Page 1 of The Night Movers: Season One

Ridley’s courage escaped into the night air with the opening of the box truck doors.

Goosebumps erupted along his skin as the frigid wind swept in, whipping around the three metal walls of the vehicle.

When had it gotten so cold outside? He squinted out into the dark, able to just make out a vague dark shape that may have been another truck.

Were they at their final destination? Were they handing them off to another group of men who would take them farther?

A sharp sliver of unease settled between his ribs, making each harsh breath painful.

This was where his vision had ended. He had no idea what would become of him—or any of them—past this point.

Four guards stood as a unit, decked in the same gear they’d worn at the facility.

The same gear worn by all of the New Guard.

That was what the government called the unified police force that came from merging the National Guard and the civilian police ten years ago.

Ridley called them terrorists and bullies dressed like they were late for a costume party.

Really, they were dressed to intimidate.

Each guard wore an all-black jumpsuit with a kevlar breastplate, thick pads, and a helmet with a visor so dark their identities remained hidden.

It was much easier to abuse your power when you didn’t have to face any real world consequences, like your neighbors hating you.

Tonight, they’d foregone the helmet for a balaclava that left only their eyes and mouth visible.

They wore scent blockers to hide the part they couldn’t cover with thick black cloth, but Ridley could tell them apart anyway.

He’d numbered them.

Idiot number one smelled like cigarettes—strong ones.

Ridley’s stomach churned each time he caught the man’s scent.

Idiot number two smelled like cheap alcohol, the kind you could buy for a dollar at the corner store.

It burned his eyes when the man stood too close.

Idiot number three smelled like peppermint gum and sour breath, especially when he was “accidentally” brushing up against Ridley.

They were all disgusting. All of them got off on taunting him and the others about what was about to happen to them. They’d joked about what horrors other omegas like them had endured in such graphic detail that one of the girls had thrown up.

But it was idiot number four who seemed to have latched onto Ridley, intent on making his experience as hellish as possible.

He smelled like jelly candies, sharp and sugary.

And he stared at Ridley like he was imagining the most disgusting things.

If Ridley had wanted to, he could have read his thoughts, but he worried he might puke himself.

These guards hated him, hated all of them.

Ridley didn’t understand how it was possible to hate someone they didn’t even know.

It was such a strange dichotomy. Alphas coveted omegas, yet they hated them, denigrated them, looked at them as inferior.

They saw them only as slaves, brood mares, but never partners.

It used to be better, but the past didn’t matter, only the future and the future of any omega now was bleak.

Ridley supposed the guards—his kidnappers—were at least honest about their intentions.

Stealing omegas from intake facilities and selling them to the highest bidder was less humane, but probably also less psychologically damaging than some poor omega thinking their alpha wasn’t like others only to learn they were wrong once they were tied to them forever.

Alphas didn’t care about omegas; they showed them off like trophies.

If it was up to them, they’d still run them down and publicly breed them in the streets if the government let them.

But there was an image to maintain. They had to pretend that this was all very civilized.

That what they were doing to omegas was for the greater good.

After all, there was a population shortage.

The grating sound of metal rattling across metal jerked Ridley from his thoughts as idiot number four unlocked their chains from the steel loops on the floor. Guards two and three jumped free of the vehicle, guns drawn, waiting on either side of the open doors like these four omegas were dangerous.

Guard one used the gun’s muzzle to jab at the omega closest to the door, a young girl Ridley clocked at about fourteen years old.

She glared at the man but got to her feet, shuffling awkwardly with the chain connecting her ankles and wrists.

She tried to hop down, but her knees buckled and she fell to the cracked asphalt.

“Get up!” guard one shouted, pushing at her with the gun again.

Ridley clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.

He needed to stay quiet. He couldn’t afford to die just yet.

His vision throbbed red as he watched the guard poke at the young omega.

She was no threat, small and mouselike with dirty brown hair pushed back between ears that were just a little too big for her small face.

There was no need to be rough, but she’d made the mistake of running from them, trying to get back to the facility.

She was lucky they only hit her with the boom stick and hadn’t just shot her dead.

They must have thought they could get a good price for her.

Her escape attempt was how they’d all ended up chained with their arms behind their backs, wrists shackled to ankles.

The two other omegas filed out silently, clearly trying to avoid the same rough landing.

They were older, but not by much. His age, maybe.

Nineteen? Twenty? The two girls surrounded the younger one, flanking her like they wanted to try to shield her from the worst of what was to come.

It was a lovely gesture but wholly useless given their situation.

There was no saving them.

Any of them.

Ridley began to shuffle his way towards the doors, hoping to avoid another unpleasant helping hand from idiot number four.

He made to walk forward but his chain held firm.

He landed face first on the cold metal lip of the door, pain exploding from his cheek and jaw, his mouth filling with the taste of copper.

When Ridley looked up, guard four stood on his chain.

He gave Ridley a mean grin. “Oops,” he said, voice full of mock innocence.

Guard three yanked him from the back, setting him on his feet and shoving him to stand beside the three girls like they were livestock.

He supposed they were. All omegas were just animals to alphas and even to betas, designed to be used and destroyed.

Playthings and punching bags…money makers and whores.

Guard four had spent hours taunting him about how he’d fetch a good price. How pretty little fems like him were perfect for the auction block. Redheads were looked down upon in the breeding farms, but their rarity made the pretty ones, like him, highly sought after.

They’d “fix” him first, of course, carve out his insides so he couldn’t breed. Can’t risk knocking up a red-haired recessive omega from a low income family. An alpha might overlook one of those things, but not all four. After all, who cared what the omega wanted? They weren’t really people.

But if omegas were no better than animals, what did that make the alphas who wanted to fuck them? They weren’t quite ready for that conversation, though.

Ridley took his place beside the others.

They stood in front of a large black van.

He noted two street lamps and one dingy bare bulb sitting in a broken socket on a small metal shack to his left.

They were on cracked asphalt, but all around him was red clay, like maybe this had once been a parking lot before they’d turned it into… this.

It appeared to be a junkyard. Everywhere Ridley looked, there were cars stacked high like skyscrapers and tires layered one on top of another like totems. Just ahead was a sagging metal fence with a sign warning people to keep out.

It smelled like burned rubber and motor oil, and the odor was so thick in the air it made him woozy.

Or maybe it was the lack of food and water doing that.

Two men appeared from around the side of the vehicle, both tall and broad.

Alphas, obviously. They wore black jeans and black hoodies with heavy black boots.

The hoods covered their hair and masks covered their faces.

Unlike the guards in their balaclavas, these men’s masks glowed—literally—like the neon signs over the bars in the city.

The taller man had aqua blue Xs for eyes and a garish wide open mouth.

The other was a glowing red demon face, also with a sinister smile.

The devil opened the doors to the black van, splaying them wide.

Inside, the lights were impossibly bright, and the back of the truck was separated by a metal panel so the cab was completely isolated.

Two more men sat inside. One in a neon pink skull mask and the other wearing a neon plague doctor mask. Despite how unsettling they appeared, Ridley had to fight the urge to move closer. He wanted to touch, to feel the smoothness of the neon beneath his fingers.

Was this how moths felt? He bit his lip to keep the laughter building in his chest from bubbling past his lips.

He was delirious. Terrified. Sleep deprived.

Probably a dozen other things as well. But he couldn’t afford to lose it now.

He was there for a reason. He’d worked so hard to get there, he just needed to… stay the course.

Ridley took a moment to note that the van was made for transporting prisoners, with a bar that ran just below the roof for these men to attach their restraints.

These weren’t common street thugs. They were organized.

They moved with a confidence that only came from time and experience.

Ridley would almost be impressed if he wasn’t actively being trafficked.