? Crying won’t change anything. It won’t fix the piece of me that broke in that exam room.

I’m relieved when I enter my apartment to find Jordan waiting for me inside, sprawled out on the sofa with her phone in hand. She jumps up the second I come through the door, tossing her phone aside and rushing toward me.

“How was it?” she asks, dark eyes rounded in concern.

“Hell,” I mutter, poking my tongue against my sore gums.

Her brows pinch together, a flash of fear and sympathy painting her features before she quickly schools her expression and turns back for the coffee table. “Here,” she mumbles, swiping up a plastic cup and thrusting it in my direction. “Heard it helps to drink something cold after.”

“Yeah, who told you that?” I scoff, eyeing the red slushy in her grasp. Sarcasm is all I have left at this point.

She shrugs as she shoves the cup into my hand with a wink. “I have my sources.”

I roll my eyes as I take it from her, bringing the straw to my lips for a sip. It’s cherry– my favorite– but it somehow tastes bitter going down, as if the events of the day have tainted the sweetness. At least the cold numbs my mouth just enough to dull the edge.

“Come on,” Jordan coaxes, slinging an arm over my shoulders and guiding me toward the couch.

The two of us collapse down onto the cushions, snuggling in close while I sip the slushy and she toys with the strands of my hair.

“This whole thing is so fucked up,” she mutters. “It’s not natural to seal mate bonds with a goddamn injection .”

“No, but it’s efficient,” I murmur as I stare blankly at the TV across the room, the dark screen reflecting our slumped figures back at us. “And Alpha likes efficiency.”

A heavy silence descends, one that neither of us have words to fill. We both know how this ends. We’ve always known.

“You could run,” Jordan suggests after a beat.

“To where?” I laugh, the sound of it sharp and bitter.

She abruptly sits up, flickering me a side-eyed glance. “Haven’t you ever thought about it?” she asks hesitantly, chewing on her lower lip. “Just packing a bag and leaving all this behind?”

Of course I have.

“You know what would happen,” I grumble, taking another sip of cherry slush.

She hums in agreement, heaving a sigh as she flops back against the sofa cushions and leans her head on my shoulder.

We just sit together in silence for a while, my sister’s comforting presence easing the ache in my soul.

In moments like this, it’s easy to pretend that we’re normal girls with free will, but that only digs the knife in deeper.

Because we aren’t. We don’t get to live freely or make our own choices; not the ones that really matter.

We’re prisoners to the blood running through our veins, and this Tower is our gilded cage.