Chapter 20

Chapter

Twenty

VALEK

" W hat did you do?"

Ivy's voice trembles, her honeysuckle scent souring with horror, and for a moment, I feel... something new. An unfamiliar tightness in my chest.

Guilt?

Impossible. I do not feel guilt.

"Relax, little omega. Your drink is fine." I keep my voice low, steady.

"Is Whiskey going to die?" she asks, her voice rising.

I cannot help but smirk. "I did not have enough poison for that."

She starts hyperventilating, her chest heaving. I sigh, grinding my teeth. "Of course I did not kill him. But only because you clearly care for him for… whatever reason."

Confusion clouds her features. I reach for my knife, and she flinches. Instead of attacking her as she clearly fears, I hold it out, handle first.

"Hurry. We are running out of time." I glance at Whiskey's unconscious form. "I do not know how long that will keep him out, or when your other... ‘boyfriends' will be home."

"What are you doing?" she asks, hesitantly taking the knife.

"I need you to cut out my chip. It is embedded in the back of my neck." I turn, exposing my nape to her. "I need to leave. I know where all this is headed—with me hanging from a noose in prison." I chuckle darkly. "And I believe Wraith knocked something loose when I tried to defend your honor. If I do not cut it out, it may leech more poison into my veins."

That probably makes me a hypocrite.

"Why can't you do it yourself?"

I give her a stiff grin. "I am... funny about my neck." Images of rope and gallows flash through my mind. "Trust me, I've tried plenty of times. I cannot do it."

She just stares at me. A doe caught in headlights .

I meet her gaze. "If you really want to escape, this is your only chance. We need to hurry. I will even take you to a safe zone. Somewhere you can be truly free—and if you want nothing to do with me after that, that is your choice."

As the words leave my mouth, I realize I'm not sure I have it in me to release her. I'd like to think I do. Like to think I'm capable of one selfless act in my life.

Perhaps she wouldn't want to leave.

I let myself enjoy the fantasy for a moment. The fantasy of Ivy wanting to hunt and kill at my side, to tear the world apart from the inside out. If she wants to make a difference in this fucked up world, her best bet isn't with Thane. He's hurt by what his father is doing, I can tell. He is a daddy's boy through and through.

But even at my promise, conflict flickers across Ivy's face.

Interesting.

She thought she wanted to leave, but now that she can, she hesitates. That hesitation shocks her, I can tell. I watch her carefully, wondering if her omega instincts that have bonded her to this pack are stronger than her hunger for freedom.

She knows she can't have that here. Doesn't she ?

Then her jaw sets. She's made her decision.

"Fine," she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

I grab a bottle of vodka from the kitchen and return to her. Sitting on the floor, I take a long pull before tilting my head forward, my stark white hair falling over my face.

"Go ahead, little omega. Make it count."

The first touch of the blade sends electricity down my spine. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to remain still as she begins to cut.

"Fuck," I hiss, taking another gulp of vodka.

"Sorry," she murmurs, her breath warm against my skin.

"Do not apologize. Just get it done." She thinks I'm suffering. Good. Better than her knowing the truth of how she affects me, even—no, especially—when she has a knife in my skin.

She works in silence for a moment, then asks, "What were you saying earlier? About you and Wraith…. about you sharing an origin."

I tense, memories flooding back. Memories I've spent years trying to drown in blood and vodka. But perhaps talking will keep my mind off the pain. Keep me from lashing out. Or, more troublingly, turned on .

"I was bred in Vrissia to be a super soldier," I start, my accent thicker than usual as memories flood back. "Selected by hand and experimented on since birth."

"How did you escape?" Ivy asks, her knife still probing.

I chuckle darkly. "On my sweet sixteenth birthday. Lab blew up. I ran like hell."

The memory of flames and screams fills my mind. I push it away, focusing on the present.

"I have wondered how many other escapees there are," I continue. "It is unlikely, but it may be the only explanation for Wraith's insane strength and the way he looks. Whatever happened to him… it was clearly unnatural."

Ivy's hands still for a moment. "What do you mean?"

I remember the flash of scarred ruin I once saw on a mission when Wraith's mask was briefly dislodged. How he immediately attacked me over it, sharp teeth gnashing.

"He reminds me of another experiment," I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "The one in the cell across from me."

Ivy resumes her work, her movements more careful now. "Another experiment? "

I nod slightly, wincing at the pain. "He did not look or seem human. Not in any way. Much more aggressive than Wraith. Hulking scarred beast known only as 3686." I pause, taking another drink. "They called him the Knight."

Vivid memories of the Knight fill my mind. Taller and larger than any scientist, even though he couldn't have been older than I was at the time. Muscles rippling beneath scarred skin, a grotesque tapestry of surgical precision and self-inflicted injuries. Shaggy white hair framing an iron mask with glowing blue eye slits. His right arm a monstrous creation of blackened iron and cruel engineering.

The sound of clanking and chains whenever he moved, which was not much. He would stand like a statue for hours, staring into my cell from across the hall, the chains on his thick neck and every limb securing him to the reinforced back wall.

I shake my head, dispelling the memory. "When the lab blew up, the Knight escaped in the carnage. Last thing I saw was him ripping scientists apart, destroying walls and doors. Roaring in the flames like an iron devil from hell."

Ivy's knife hits something hard and I hiss in pain. "That's awful," she murmurs .

"For the Knight or the scientists?" I ask, amused and already knowing the answer.

"The Knight, obviously."

I blow a puff of air through my nose. Her endless compassion for beasts and monsters—like me—will never fail to surprise or enchant me. "Be careful," I mutter, feeling the point of the knife prodding and scraping something that could very well be my spinal column.

"I think I found the chip…"

"Good," I grunt, relieved enough to feel slightly lightheaded. "Now cut around it. Carefully."

As she works, Ivy presses on. "Why did you become a serial killer?" she asks quietly. "Did you hurt… omegas?"

The question catches me off guard. I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. "No. I do not hurt omegas. Or girls. Not innocents. In this world, they are innocents automatically no matter what they do. The deeds they commit are only to help them survive." I take another swig of vodka. "But it is my holy duty to give every willing cog in this machine the worst deaths imaginable."

"But why?" Ivy presses, her voice a mix of curiosity and fear.

I close my eyes, memories of needles and scalpels and pain flooding back. "Because they deserve it," I growl. "They deserve worse than any natural end."

Ivy's knife slips, and I feel a sharp pain. I growl, my hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn't there.

"Sorry!" she yelps, quickly pulling back.

I force myself to relax, unclenching my fists. "It's fine. Keep going."

She hesitates for a moment before continuing. "How many... how many have you killed?"

I shrug slightly. "Lost count. Dozens. Maybe hundreds."

"How do you find them?"

I chuckle darkly. "I am very good at hunting. I was quite literally born and bred for it."

Ivy works in silence for a moment, then asks, "Do you ever feel guilty?"

The question hangs in the air. Do I feel guilty? I consider it for a moment. The faces of my victims flash through my mind. The terror in their eyes as they realized who I was, what I was going to do to them. The screams, the pleas for mercy.

I remember the first one. A board member who resembled an oily human mole in charge of the humane treatment of experiments. He worked remotely from his seaside mansion just a few miles away from where the horrors themselves took place. I tracked him for weeks, learning his routines, his habits. When I finally cornered him in his own garden, he shit and pissed himself at the same time.

I had found it endlessly amusing in the most ironic sense that he tended to his exotic plants with care he never gave us. In fact, he went out of his way to deprive us of every comfort. Unless, of course, we were pretty enough to go home to his bed for the night. It's a small mercy I was too heavily sedated to remember much of anything.

"Please," he had begged. "I have a family."

I smiled then, the same way I'm smiling now. "So did I."

I took my time with him. Made sure he felt every cut, every slice. I wanted him to understand the pain he'd inflicted on us. Wanted him to experience a fraction of the agony we'd endured. His muffled screams as I choked him to death with his own dismembered cock were music to my ears.

"No," I say finally. "I feel nothing."

And it's the truth. If anything, I feel like I haven't done enough.

Ivy is quiet for a long time. Then she murmurs, her breath warm on my ravaged neck. "Almost got it."

She continues cutting, and I focus on the burn of the alcohol, trying to ignore the memories threatening to surface. The labs. The needles. The pain.

She hesitates for a moment before continuing. The blade digs deeper, and I grit my teeth against the pain. But as she works, I become aware of something else. A familiar heat building in my core, spreading through my body.

Fuck. Not now.

"What's wrong?" Ivy asks, pausing her work.

"Nothing," I growl. "Keep going."

She resumes cutting, and I close my eyes, trying to will away my growing arousal. But it's no use. With each touch of her fingers, each brush of her breath, I grow harder.

My cock twitches, and I curse under my breath, shifting uncomfortably and hoping she doesn't notice. But of course, she does.

"Are you... are you getting turned on by this?" she asks, her voice a mix of disbelief and disgust.

I laugh harshly. "It is the pain."

It's not a complete lie. Pain has always been a trigger for me, blurring the lines between agony and ecstasy. But it's more than that. It's her scent, her touch, the vulnerability of exposing my neck to her.

Ivy's hands still. "Should I stop?"

"No," I growl. "We need to get this done."

She hesitates for a moment, then continues. I feel the knife probing deeper, and I hiss through clenched teeth. The pain sends a jolt straight to my cock, and I have to bite back a groan.

"I think I've got it," Ivy murmurs. "Just a little more..."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. My entire body is taut with tension, caught between pain and arousal. I'm achingly hard now, my cock straining against my tactical pants.

Ivy makes one final cut, and I feel something small and hard pop free. "Got it!" she exclaims.

Relief floods through me, followed quickly by a wave of dizziness. I sway slightly, and Ivy steadies me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

I nod, turning to face her. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away. Her sea-green eyes are wide, pupils dilated. Her lips are parted slightly, and I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest .

She's affected too, I realize. Whether by fear or something else, I'm not sure.

I reach out, cupping her face in my hand. She flinches but doesn't pull away. My thumb traces her lower lip, and I feel her shudder.

"Valek," she whispers, her voice trembling. "What are you doing?"

I don't answer. Instead, I lean in, pressing my lips to hers. She gasps, and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, my tongue exploring her mouth.

For a moment, she's frozen. Then, to my surprise, she kisses me back. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. I groan into her mouth, my cock throbbing painfully.

I break the kiss, trailing my lips down her neck. She tilts her head back, exposing more of her throat to me. It's a gesture of submission that sends a thrill through me.

"We shouldn't," she gasps, even as she presses closer to me.

"No," I agree, nipping at her pulse point. "We should not."

But I don't stop, and neither does she. My hands roam her body, exploring every curve. She's so soft, so warm. So different from the violence I'm used to.

I push her back onto the floor, covering her body with mine. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer. I can feel the heat of her core through our clothes, and it drives me wild.

"Valek," she moans as I grind against her. "Please..."

I reach between us, fumbling with the button of her pants. But before I can undo it, a sound breaks through the haze of lust.

A groan. From across the room.

We freeze, both turning to look. Whiskey is stirring on the floor, his eyelids fluttering.

" Fuck ," I curse, quickly pushing myself off Ivy. She scrambles to her feet, her face flushed and hair disheveled.

Reality comes crashing back.

What the fuck was I thinking?

I hold out my hand, palm up, and she drops the bloody chip into it. Hard glass with blue circuitry and copper wires. My ticket to freedom.

Our ticket to freedom.

I crush the chip between my rough fingertips and rub the shards until I isolate the silver-tipped copper wire in its core. "Turn around," I say to Ivy, grabbing her shoulder and making her obey before she can argue with me. I lift away her auburn curls, exposing the thin silver collar that so prettily and cruelly decorates her slender neck.

"What are you doing?" she asks warily, her hand flying up like she thinks I'm going to stab her.

"Hold still," I growl, pinching the thin wire between my fingertips.

Ivy tenses as I slip the wire into the lock of her collar. The silver band gleams in the dim light, a constant reminder of her captivity. It bothers me how natural it looks on her, how she barely seems to notice its weight anymore.

I work the wire, feeling for the tumblers. A skill learned long ago, in a different life. The lock clicks open, and the collar falls away.

Ivy's hand flies to her throat, her fingers tracing the pale strip of skin where the collar once rested. Her eyes widen, a mix of fear and wonder crossing her face.

"How did you?—"

"No time," I cut her off, moving to the kitchen. I crouch down, prying open a loose floorboard to reveal a hidden cache of supplies. Weapons, cash, fake IDs. Everything needed for a quick escape.

Ivy's gaze follows me, realization dawning. "You've been planning this."

I nod, not bothering to deny it. "For weeks. "

She takes a step back, shaking her head. "I... I can't go with you."

I pause, looking up at her. Her face is a mask of conflict, but her eyes are resolute. My mind reels. This is not how I expected this to go.

Not at all.

"You... don't want to leave?" The words feel strange on my tongue, thick with disbelief. "I thought freedom was what you wanted. More than anything."

Ivy looks away, arms wrapping around herself like a shield. Her honeysuckle scent sours with conflict, filling the air between us.

I press on, confusion giving way to frustration. "What? You will let a few knots change the entire course of your future?"

Her head snaps up, eyes blazing. "Isn't that what you're doing, too?" she spits back. "Everyone wants to control me. Even you."

The accusation stings more than it should. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay calm. "This is your only chance to escape," I say, my voice low and urgent. "To be free, to taste what the world has to offer."

The words feel foreign on my tongue. I do not beg. Yet here I am, practically on my knees before this slip of an omega. To my horror, I find I cannot bring myself to leave, even to save my own neck.

Not without her.

"Please," I add, the word barely above a whisper.

Ivy's face contorts, a war raging behind her sea-green eyes. For a moment, I think I have won. But then her jaw sets, determination hardening her features.

"No."

The word is final and unshakeable.

I feel something inside me crack. This was not part of the plan. I do not have time to convince her, to make her see reason. She is not thinking clearly. This is the biggest mistake of her life. Whiskey will wake soon, and the others will return. If I do not leave now, I will never get another chance.

And neither will she.

I make my decision in an instant.

"Seems I am going to say it twice tonight," I mutter, reaching into my escape kit, my fingers closing around cloth.

Ivy frowns, confusion clouding her features. "What?"

I lunge forward, throwing the black hood over her head in one swift motion. She lets out a muffled scream of sheer indignation and rage, hands flying up to claw uselessly. She knees me in the balls and she almost gets away, but I was expecting that. When I stick her in the neck with a pre-loaded syringe of sedative from my tactical belt, it's all over.

I lean in close, ignoring her nails scratching weakly at my face as the fight leaves her with a soft, angry cry. My lips brush against the shell of her ear through the fabric of the hood.

"Sorry."

And once more, I am surprised to find I mean it.