Pack Darling, Part One by Lola Rock

Thirty-Six

LILAH

I knowI’m about to die. Not fast, either. When we pass Craig, staring up at the sky through the bloody, ragged hole where his eyes used to be, I’m jealous he got out the easy way.

These bastards will rip me apart.

Unless I rip them apart first.

Two of them toss me in the back of their car. I hit the seat with an oof, face smashing into the leather. The one who pinned me makes a low, throaty growl. “Fuck, I need to taste her.”

He tugs at my pants.

I kick out in panic.

Sweat soaks every layer I’m wearing, and even though my stomach cramps like the period from hell, I’d rather masturbate with a rusty trowel than touch his dirty dick.

“Back off.” The second guy pulls him away. “We can’t take her ‘til we get to the auction. Then we can go ape-shit.”

“Shit, fine.” He throws off the guy’s arm.

They jump in the front, and the driver guns the engine because he’s not wasting a breath between now and when he gets to mount me.

Shuddering, I roll onto my side.

Orion’s out there alone, maybe off to a worse fate than I am.

Focus.

Save myself first, then I can worry about him.

I take a deep breath, as deep as I can while my body steams like a sauna.

I’ve been fighting every day of my life.

Now I’m fighting legit thugs instead of hormonal teen omegas, but even though this heat is wrecking me, making me want to curl up like a cooked shrimp, I have a powerful new weapon.

My perfume.

These balls-for-brains were so busy sniffing, they didn’t bother patting me down. Or maybe they just assumed a tiny, heat-drunk omega wouldn’t be carrying.

Either way. I lost Finn’s knife in Craig’s ribs, but I still have my trusty toothbrush shiv tucked in my panties.

The driver turns off the Wyverns’ long driveway, onto the country road that heads into the city and my personal future hell.

I can’t waste time hesitating.

I whimper, channeling every fucking drama class the OCC ever forced me to take.

The guy in the passenger seat shifts to look. He swallows and stares like I’m already stripped, inviting him with spread legs.

I’m not taking this act that far, but his dumbass, puss-merized look is perfect. I whimper again, clasping my lower belly. “Hurts.”

“I’ll make you feel so good, Baby.” He reaches back, stroking down my hip with hot dog fingers, and I hope he reads my shudder as a needy shiver.

“Please, Alpha. It hurts so bad.” I spread my thighs and hide my disgust by biting my lower lip.

The second he catches the scent of my slick, his muscles cord, a vein popping in his neck.

His growl rips through the car.

“Rut, fuck, have to have her,” voice low and guttural, he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Shit. Seriously?” The driver swerves as his buddy starts to climb into the backseat.

“Hurts,” I whine and sneak my bound hands toward the shiv. “Please, Alpha, please.”

Begging would hurt my pride if I had any.

All I have left are psycho hormones and the burning desire to stab this shithead through the eye socket.

He tries to wedge his linebacker shoulders between the seats, pinning himself like a beetle on a board. I lift onto my knees, lips parted like I’m going in for a kiss, and the idiot leans into me, leading with his fat, sloppy tongue.

I slip out the shiv, lift it high, and drive it into his throat.

Hot blood sprays my face.

He roars and gurgles, thrashing so hard he hits the driver.

The car swerves.

“Bitch!” the driver shouts. “You’re fucking dead.”

He brakes while his buddy drowns in his own blood. I’m shaking, sweating, but the only thing I’m upset about is the way the guy I just stabbed grips my shiv, blocking me from grabbing it back or jamming it in harder.

The car slows.

My panic rises. If he parks, I’m screwed. I can’t overpower him, and he won’t fall for the same trick.

As the dying man struggles, his jacket rucks up, flashing his gun. I pull it, flick the safety, and don’t let myself even think what I’m about to do.

I close my eyes, press the gun to the driver’s head, and—

Bang!

The driver slams the brake when the bullet goes through his skull. Momentum throws me against the seatback, and I fall to the floorboards stunned dizzy as the car rolls into a ditch.

Suddenly everything stills.

The only sounds are the man gurgling blood and the hummingbird flicker of my heart.

Sweating, I can’t breathe.

My head aches, my body whines, and all I want to do is slither out and make this ditch my brand new home.

I test the door handle, but the child locks are on. With a groan, I realize I have to crawl over the guy who’s finally finished choking himself to death. He’s too heavy to move.

Closing my mouth, I climb over him, rolling into the passenger seat and diving out into the cool grass.

I take a big, shaking breath.

But I can’t rest. Can’t sit still.

I need to be off the roadside before the other goons catch up. Or maybe worse. Some wannabe samaritan pulls over, finds an omega in heat, and decides to take me by force.

I kick the door shut and stumble around to the driver's side. The door swings open easily, but the driver’s too heavy to move, hunched over the steering wheel.

Bile churns up my throat at the hole I made in his face.

I won’t lose any sleep over killing a gangster rapist, but it’s still fucking gross.

I can taste his blood, metallic with a hint of burnt toast.

I spit in the grass, then get to work.

Sweat rolls down my back, half heat and half strain. I’m not usually this weak, but even on my best day, I’m no power lifter. Thanks to the zip ties, every tug of his dead weight wrenches my wrists.

Finally, the body falls out.

I step aside, letting it roll to the bottom of the ditch with the roadside trash where it belongs. Without looking at his face, I pat him down, grabbing his gun, a couple knives, and a wallet fat with hundreds.

It takes a few tries to flick open the switchblade. Holding it tight between my knees, I saw at the zip cord until it finally pops, freeing my stinging wrists.

Catching my breath, I lean against the car. My belly cramps so hard I can barely stand.

There’s no way I’m wedging the other guy out of the car, so I leave him jammed between the seats, cringing when I sit and his body bumps my shoulder.

I buckle and carefully back the car out of the ditch.

When I hit pavement, all I see is night sky.

Minus the dead body, I have everything for the perfect escape. Car, cash, and a huge fucking distraction because the Wyverns won’t spare me a single thought until they have Orion safe in their arms.

All I need to do is drive past the city and find a shitty motel to hole up in while I ride out my heat. Then I’ll be on to my independent life. I’ll even pay back the OCC when I have the bankroll.

I try to picture my old dream—the cottage in the woods where I live alone and age in bliss, forgotten by the world, owned by no one.

Only now, all I see is Orion snarling on the grass, trying to throw the guys pinning him down.

Trying to save me.

Why does he have to be nice to me?

Why does he have to be so goddamned beautiful?

He doesn’t deserve what the Redfangs will do to him. No omega deserves to be treated like a thing. Sold and abused.

I won’t let it happen to me.

I won’t let it happen to him.

Decision made, I hit the gas, heading back to the house. This is the only road to the city, so if I keep driving, I’ll meet up with the Redfangs.

I speed faster than I’ve ever driven, constantly checking my rearview. Any second, the Wyverns will fly up behind me in one of their candy cars, rolling in to save Orion like his knights in camo armor.

Aaaaaaany second.

I never spot headlights.

It’s hard seeing anything driving in the dark. Heat has a permanent haze boiling over my vision, and every few minutes, another death cramp twists everything below my ribs like a soaked towel.

Only the towel’s soaked in gasoline, and I’m on fire.

My slick is so uncomfortably wet, I swear it’s dripping into the seat. And this is just the start.

The longer I go without an alpha, the worse it’ll hurt.

The OCC told us a thousand scare stories about omegas who rode out their heat alone. Like the omega who went into heat at her pack’s mountain home while her mates got cut off by a blizzard. The pain was so unbearable, she tried to sedate herself and OD’ed.

A lot of doctors won’t even offer drugs. It’s too unhealthy. We’re efficient breeding machines, us omegas. Wouldn’t want the chemicals to affect a girl’s fertility.

Who cares if she’s in so much pain she cracks a few bones from thrashing?

I clench the wheel.

No matter how bad it gets, I can handle it. I know I can. I’ll hide and bite back the pain, the same way I always have. Like when Noelle locked me in that closet. Or when Juniper stomped my ribs into powder, and I spent two weeks alone in my bedroom, no one bothering to ask why I missed class.

I’m strong.

I’ll handle whatever I have to handle.

I’m halfway to the house when I spot the headlights flying toward me.

A flutter flips in my belly.

Only one way to stop a moving car.

I tense, gripping the wheel to stop my fingers from shaking. I have to time this perfectly.

Just as the black sedan flies past, I wrench the wheel and tag their bumper.

Our cars spin.

Theirs swerves into the ditch, mine doing a 180 on the road. My fingers are still shaking when my car screeches to a stop. I don’t move, don’t get out, just waiting to see what they’ll do.

A gun rests in my lap.

I’ll use it if I have to.

Two guys spill out of the back seat. They close in on me, lifting guns to shoot.

I duck and brace my head between my knees.

Then I hit the gas.

Bullets ping the bulletproof windshield.

Thump, thump. The car shakes as two bodies bounce off the hood. I squeeze my eyes shut and slam the pedal to the floorboards.

Metal screams.

Glass shatters.

The force throws me forward, then back. The seatbelt wrenches my waist, and I gag, cramping in agony.

Gun.

I need the gun.

My fingers quake, scraping the floorboards, but when they bump metal, I can’t close them.

Shock?

Shit.

Everything’s woozy and blurry.

“Bad omega,” a deadly voice hisses through the shattered car window. I catch his coffee scent, bitter with rage.

He grabs me by the back of the neck, wrenching me upright. My vision spins, but it’s hard to miss the blood flowing from the cut on his bald head.

“Dominik will fucking destroy you.” His dark eyes glow with a malice so toxic my blood clots in my veins. “Then I’ll have my turn to make you bleed.”

Braced between my knees, my fingers tighten.

They squeeze around metal.

Gun.

Holy shit, I picked it up!

The man yanks me by the hair, baring my neck, forcing me to submit. He swallows, focused on my pulse, nostrils flaring, hypnotized by my scent.

My lips curl into a snarl.

Not today, motherfucker.

I pull the trigger.