Page 2 of The Night Movers: Season One

Once again, that nervous laughter tickled in his chest, threatening to overflow.

When was the last time he ate? Drank? He blinked rapidly, trying to focus.

A gust of icy wind blew between the vehicles, making him shiver.

His white t-shirt and cotton pants were far too thin for the sudden cold that was penetrating his bones. But it was what he’d worn for days.

It was the uniform they’d given him upon his arrival for his mandatory appointment at the state intake facility.

Every omega was required to report there upon presentation.

That was where they were chipped like dogs and put through a series of increasingly humiliating health checks to ensure they were… breedable.

Unlike his kidnappers in their carnival masks, the government was very invested in ensuring every omega—even the redheads—were bred.

They were in a birth dearth. That was the official name for it.

There were too many jobs and not enough workers.

So, they tracked omegas just like scientists used to track wild animals to study their migration patterns.

They monitored every omega to ensure they popped out the requisite two children required by law.

But men, like the ones standing before him, had other ideas.

They knew the real money was in repetition.

Why wait for an omega to find a husband when you could just sell them to a breeding farm where they could have their babies yanked from their arms and given to childless alphas and betas.

The average omega could birth as many as twenty children with enough meds pumped into them.

And if they were infertile, no problem. They were perfect for the brothels, turning tricks for thirty to fifty strangers a day.

Unless, of course, they were pretty and rare, like him, then it was the auction block, where the worst of the worst bid to be their new owner.

The lucky ones were kept in luxury. The others…

The man in the blue mask stopped before him. He tilted his head this way and that, examining Ridley like he was under a microscope.

“This is it?” the man asked, his disgust obvious even with his voice muffled by the cloth of his mask. “You said ten.”

Guard four scoffed. “Don’t bust my balls over this, Titus. We’ve had a lot of heat on us the last couple of weeks. If you don’t like it, find your own omegas. We have other clients and can’t risk the whole operation because your guys get too rough with your product.”

Ridley’s jaw muscle throbbed at the word “product,” but then the rest of what the man said penetrated his brain.

Other clients? What other clients? Was that why his vision had only taken him this far?

What if these were the wrong men? Panic welled in his chest, squeezing his lungs.

What if these weren’t the men the guards sold her to?

“We have a quota to meet just like everyone else,” the man—Titus—said. “You think our buyers are just going to let this go?” Suddenly, Titus gripped Ridley’s face. “And what about this one? Why’s he bleeding everywhere, Kinsey?”

“He tripped,” guard four said with a shrug. “What do you care? I’ve seen what your clients do to omegas. There’ll hardly be anything left to bury when they’re done with them.”

Ridley’s stomach churned at that, his horrified gaze jerking to meet this masked man’s eyes.

The three girls started crying at Kinsey’s casual statement.

Who wouldn’t? This was the black market, and alphas found horrific new ways to use omegas every day.

Ridley might have cried, too, if he had any tears or sense of self-preservation.

But he’d lost that five weeks ago when Ren went missing.

He didn’t mind dying, but he’d prefer it to be quick and painless. And he couldn’t afford to die. Not yet. Not while she was still out there.

What if she’s already dead?

No. He would have felt it. They were connected. Bonded.

Titus released Ridley’s jaw. “My clients don’t like damaged goods. It ruins their fun. You know the deal.”

Kinsey snorted. “You’re a real pain in my ass. If you don’t want the fucking kid, I’m sure I can find another buyer. A cute little virgin like him? Look at that red hair, those green eyes, the freckles. You know what I could get for him on the block?”

Titus raised his head, looking directly at Kinsey, then grew very still.

A shiver ran through Ridley. He could feel how dangerous the man behind the mask was.

He could feel his disgust radiating off him like heat waves off pavement.

But it wasn’t leveled at Ridley for once, but at the guard, Kinsey.

When the guard shifted uncomfortably, Titus said, “You don’t have the connections to get anybody on the block. You steal them; we sell them. That’s how this works.” He turned to the man beside him in the red mask. “Steele, get these chains off them and get them into the van.”

Steele gave a single nod, then nodded towards the guards. Ridley felt a tug as guard two unlocked the heavy chains and they pooled at his feet. He fought the urge to stretch until his joints popped. Once they were all unchained, Steele pushed the girls towards the open van doors.

Titus turned his head towards Ridley once more, his stillness sending another shudder through him. What was he looking at?

Finally, the man turned to the others. “Diesel, pay them so we can get out of here. We’ve got buyers waiting.”

The man in the pink skull mask came forward, handing a heavy black bag to Kinsey while Steele loaded the girls into the van. Ridley watched as he chained each of them to the bar near the ceiling with nothing more than steel cuffs.

Steele made to jump back out, presumably to grab Ridley, but Titus waved him off, staring Ridley down. Every atom in Ridley’s body was pulling him towards the alpha. Was he pushing pheromones on him? Why? Was he trying to force him to submit? How much more submissive could he get?

He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but the man’s stillness was maddening. He curled his lip at the alpha, ignoring the sharp sting that told him it was likely split open. “What? Are you waiting for me to cry or something?”

Titus snorted, his tone somewhere between smug and amused. “No, Strawberry, I’m just waiting for you to get in the van.”

“Fuck you,” Ridley spat .

Titus chuckled. “Oh, but that I could, Strawberry, but I’m afraid that’s against the rules. Virgins fetch a much higher price and you smell daisy fresh. Maybe I should call you Cherry instead.”

Ridley’s breaths came faster, and he swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. What was wrong with him? This man was a trafficker. He forced himself to glower at Titus, even as he heard the guards laugh. He wished he could say he was wrong, but he was newly presented.

“Do you want me to carry you, sweetheart?” Titus asked when Ridley still didn’t move.

“I don’t want you to touch me at all, actually,” Ridley mumbled. “I’m not into greasy alpha dicks.”

Titus tossed his head back and laughed, the sound distorted from the mask. “You hear that? This kid thinks my dick is greasy,” he told the others.

The one called Diesel scoffed. “Maybe you should give him a taste. Sounds like he’s begging for it.”

Titus put a gloved hand on Ridley’s chest, pressing him into the fender of the van, cupping his face, leaning in until he was close enough for Ridley to realize he, too, wore a scent blocker.

“Should I, Strawberry? You want to get on your knees for me? I bet you’d look real pretty with my cock in your mouth. ”

Ridley’s temper flared. Before he could stop himself, he spit in the alpha’s face, the little saliva he had in his mouth landing on the darkest part of the mask. “I’d rather gargle broken glass.”

Ridley should have seen the slap coming, but it landed heavy on the side of his cheek, the texture of the glove dulling the sensation but not the impact.

Ridley hit his knees but was dragged right back up again by Titus who pressed his whole body against him.

Ridley’s skin grew hot as he realized he was half-hard, his body releasing slick. Stupid fucking alpha pheromones.

Titus’s hand closed around his throat, squeezing slightly. “Careful,” he growled.

“Or what? You’ll kill me now instead of letting one of your clients rip me apart from the inside out?” Ridley snapped. “Oh, no, please don’t,” he simpered in a voice that even he found grating.

He braced for another slap but, to his surprise, Titus tossed his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the junkyard. “Get in the van, kid.”

Steele lifted him into the back of the truck without waiting for his help in the matter, attaching him to the rail just like the others. Once he ensured Ridley was secured, he hopped down, and a man with a neon yellow skull climbed on board.

The guards gathered their chains—wouldn’t want to leave those—and filed back into their van, but the doors closed before he could see them leave. Diesel pounded on the metal wall separating them from the driver and—presumably—Steele.

The vehicle lurched forward, the uneven surface causing Ridley to sway, bringing his nausea back to the forefront. The two older girls began crying again, but the youngest one stayed silent, hyper-focused on the four men in the back with them.

For the next ten minutes, the only sound was the quiet hiccuping sobs of the two girls, then the truck rolled to a stop. Ridley’s heart sank. Titus held a gloved finger to his lips, warning them all to stay silent.

Had they already reached their destination? Nobody made any move to disembark but the whole atmosphere inside shifted, the four men tense, not moving a muscle.

After another minute, another knock came, from the cab this time, a muffled voice yelling, “Checkpoint clear.”

The minute the others heard those words, their apprehension deflated like a leaky balloon.

As the truck rolled forward, there was a flurry of sudden activity.

The men pushed back their hoods and removed their masks, and Ridley blinked at them in shock.

A heavily tattooed man in his early twenties pulled out wire-rimmed glasses, then wrenched a large laptop from a black bag Ridley hadn’t noticed until that point.

He opened the laptop and began typing frantically .

The man in the plague doctor mask was also heavily tattooed. He had long inky black hair that he’d put up in a bun on the top of his head. He had wide eyes, high cheekbones, and pretty lips.

The man in the pink mask—Diesel—was not as tall as the others but he was broad, with short caramel hair, a broad nose, and heavy brows. He was looking at something on his phone.

The plague doctor pulled out what looked like a first aid kit—ironic—and opened it, tugging free things like gauze and gloves. What the fuck was he going to do to them?

They were all so…young, mid-twenties at most. And beautiful. Big like most alphas, with the exception of the plague doctor who had a slighter build.

Titus didn’t remove his mask right away, almost like he’d been waiting for Ridley’s undivided attention before taking it off. Ridley hated the way his breath caught and his mouth grew impossibly dry.

Like the others, Titus appeared heavily inked, tattoos spilling out of his neckline and up his throat, stopping just below his chin.

He had hair the color of mahogany and eyes as pale as sea glass.

A wicked scar bisected his right eye down to his cheek.

It didn’t detract from his beauty at all.

It was like a gut-punch, stealing Ridley’s air and his sanity.

These men were monsters. Why was Ridley so attracted to them when the others were terrified? If they were dosing them with pheromones, they would have all been acting like him, but the three girls still cowered together in the corner.

Titus contemplated him for a full minute, the two of them just staring at each other. When Titus looked away, it seemed like it took effort. He looked towards the plague doctor.

“Him first, Ryker,” Titus said, nodding towards Ridley.

Ryker’s gaze met Ridley’s, and something shone in his hand. It took longer than it should have for Ridley to realize it was a scalpel.

By then, it was too late.