Page 23 of The Night Movers: Season One

Agony dragged Ridley from sleep, every internal organ cramping at once.

He bit back a whimper, pulling his knees to his chest, trying to take slow, deep breaths, praying doing so might cause his insides to unclench.

The longer he laid there, the worse it got, his pain obliterating all other thoughts.

He wanted to cry out, scream for help, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out.

Instead, he writhed on the bed, soaking wet sheets clinging to his skin as he blinked the sweat from his eyes.

He tried to think about something—anything—other than the claws ripping through his abdomen.

When that didn’t work, he focused on what he could.

The scratch of the wool blanket covering him, the stickiness on his skin, the amber glow of the lamp.

His whole body was on fire, his blood boiling.

He was still naked. His ass was sore, and every muscle in his body ached like he’d run for miles.

There was a deep, throbbing pain in his neck, under his arms, at his wrists, and on his inner thighs.

But even as he laid there, trapped in his wrecked body, his omega started to stir, the emptiness in his core making itself known.

Ridley had almost convinced himself a creature was actually clawing its way from his insides when the pain receded to a tolerable level, a barely-there ache his omega left behind as a warning of what was to come if he didn’t give him what he wanted.

He pushed the blanket down off his face, the chilly air a balm on his heated skin.

With his cramps under control, the other injuries on his body floated to the forefront.

He pried his eyelids open, lifting his arm to ghost his fingertips over the injury on his neck.

Shock reverberated through him as he touched the scabs, his memories flooding back in.

Titus had bitten him. Titus had…claimed him.

He vaguely remembered a sharp pain just before he blacked out but hadn’t registered it for what it was.

Titus hadn’t just bitten him, he’d sunk his teeth into his neck…

the left side of his neck. Thoughts exploded from his head like bats exposed to light, flying away too quickly for Ridley to catch them.

He tried to piece together the fragments, but, before he could, his gaze fell to the bite mark on his wrist. He pressed his nose to it, inhaling deeply. Not Titus’s scent but Diesel’s.

Diesel had also bitten him.

Ridley jolted upright, the scratchy black blanket falling to his waist. He pushed it off entirely, ignoring the goosebumps that erupted along his skin as he took stock of the aftermath. Bite marks. Six of them in total. They’d all bitten him.

He racked his brain for any scrap of their claiming him, but there was nothing.

He remembered nothing. But the proof of it was right there, etched into his flesh.

He shivered, not just from the cold but from the sight of his own body.

His alphas had left plenty of proof of their claiming behind.

Proof that Ridley’s lack of consciousness hadn’t stopped them from using him as they pleased.

There were hickeys on his chest, teeth marks around his right nipple, fingerprint-shaped bruises on his hips and claw marks down his thighs.

Even though his skin was damp, there was no missing the flaky white substance covering his torso.

His omega practically purred at the evidence of their crimes.

Ridley touched his lips. They felt raw and bruised.

He bit back a smile. As far as first times went, he imagined it was better than most omegas could dare to hope for.

He didn’t mind them using him. He’d given them permission to do what they wanted with him.

Some sick part of him liked the idea of them using him like a toy, like a—what had Diesel called him?

—a party favor. He wanted to be that for them.

He wanted to be the only one satisfying all their needs.

Maybe he was a hypocrite, but he had no intention of sharing them with anyone else.

He bit his lip, his cock stirring as he imagined them surrounding him, painting him with their release and then claiming him as their pack omega.

All while he slept. Had he been asleep in his vision?

Had Titus bit his throat in his vision? Why couldn’t he remember anymore?

No matter how he tried, he couldn’t conjure up the image, like his brain had discarded it now that what he saw had come to pass.

A small smile played at his lips, a lump forming in his throat, as relief rushed through him, almost making him giddy.

He was safe. For now. For all their talk, for all their protests, they’d all claimed him.

He pressed his fingers into each wound, moaning from the addictive jolt the pain gave him.

They’d bitten into every scent gland on his body, a common practice for a claiming bite.

Except Titus’s bite. That was not common at all.

It was so uncommon that he couldn’t even wrap his head around how it happened.

It left him feeling…unsettled. Scared, even.

This was entirely uncharted territory. There was a hierarchy in their country, unwritten rules and rituals handed down over time.

Unlike other more civilized places, here society judged people not by their character, but by their secondary gender.

While alphas were considered the ideal—the gold standard—there were two worlds.

The haves and that have-nots. Rich alphas could purchase an omega as a pet, could marry a beta with money, could find an omega with the proper breeding and mate with them with the understanding that the omega knew their place as a second-class citizen, a glorified housekeeper, and nanny to their own offspring.

Like Ridley, every alpha under this roof appeared to be a have-not.

From a young age, Ridley had suspected both he and his sister would present as omegas.

They knew their choices were limited. They—like most omegas—were expected to find the most tolerable alpha willing to mate with them so they could pop out the requisite two children, then resign themselves to a life of indentured servitude to their mate.

Should they not have the two children as required before the age of thirty, there would be consequences, ranging from fines they couldn’t pay to life in a forced breeding facility.

Those who were infertile met a worse fate.

The government called them defective. Undesirables.

Most ended up in “work camps,” which was just a fancy name for whore house.

Some—those who weren’t suitable for such a life—were simply scrapped for parts, their organs sold off to those alphas who could afford them.

Betas were the lucky ones. They existed outside of these laws.

Betas could marry alphas, they could marry each other.

They weren’t forbidden from marrying omegas but it was frowned upon as the chances of producing children was rare.

It happened. It was those unions, along with the occasional alpha-alpha couple that led to the need for breeding farms in the first place.

If the rich couldn’t procreate on their own, they’d simply choose a child from a breeder.

But there was a fourth group of people who polite society never talked about.

The alpha have-nots who still rose to the top of their own dark kingdoms. The criminals.

Traffickers. Drug dealers. Slave traders.

Gun runners. Killers. The shadow people who dwelled beneath the city, immune from society’s rules.

Ridley never imagined they might literally live underground. Yet, there Ridley was.

Titus and his pack definitely dwelled in the shadows, but Ridley couldn’t help but wonder if they’d started there.

They masqueraded as the worst of the worst, alphas selling omegas for cash, handing them over to be raped, tortured…

murdered. But that wasn’t who they truly were.

So, how had they gotten there? Why would anyone choose to risk their lives for society’s lowest born?

Ridley touched his throat once more, shaking his head.

Even the shadow world had its rituals. Bites, like many things, had their own language, their own…

etiquette. The have-not alphas formed packs to so lidify a power base they couldn’t build like the rich alphas could with their inherited wealth.

Each of Titus’s pack members carried his bite on their right side, indicating they didn’t stand alone. It served as a warning.

Fuck with me, you fuck with my pack.

Ridley would never expect Titus to bite his throat.

There was no reason for it. In their world—Ridley’s world now—claimed omegas weren’t officially pack and they certainly weren’t mates.

They were property, able to be bought, sold or traded at the pack’s discretion.

Their bite scars were the equivalent of the brand ranchers used on their cattle.

It was a sign of ownership, possession, and the owner could transfer their property as they saw fit.

A claimed omega was only as safe as the pack they were sold into.

Their bites often fell over scent glands that were easily visible—such as the wrists—making it clear they were owned, spoken for, but also that they had no standing in the pack, only their limited protection.

To find an omega with a bite on their right side was unheard of.

But Titus hadn’t marked him as pack. He’d marked his left side.

He’d marked him as his mate .

His mate.

It had to be a mistake. A moment of temporary insanity.

To think otherwise would mean Titus was a monster.

A one-sided mating mark was a fate worse than any claimed pack omega might suffer.

Titus had claimed Ridley, but Ridley hadn’t bitten Titus back.

Ridley was soul bonded to Titus, but Titus was not bound to him in any way.

That made things far more complicated…and far more dangerous.

A shiver ran through him but not from the cold.

Still, he drew the scratchy blanket back around him like a cloak.

The room’s emptiness suddenly felt unbearable.

Where were they? Sleeping? Ridley had no idea what time it was or how long he’d slept.

He needed them to come back. He needed them to tell him what the hell was going on.

What had happened? What did it all mean?

There was a reason pack omegas weren’t mated to their members.

Soul ties couldn’t be broken. If an alpha claimed a mate without that mate claiming them, separating that omega from their alpha was a fate worse than death.

Literally. A claimed omega couldn’t work in the brothels, couldn’t be used on breeding farms. Without the presence of their alpha, they would simply descend into madness and then die of heartbreak.

Ridley’s stomach churned. Why would Titus do that to him? Was it revenge for putting him in that position? It made no sense. Titus wasn’t the bad guy. He rescued omegas. He wouldn’t sentence one to something like this. Would he?

The sweet scent of candy filled his nose a moment before Sugar appeared in the doorway. He wore a black tank top and gray joggers, and he looked at Ridley in a way that made his nausea intensify. Sugar hated him. Steele, too. Still, Ridley forced himself to put on a smile.

“What happened to me?” Ridley asked, voice raw, his throat on fire.