1. Resa

Chapter 1

Resa

" S he is a liability, sir. We need to end her," O'Brien, head of security, warns my captor, Nathaniel Lang. "I can get it done cleanly. One bullet and?—"

"No. I paid good money for her." Metal chinks and I envision the gray-haired alpha's platinum watch sliding up his bony wrist. "Where is Rupert? I have to be at that gala in five minutes."

Rupert.

Swallowing my panic, I send out a mental plea for Rupert to trip over his laces, his belt, a fucking rat, anything at all, so he tumbles head over ass down the stairs and never reaches my prison attic.

Nathaniel Lang is a member of Asylum, a club of wealthy alphas who deal in trading omegas. He calls me an appreciating asset, one he can sell for more than he paid. Omegas are rare, and in his eyes, a pregnant one is a case of buy one get one free.

But at the last auction, O'Brien grabbed me from my cell before Nathaniel could trade me, and we left so fast it's clear something was wrong. Here I am two weeks later, flat on my back in a creaky camp bed, straining to hear through a metal door.

Bright moonlight reflects its shades through a pretty round stained window, like a faded rainbow. Outside this mold infested factory, a towering oak's leaves gently sway, tempting me to freedom. I've lost count of how many times I've considered making that jump. But it isn't just me I'd have to worry about.

My fingers skim over the curve of my belly. Three months ago, my life changed in a way I never expected. Fatigue came first, sore breasts, and then I started throwing up.

It was clear what had happened.

I was pregnant.

When my heat didn't come when it should have, my old alpha decided he had no use for a pregnant omega, so he sold me to Nathaniel Lang.

A floorboard creaks and Nathaniel's irritation penetrates through the door. "Rupert, you were supposed to be here hours ago. Have you been drinking again?"

I briefly close my eyes, muttering a curse as I heave myself up to prepare for what's coming. My long, dark brown hair, curlier at the ends than the roots, falls into my face and I tuck it behind my ear. It's time for battle and going into it with it down is never a good idea, but no time to tie it back now. Not with what's coming.

Rupert Lang, Nathaniel's only child, likes to treat me like I'm his plaything. Nathaniel doesn't care as long as he doesn't permanently damage his appreciating asset.

His steps are so heavy, you'd think he would crash through the floorboards and into the factory below.

I really fucking wish he would.

Metal clinks as someone inserts a key into the lock, and the door creaks open.

Rupert, a drunk, failed attorney, stands in the doorway, swaying slightly. His face is red, dark hair disheveled, puffing from the five flights of stairs he just dragged himself up.

Hate bubbles in my veins, simmers in my gut, all acrid and sharp.

I keep my face expressionless as I swing my legs to the icy floor and push myself to my feet. My white cotton dress doesn't come close to keeping me warm, but that's okay. I'm used to the cold. I am not okay with the man stepping into my room.

Rupert's cow-like brown eyes are stupid and slightly unfocused, a result of the whiskey I can smell from here.

He blinks at me like he's struggling to remember why he's here, or even where here is.

I hate all alphas, but I have a particular hatred for this slobbering beast.

He stumbles toward me, already fumbling for his belt. "On your knees, bitch," he slurs.

The door slams shut and a key turns in the lock. Now Nathaniel is through with his weekly visit, he's off to his fancy gala while his son spends the next fifteen minutes raping me.

I used to flinch at that harsh slam. Not anymore. Now I just prepare for battle. "No."

Footsteps echo as they pound downstairs. I tune them out as Rupert tracks me, one stumbling step at a time, around the room. "You think I won't put you down?"

I keep a close eye on his hands. It's how I've avoided most of his blows in the past.

I am not an omega Nathaniel intends to keep, or God forbid, bond with his son. So no claiming bites for me. I'm only good as a plaything for Rupert until Asylum business starts up again and Nathaniel can sell me to recoup his money.

And it means I can ignore any order Rupert gives me.

It's a fact he hates as much as I love.

As he herds me back toward my creaky camp bed, I choke on desperate terror.

No flinching.

No fear.

No alpha will ever see my weakness, least of all Rupert fucking Lang

You fight. You never stop fighting. Maybe one day you'll win.

"You see, Rupert," I look him right in the eye as I say calmly, "I think you're pathetic. A waste of blood, of bone, and of?—"

He lunges, stumbling when I stick a leg out. "Stupid fucking bitch."

I drag a taunting laugh from the part of me that isn't quaking. "I'm not the one who can't talk and unbutton a belt at the same time, Rupert. Now am I?"

Taunts come with pain, usually a slap, sometimes a punch, occasionally a kick as I curl myself into a ball. But what's a little blood and pain when it delays what will happen later?

His thin lips pinch, stupid brown eyes narrowing as his large hand flies out. I dodge his slap but not the fist he slams into my shoulder. I stumble into the wall, hissing in pain.

And then he's there, big pawed hands yanking at the sleeve of my dress. Fabric tears. He pins me against the wall as he pushes his pants down.

"Get off !" I scream, shoving him away.

Maybe I timed things just right.

Maybe he was more drunk than usual.

Or maybe fate lined up this perfect, perfect moment.

Rupert staggers back, tripping over the hem of his falling pants as the stained glass window covers him in pretty rainbow colors.

Smash.

Glass shatters, bathing me in the moon's bright glow.

His arms windmill as he falls. His suddenly sober panicked eyes widen, holding mine all the way down. I flinch at the sickening crack when he lands, a sound I will never forget.

Two seconds.

Strange how a person can fall from so high so fast.

I stare down at him, my breathing loud in my head.

His lips are moving, and his pants are bunched up around fat white ankles. God, what an embarrassing way to die . His gaze dulls, fixing at a point over my left shoulder.

He's dead.

You killed him.

"Don't cry," I whisper as the back of my eyes burn. "He deserved it, so don't you dare fucking cry."

Where is my happy dance?

Why is it when I place a hand over my churning belly, I feel sick? And why the hell am I shaking?

Blood forms a halo around Rupert's cracked head.

So much blood.

My throat tightens, stomach cramping as my knees give out. I avoid collapsing on tiny shards of stained glass as I retch and retch, yet nothing wants to come out.

In my mind, the sound of Rupert's head cracking like the biggest egg in the world plays on repeat.

Then I hear it.

Footsteps racing up the stairs.

There have only ever been two ways in and out of here: the door and the window.

The door has never been an option.

Tiny chips of colored glass sparkle over the dusty floorboards, bright, painful shards of confetti. To escape, I would need to run, and I would need to jump.

"Don't do it, Resa," I breathe. "There's crazy and there's stupid. Then there's this."

Even as I say it, I'm calculating the distance between me and that towering tree. Five or six feet. Maybe even seven.

Please don't let it be seven.

It's not the distance making me sweat. It's the drop. And I can't just jump. I have to grab onto a branch thick enough it won't immediately snap under me.

If I bounce off it…

I gulp as I swear I hear the sound of my head cracking open.

And staying? Not even close to being an option.

Nathaniel would never believe this was an accident. He'd gather Rupert for a fancy funeral, then have O'Brien slit my throat and leave my body for cops to find in an alley dumpster.

A key clangs when someone jams it in the lock, too fast, clumsy fast. A man curses when they drop. O'Brien.

"Get up, Resa." I order my knees to stop shaking as I push myself to my feet, backing up with my eyes fixed on dark leaves swaying from a gentle breeze.

I drag in a deep breath. Exhale. And I sprint toward the window, arms pumping.

Glass cuts underfoot. I grimace as tears fill my eyes.

The door flies open, banging loudly against the opposite wall, and O'Brien screams, "What the fuck are you?—"

The wind slices the rest of his words away from me as I push off from the floor and kick my legs.

Tears stream from my eyes. I can barely see.

Doesn't matter.

My world—my entire existence—centers on that tree.

That tree is life for me and my baby.

And I will make it.