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Then he’s gone and while I know my omega will keep that promise, I’m not sure I’m going to live long enough to see it happen.

KORVIN

The door to my cell opens with a loud screech, the old rusted iron scraping along the track as it slowly begins to let in more and more light with each horrible sound.

I blink a bunch of times then squint, shielding my eyes from the fluorescent fixtures in the hall with my hand. I can’t see shit, not until a giant black mass steps into my cell and even then, it just looks like a fucking black lump.

“We have to go,” a voice whispers as it gets closer. “Now.”

I recognize that voice but I can’t quite place it.

Not without hearing it again anyway. They’ve got my fucking nostrils caked in some sort of scent blocking salve so identifying him that way is out.

All I’ve got is my hearing in this shit hole, and it does squat if he doesn’t say more than a few words at such a low fucking volume.

“Can you stand?”

I frown as a second familiar voice enters the room, the beam from a flashlight landing on my shackled ankles before it lights a path over the chain connected to a second around my waist. There’s a third that’s attached to the back of my goddamn straight jacket, looped through it somehow as well as an old as fuck pulley system that is basically a goddamn leash.

Thank god he stops before he can shine that shit in my face.

I’m muzzled, too, just like the good old days, and if he put the high beam on my mug to get a look, I’m not sure what I’d do.

It’s hard to say since I’ve been locked up in a dog kennel from the mideaval times, and if I wasn’t so fucking mad about it, I might be inclined to inquire about the sordid history of Blackhurst Ridge’s basement torture chamber.

That’s not gonna happen, though.

I’m so pissed off I probably won’t even remember being here once I get out. If I get out.

“Severe, can you hear me?”

I cannot place that fucking voice but I know it, I’m sure of that.

”You don’t think they boxed his ears real bad or something?” The other asks with an edge to his tone. “They wouldn’t go that far, right?”

The flashlight moves over me again, following the chain at my waist toward my left arm and up my shoulder. “No, they’d just muzzle him so fucking tight he can’t answer us.”

Bingo, we have a winner.

“We gotta get you out of here, man,” the dude with the flashlight comes all the way into the cell, crouching to my left before I hear what has to be a set of keys jingle. “Then we gotta be fucking fast when we do.”

A few minutes and a bunch of cussing later, I’m free from all my restraints and I finally know who the fuck is busting me out.

”You two need better manners,” I say with a grin as I stretch and pop various parts of my body. “You know I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. How am I supposed to get into your windowless van full of puppies without knowing who’s trying to kidnap me.”

O’Brien smirks as we step into the hallway and he holds out a pair of handcuffs. “You spend way too much time with Hawthorne. His bullshit is starting to rub off on you.” Then his expression changes right before my eyes, turning to something a little too serious for my liking.

“What’s going on?” I ask as I move my wrists behind my back so he can put on my shiny new bracelets. “Why are you two taking me out of here?”

“Got a problem upstairs,” Stevenson says as he motions for us to start hustling toward the elevator. “Would have got you sooner but we needed to figure out how to pull it off.”

My heart starts hammering away behind my ribs, banging out an uneven rhythm as Calix flashes through my mind.

That was the last time I handled a problem upstairs, and I swear to Christ if something has happened to one of my mates there will be no stopping me this time. Not without putting a bullet between my eyes in order to do it.

“When we get to the lobby, we have to switch elevators.” O’Brien pushes the corresponding button. “That means we have to produce paperwork for reception and a security check.”

“Dudes on shift are pretty mellow but they do their job,” Stevenson says as he takes hold of my bicep.

Well, this is interesting as fuck. “I’m assuming that means I need to play the part of the stoic murderer while you two escort me back to my floor?” They both give a curt nod as O’Brien grabs hold of me, too. “Can I ask what the reason for my impromptu transfer might be?”

The elevator doors open before they can respond, the three of us adopting our roles easily since they’re rooted in truth, and as they walk me down a long hallway that spits us out into a sequence of secure doors with card readers, I can’t help but really think about that.

These two have been solid from the start.

Straight shooters, never spouting off bullshit but they don’t take any, either.

They’ve treated us like men ever since they were introduced to us, even when you could tell they were leery and didn’t know what to expect.

O’Brien and Stevenson have taken the time to get to know us, to have real conversations with us, and they aren’t afraid to share about their lives in return.

The guards on either side of me led the charge when it came to making sure my pack was able to spend time together.

They came up with hand signals and code words, ways to handle outsiders when needed so we never got caught.

As long as our being together didn’t cause problems for the staff or prevent anyone from working their treatment plan, it was cool.

I shouldn’t really be surprised by the way they’ve helped us. You can tell O’Brien and Stevenson are here because they want to be, because they believe in what Isaak and Maggie are trying to do. This job isn’t just a paycheck for them, and I’m pretty goddamn grateful for it.

In any other situation, I’d call them my friends, but I’m not sure they’d like that very much. Most wouldn’t. They’d rather not find themselves in the company of murderers if they can help it, regardless of whether or not it was a friendly interaction.

When we get to the reception desk, the guy sitting behind it does a double take when he sees me, his eyebrows flying to his hairline as a piece of his sandwich falls out of his mouth.

“Evening, Richards,” O’Brien says with a nod as he produces what has to be counterfeit paperwork or some shit. “Got a return transfer.”

He reaches out and takes all three pages, staring at me for another second or two before he seems to snap out of it. “You boys working late tonight?”

The three exchange a little small talk while Richards reviews the forms, signing where he’s supposed to before handing them back just so we can do it all over again at the security check by the second elevator.

“Why are you sticking your necks out for me?” I ask once the doors are closed.

I don’t get it.

They have packs, mates and kids, this job pays their mortgages and shit.

It can’t be worth it to them to keep helping me and my pack.

I know for a fact it isn’t. At least when it was just letting us sneak around to see each other, they could play stupid for the most part.

Deny any knowledge or involvement. No one would be able to prove that, and we’d be the ones to take the fall.

We agreed to that a while ago.

If everyone up there was willing to help us be a pack even in the shittiest of circumstances, the least we could do is make sure no one went down with us when we were inevitably caught.

This is different.

False orders and forged paperwork? An unauthorised return transfer with more than one witness to the act itself?

Not only would these two lose their jobs, they’d probably end up with jail time or some shit, and for what?

A few fucked up deviants who can’t control their impulses and the doctors they’re obsessed with?

It doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

“We like you, Severe,” Stevenson says with a shrug. “You and your mates. We know what it's like to find forever but couldn’t fathom the idea of not being able to enjoy it.”

Deciding against making some crack about guards going soft, I circle back to why they busted me out of the basement to begin with. “You gonna tell me what’s going on now?”

“Give it another minute and you’ll know without either of us saying a word.” O’Brien watches the number for the floors change as we go up. “I’m just hoping we got you out in time.”

“In time for what?” I wish they would just fucking tell me instead of being so goddamn cryptic.

Stevenson looks at his watch then grabs the walkie on his shoulder, speaking too quietly for me to hear what he says then listens for the response and nods. “They’re moving out.”

My fingers flex behind my back as a I clench my jaw and try to stay calm when I ask, “What the fuck is going on?”

We land on the top floor, the elevator dinging our arrival before the doors slide open and the second they do, I realize they were one thousand percent right about there being an issue.

“It’s the last one on the left,” Stevenson says as he quickly removes my cuffs. “Door is open, lock it after everyone is in.”

I nod as I watch O’Brien slide his card through the first reader and punch a code on the second before he swipes it again.

“Don’t worry about anything else. We’ve got you covered for however long you need.”

I take off as soon as the final door opens, running down that fucking hall like my ass is on fire before I nearly kick open the front door of what I can only assume is Isaak’s apartment.

And when I do? I growl deep in my chest, a sound I’ve never heard myself make before, as my cock turns to stone so fast I get lightheaded.

Holy shit.

Both of my omegas are in heat, and the urgency that hits when the thought runs through my mind sends me searching for the nest like a feral beast let out of its cage.

DESMOND