16. Elena

Finn shutsthe door behind him. My manic laugh hopefully trails him through the door and haunts him for the rest of his miserable day.

The laugh that bubbled up in my throat quickly turns into a sob. Reality wraps its unjust, unmerciful claws around my throat, and I feel like I can't breathe.

I'm trapped here.

Betrayed in more ways than one.

The pack I was going to be given to is this one. The thing I feared most is happening to me right now, and I don't know how to let that sink in.

Logan was a traitor; he wasn't loyal to my father or me. He's been working with the O'Briens this whole fucking time. He knows so much about me. He's probably been feeding this information back to Finn this whole time. The treachery cuts deep, but not as deeply as when I think about Cillian.

There's a part of me that still aches for him, that wonders if he's okay. But the other part of me is so fucking mad that I hope that he's hurting right now.

It serves him right.

He didn't just keep tabs on me or come to The High Roller to collect what he thought was owed to him.

What Cillian did cuts me the most.

He cultivated a connection between us, encouraging my feelings for him, all while lying to me. Cillian felt safe to me, and yet, here I am, locked in this fucking room and being treated like an untrained, unruly dog by his brother.

I had sex with Cillian, let him knot me. I don't take that lightly.

It feels like some sort of fucked up psychological warfare. Was he toying with me? Getting me comfortable enough until I agreed to come to his home and then trap me here like I am now?

I sniffle and wipe my face on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. How could I have been so fucking blind?

‘Just know that I could have easily returned you back to your demented brother, but I didn't.'

Finn's words, which had me bursting out into laughter, repeat in my head. There's no doubt in my mind that Anthony's pissed. But there's no way he truly wants me back. All he would do is send me to an even worse pack to become another little play thing.

I feel like property, and I don't think there's a more hopeless feeling. I'm at the mercy of these men, and I have no idea of their true intentions.

Finn didn't lay a hand on me, but he spoke to me as if I was a dog that needed to heel. I'm a fucking person, with needs and feelings that have been constantly discarded since my father's passing.

Declan had become my friend; my feelings were growing for him, but the moment he put that needle in my neck, all the light, caring hopefulness I felt towards him morphed into a dark, snarling, explosive ball of anger. I loathe him.

I hate all of them, and if they think I'm going to make this easy, they're delusional. Finn might think he can get me to bow and cower like a hopeless Omega, and while I may not be a fighter, I'm not going down without swinging.

The doorknob tips down, and I'm preparing myself for round two with Finn when an older, robust woman wearing a floral floor-length skirt and black button-up enters the room with a tray. An armed man stands behind her; his finger isn't on the trigger, but he makes sure to make it a point to let me know that he is armed and ready.

Part of me wants to bait him into shooting me. I'm sure he has direct orders not to harm me—not really, anyway—unless absolutely necessary. Finn wants to break my mind, not my body, at least for now.

The woman places the tray on the bed and looks at me.

"I'll ask Mr. Finn about new clothes for you," she says with a curt nod. She keeps her eyes down as she walks away.

"Mr. Finn can fuck himself," I mumble, and I swear her lip twitches, but she leaves the room alongside her escort.

The click of the door locking has the tears starting up again.

I look around the room, at the cage I'll now be calling home. It might be seeped in luxury, but it's also soaked with hatred.

My bravado slowly dissipates, panic taking it's place. I can't leave this room. I'm completely at their mercy.

No one is coming to save me.

No one cares that I'm here.

I'm hopelessly and completely fucking alone.

My heart thunders in my chest as my breaths come out rapidly. I stand and pace the area in front of the bed, trying to calm my racing heart rate. But a rage takes over me instead.

Fuck this room. Fuck Cillian, Logan, and Declan. But most of all, fuck Finn O'Brien.

I pick the tray of food up, swing it above my head, and toss it against the door as hard as I can with a scream. It feels good to watch the dish break and the food drip down the door for a short moment.

I'm heaving from the exertion. The truth is, I was really fucking hungry, but I refuse to make this easy for them. They wanted an Omega so badly? Well, a feral, hateful one is what they'll get.

They can try to break me all they want, but they forget who I really am.

I might be an Omega, my heart might be soft, but these bastards just broke it. Now, they're going to find out what Matteo Amante's daughter is truly capable of.

I don't care if it kills me. I'm going to make these motherfuckers pay.

There's no delusion of whom I'm dealing with. I know exactly what these mafia men are like. I might have to endure everything I feared, but I'll never give them what they want.

My submission, my body, is mine.

I'd rather suffer, ache, and hurt myself than ever get on my knees or back for these men.

I'm nearly making a track in the carpet as I pace around the room, trying to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do. I have no clue where I am, nor do I have an ID or money. I have nothing, and that's the most daunting part of all of this.

Finn is a goddamn liar, saying that if I would have come here willingly, things would have been different. They clearly have no issues with drugging, kidnapping, or taking advantage of me.

I feel dirty, and I hate that the most.

The High Roller helped me find some of my empowerment, and in just a few hours, that's completely faded.

It was all a lie.

I was never in charge, and I feel so fucking stupid and used.

Part of me contemplates my ability to manipulate the guys to get what I want—freedom. But I'm too fucking mad right now, every part of me want's them to suffer.

My throat scratches when I swallow, and I open the unlocked door on the left-hand side of the room. Thankfully, I have a bathroom, though it's completely sparse.

There's hand soap by the sink, one white towel, and the shampoo and conditioner is fixed to the wall.

I run the faucet, using my hands as a cup to drink the water; it fills my empty stomach, and I try not to overdo it. I'm not sure how many days I can go without eating. If I'm being honest, I've never experienced what true hunger is like.

But deep down, I know a food strike will piss Finn off; I think my spite can fuel me for a few days.

My body slides down onto the cold tiles as I wonder just what the fuck I'm going to do and if there's any way out of this.

No one comes to my room the entire night. My sleep is fitful. Horrible dreams of getting taken plagued me all night, and my stomach aches.

There are no windows in this goddamn room—which I now clearly see it for the nest that it is— so I have no concept of time. It could be midnight, or it could be seven in the morning. When the woman from yesterday enters, the same bodyguard at her side, I realize she's here to drop off breakfast.

"Mr. Finn says you must eat."

"Mr. Finn can still go fuck himself," I repeat.

She sighs and places the tray on the bed.

"Fighting him will only make things worse," she warns me.

"Why would I want to make his life easier?"

"For your life, stupid girl. They are not bad men."

I laugh sardonically, and she shakes her head.

"Maeve, it's time to leave," the man with the gun tells her.

"Mind your own, boy," she snarls at him. She faces me again, and I swear her face goes soft as she breathes before speaking softly. "They won't hurt you. Finn is punishing the others by keeping them away. Be good, follow the rules, and things will get better," she pleads.

"A bigger cage is still a cage," I reply, and she sighs in annoyance as she turns on her heel and leaves the room.

She doesn't bring me fresh clothes, and I'm guessing that Finn absolutely vetoed me having anything unless I earned it.

The pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and orange juice look so good, but I move the tray over to sit by the front door.

It taunts me for hours.

Boredom is truly the biggest bitch of them all, I decide. There's nothing to do in this room besides question all my life's decisions and plot my future ones. Both of which are not going well.

I lie on the bed, my head hanging upside down over the edge; all the blood rushes to my face as I think about my pàpa.

My eyes water, but I think I'm too dehydrated or drained of tears to really cry.

My pápa would come get me. He'd get every single man, made or not, to come to my aid. The thought makes me smile. He'd blow Finn's brains out, scoop me up, and take me home like I was the most precious thing to him.

But there's no white knight coming to save me.

The only thing outside of this house waiting for me is more pain, and I wonder if any of it is worth it.

A sense of loss, not for my pàpa but for me, flows through me.

I'll never get to figure out who I am. I couldn't decide before, if I wanted to stay in Las Vegas or if I should run away. I was too scared.

I should have fucking ran.

I should have bought a one-way ticket to bum-fuck-Arkansas and never looked back. I could have bought a small apartment, found another club to work at, or somewhere seedier. At least it would be my choice.

Maybe I'd fall in love, have the white picket fence, the cat I've always wanted, and a few kids.

It was a stupid dream for a stupid girl.

I think I might hate myself just as much as I hate the men who locked me in this room. Maybe if I was braver, smarter, more determined, I wouldn't be in this mess.

God, it's been one day in this damn room, and I'm already cracking.

There's, of course, the horrific ache eating me from the inside out. The need to be touched and cared for. My upcoming heat isn't something I can hide from, just like there's no hiding from the fact that I'm being held here against my will.

I think I'd rather die than let any of these assholes touch me during my heat.