Chapter 3

Pearl

Fear batters at my insides, but wondrous heat curls through my veins as his rough digits test my flesh. Maybe it's shock, or maybe I've finally lost my grip on reality, but the leashed power in his hands and the clean, masculine scent wafting from him feel good. After hours of struggling in the water, his solid body anchors and warms me.

But he's dangerous. An alpha like him could crush both me and my sister without even trying.

"Would you trust me, tiny treasure?"

The unexpected words spear through me.

It's the one thing I can't do. When I hesitate, he chuckles .

"You will, eventually. For now, just listen," he murmurs against my ear. My pulse leaps as he pushes me away, cups the underside of my left breast, and pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger to aim my face toward my sister.

"What do you see?" he asks.

I don't understand why he's asking, and the wet glide of his tongue over my ear scrambles my thoughts.

I meet Gem's wide eyes between the bodies surrounding her. With clean hands and cloth masks covering their noses and mouths, the beta women hold my sister down and smear ointment over the bruises covering her bare torso. An older female inspects the gash on her head.

Understanding dawns. They're helping my sister, not hurting her, but that's not the revelation that comes out of my mouth.

"You sent the men away."

"Only females will tend to your sister. They'll treat her wounds, give her a proper shower, and put her in quarantine until I clear her for the general population."

"What do you mean by quarantine?"

"She'll have three meals a day, a bed, and running water all to herself."

I open my mouth to ask why, but I choke on the cloud of sadness wafting off the women. When I try again, a different question pops free .

"And me?"

"You're mine, Pearl. We'll quarantine together."

Liquid fire pools low in my belly. I test my bindings and hiss as pain radiates down my arms and through my shoulder.

Thick fingers wrap around my throat and his hard body presses against my back.

"Be still and let me take care of you, tiny treasure."

My frazzled mind and exhausted body stand no chance against his seductive rumble. I melt as my pain drifts away.

Gem's wordless keen holds so much misery my stomach clenches and ice forms around my heart. Tears glimmer in her eyes.

The Barge snarls and releases me, only to unsnap my shackles from the line and toss me over his shoulder. I grunt as my midsection collides with his rock-hard shoulder, but the heat of his sun kissed back against my aching nipples shocks me more than the impact. I brace my forearms on his back and lift to meet my sister's eyes.

"I'm fine, Gem. We'll be okay."

She doesn't believe me, but neither do I. I just need her to be safe. She's suffered enough. I can handle anything as long as I know she's okay.

Corrugated steel blocks my view. My lower back cramps, so I let my forearms slip off The Barge's back and cringe at the tacky wetness of my blood as it smears between us.

As the massive alpha stalks through the rows of shipping containers, my adrenaline fades and weakness spears through me. I wedge my thumbs inside his waistband to prevent my head from bopping against the muscles of his back, but after a moment, I realize I cling to him as though he's a lifeline. I'm afraid if I let go, he'll float away and I'll wake up stranded in the middle of the ocean with sharks circling my sister and me as I desperately cling to our broken barrel.

At least with him, we might live. I don't know what kind of life we'll have, but the few seconds I saw of his people told me more than I realized in the moment.

No one cowered. Everyone walked with their shoulders back, like they had a purpose. They had clear eyes, clean clothes, and healthy bodies.

Even the ruling alphas of the city skulked around in filthy clothing and reeked of alcohol or stumbled around in a daze of drugs.

Hope blooms to life in my chest, but I squash it as hard as I can.

Hope hurts too much. It leaves you too exposed. When my father had enough money to buy passage on the shipping boat, we had the first glimmer of hope in a long time. When I hid in the barrel with my sister, hope kept me patient. When the fishing boat exploded, I hoped to see my parents alive.

Maybe hope is just the beginning of my downfall.

I tell myself I can handle whatever this alpha demands of me, but fear and heartache fill my eyes with tears.

Too worn out to fight the tide of emotions, I tighten my grip on his waistband and tuck the side of my face against his lower back.

He quickens his pace.

The sun disappears as he descends a wide staircase. When my eyes adjust, I blink in confusion. The upside-down world looks nothing like what I expect.

Dim lights hum along a single, massive room. Neat rows of shipping containers, stacked three high, line each wall, leaving an aisle in the middle wide enough for another row, but instead of more metal boxes, the common area holds zones for different activities.

Halfway down the stairs, my eyes catch on the centerpiece. Painted in bright colors, an odd assortment of materials creates an area for young, boisterous children to play. Tunnels, slides, climbing bars, seesaws—it's a child's wonderland.

The silence is deafening.

No younglings play .

He reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns the corner to reveal the back half of the vessel.

It's double the size I expected. One side seems more geared toward leisure while the other looks much more industrialized. My head spins as he stalks to the first pod on the left.

Separated from both rows, the captain's quarters sit in the very middle of the ship. I glimpse two stacks of shipping containers sitting apart from the rest, but he yanks the lever on the door and swings it open just wide enough to slip inside without scraping me against the metal.

Not knowing what to expect, I curl my fingers tighter into his waistband and use the pain to center myself.

He closes the door and lowers a bar with a solid thud, locking me away from the world. I know he doesn't need the separation to have his way with me, but fresh terror washes over me.

He takes two steps away from the door and tugs at me, trying to pull me over his shoulder, but I can't release his belt.

"Let go, little one."

Blood drips into my hair from my shoulder.

I clench my damaged fingers harder and bite back a sob.

To my surprise, he lowers himself to his knees before sitting cross-legged on the floor and guiding me off his shoulder. He controls my descent and settles me on my side before brushing my hair back from my face.

I can't stop my tears any more than I can relax my fingers.

Despite his odd position, he doesn't demand I release him again. With the cold floor under my shoulder and cool air wafting over my breasts, I expect him to crush me at any moment, but he runs big, powerful hands over me in soothing strokes. As I cry tears of loss, pain, and fear, he rumbles a low, unobtrusive purr, letting me work through the outburst on my own, while running his fingers through my hair, trailing his fingertips over my face and arm, and petting my back and side with slow, firm sweeps of his palm.

When the worst of the storm abates, he lightens his purr and cups my shoulder.

I don't know when I closed my eyes, but lifting my lashes seems like too much work, even when he asks me to look at him.

He skims his hand down my arm and twists to pry my fingers free of his waistband. The care he takes to not hurt me further encourages a fresh bout of sobs.

With a huff of exasperation, he gathers me in his arms and stands.

I tuck my hands in my lap and lean against him, too spent to lift my head, much less fight .

The steady beat of his heart lulls me into a state of exhausted calm. He shifts my weight to free a hand and opens a door. When no hinges squeak or walls rattle, I lift my lashes out of pure curiosity and stare in shock.

Shower heads line the ceiling and sprout from the wall on the right side of the room. Smooth rocks and pebbles create beautiful designs around the floor drains. White walls and the row of mirrors, although chipped along the edges, make the space seem bigger. The deep sink and faucet are the most intact artifacts I've ever seen.

A curtain runs around a toilet in the back corner. I blink. I must be dreaming.

Except, I could never dream of something so luxurious.

I swallow as the behemoth sets me on the counter, leans down, and braces his palms on either side of my hips. His eyes roam down my body. Heat prickles over my flesh and my breasts throb.

"Don't move, little one."

There's no mistaking the warning in his growl. He's as close to losing control as I was, except if he breaks, there won't be anyone to calm him.

An image of me wrapping my legs around him and holding his face to my chest as I stroke his hair rips through me .

I want it. It makes no sense, but I long to be the one to tame him. To soothe him. To own him.

Fear wipes away the ridiculous longing as our eyes meet. His enlarged pupils make him look demonic. He's terrifying.

His gaze dips to my lips. I swallow.

He snarls and stomps from the room.

Before my mind catches up to the fact that I'm alone, he returns with a large red box.

He drops the metal container on the counter beside me and lifts a bottle out before taking my wrist and holding my hand above the sink.

"This will burn. Breathe through it," he warns before pouring a steady stream over my hand.

I scream as fire licks up my arm.

He pulls tweezers out of the box and meticulously extracts every shard of metal and wood from my hand. I hit, squirm, and kick, desperate to avoid more pain, but he ignores me and holds my wrist with just enough force to keep my hand still.

When he picks up the bottle again, I sob and push at his forearm.

"Please, no," I beg.

Hazel eyes meet mine.

"I'm sorry, Pearl," he says before dousing my hand in liquid fire.

By the time he turns on the faucet, I'm too exhausted to marvel over the clear, clean water rushing into the sink. Despite my chest heaving with sobs, I'm too dehydrated to make more tears. My head spins.

I just want to lie down and close my eyes.

When I list to the side, he catches me and guides my shoulders to lean back on the mirror. I grimace as my blood smears over my back.

A low, masculine murmur filters in through the pain and sneaks into my heart, and despite his grip on my other wrist, I don't fight when he begins the process on my left hand.

Dark spots swim in my vision. Even with my eyes closed, I notice the difference.

"Drink," he demands.

The cold rim of a cup presses against my lips. Like an obedient puppet, I swallow and nearly groan in pleasure as crisp, cool water slides down my abused throat.

If fear is the easiest way to make men cower, then certainly clean water is the easiest way to make an omega fall in love.

Because heaven settles into my stomach. Bliss seeps into my veins. Happiness settles into my bones.

Whether it be my utter lack of defenses or the delicious rumble leaking from his chest, it doesn't matter why or how I got here.

I want more.

I want The Barge .

I want all of him.

Mine.