Bound: Mason's Alphas

by D. J. Heart

  “Perfect. I’ll call you back once I know more. Take care.”

  Chris hung up the phone, logging on to the email where he and Emily communicated via the draft folder. He waited a few minutes before refreshing the page, and there it was. A saved draft, the body of the text containing a phone number and address.

  More than he needed.

  Deleting the draft, he logged off and shut down the computer. He went back to sleep, feeling more alive than he had in weeks. The lead might not be anything—they’d struck out before—but Chris wasn’t going to take failure for granted.

  If Vincent Conroy knew who was behind the omega trafficking, Chris would get it out of him. One way or another.

  ***

  Chapter 5

  Mason woke up with the worst hangover of his life. It made any of his college hangovers pale in comparison. Blinking his eyes open, the light making him wince in pain, he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around.

  He was still inside the cage, but this time the room he was in was brightly lit and warm. There was a caged omega on either side of him, each of them sitting with their legs drawn up to their chest and their faces bent down toward their knees.

  The silence was eerie.

  “Do you guys know where we are?” Mason asked. His voice came out rough and scratchy, and he wished he had a glass of water to soothe his throat.

  Neither of the omegas answered.

  “Are you okay?” Mason asked, worried.

  “We’re not supposed to talk,” the omega to his right whispered. He was younger than Mason, probably no older than eighteen, with glossy black hair and pale skin. When he turned his face to speak Mason saw a huge bruise covering the right side of his face.

  “Where are we?” Mason asked. “Do you know—”

  “Shut up, you moron! We’re not supposed to talk!” the omega to Mason’s left hissed, his voice barely a whisper. Mason clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, but not knowing what was going on was awful.

  “Sorry,” he whispered. The omega to his right shot him a weak smile, and Mason smiled back.

  After that they were quiet. Mason looked around the room, taking in the sterile white walls and the linoleum flooring, and he wondered where they were. Transport. That was the word the scary alpha had used. They could be practically anywhere.

  Mason hoped they were still in the states. If they’d been taken abroad, especially to any of the countries that still treated omegas like animals, they were really fucked.

  Mason snorted out a desperate laugh. They were fucked either way. There was only one reason omegas were trafficked, and that was for sex.

  Pretty soon they’d be putting an anti-bonding implant in his arm and shooting him full of heat hormones.

  Mason shuddered, the idea of getting fucked by some random brute of an alpha making his blood run cold. He’d never regretted not trying to find an alpha until now. If he’d only slept around in college, trying to form a bond like so many of his omega peers, he would be safe.

  But Mason had never wanted to be tied down to an alpha. The laws were clear on giving omegas equal rights, but that was never enforced for bonded couples. Mason hadn’t wanted to be in a relationship where he had to submit, and so he’d never been in a relationship at all.

  The sound of the lock turning in the door brought Mason’s thoughts to a halt. He fixed his eyes on the door, heart beating fast as the handle turned down and the door pushed open.

  An alpha walked inside. He was tall, though not as tall as the alpha that had drugged Mason when he woke up during transport. Decked out in black jeans and a tight, black T-shirt, the alpha was thickly muscled with a pronounced jaw and a heavy brow.

  He looked like every movie villain criminal henchman rolled into one.

  “Listen up, boys. No talking and do as you’re told. You’re all getting a checkup, and anyone who makes trouble is going to regret it. Do you understand?”

  The alpha had his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeve of his T-shirt pushing up to reveal a tattoo on his shoulder. It looked like a wolf.

  “Yes, alpha,” they all chorused. Mason was surprised to hear voices coming from below him, too. The cages must be stacked on top of each other.

  “Good. My name is John, and I’ll be your handler over the next few weeks while we get you settled here at the club. You do not want to piss me off.”

  John looked at them all in turn, his expression stern but not particularly cruel. It was still scary, though.

  Walking forward, John opened the cage of the omega who had told Mason to shut up and lifted him out. He wasn’t rough, and when the omega had trouble standing he steadied him.

  “Can you walk?” he asked.

  “I think so, alpha,” the omega said, his voice low and cowed. John let go, and when the omega didn’t crumple, grabbed his arm and walked him out of the room.

  “What are they going to do to us?” someone in the cage below Mason asked. He sounded scared, and no one answered. Mason was tempted to say something, but he didn’t think telling the truth was going to make the kid feel better.

  When John came back, the omega wasn’t with him.

  “Come on,” John said, opening Mason’s cage. Mason let himself be lifted down to the floor, and when John tried to steady him his knees buckled and John had to lift him back up.

  “Sorry,” Mason said, trying to get his legs to work. He clutched John’s arms, and he wasn’t at all surprised that his muscles were just as hard as they looked. John didn’t answer with anything but a small grunt, and after a few seconds Mason got his legs to work. He let go of John and stood on his own.

  Whatever had been in that shot must have affected him more than he thought.

  “Come on,” John said. He took Mason’s arm and began walking him out of the room. Mason had some trouble, but when he leaned into John’s grip he managed.

  He felt pathetic and weak.

  The corridor outside the room was narrow and just as utilitarian as the room where the cages had been stacked. White walls and linoleum floors, with harsh fluorescent lighting overhead.

  It reminded Mason of a hospital.

  “In here,” John said, steering Mason toward a door to their right. Mason didn’t say anything, but he forced himself to stop leaning on the alpha and walk into the room of his own volition.

  The room looked like a doctor’s office. Mason almost froze, but he managed to keep going before John had to force the matter. Looking around, Mason saw an examination bench, two rolling trays with various pieces of medical equipment, and a woman wearing a white coat over a fashionable pencil skirt and blouse.

  “On the bench, please,” she said. She sounded businesslike, and she didn’t look at Mason as he spoke.

  “On you go,” John said, pushing him forward and letting go of his arm. Mason started walking, his suspicions from earlier all but confirmed. They were going to put an anti-bonding implant in him.

  Glancing at the rolling tray just out of his path, he noticed a metal container filled with scissors, scalpel handles, and tweezers. He pretended to stumble, quite convincingly, and grabbed the tray to keep himself upright. As he straightened, pushing the rolling tray forward and then pulling it back, he palmed a pair of tweezers and pushed them into his pocket.

  “Sorry,” he whispered, hurrying toward the examination bench and sitting down. His heart was racing, and when he looked up he half-expected John to race toward him and yank the tweezers out of his pocket.

  John was barely paying him any attention, and Mason breathed out. The woman in the white coat still wasn’t looking at him.

  “Please roll up your sleeve,” the woman said, a slight accent Mason couldn’t place coloring her words. She turned to him, her mouth curving in what Mason assumed was supposed to be a reassuring smile.

  It wasn’t reassuring at all.

  Mason was still wearing the same clothes he’d worn when he’d gone to tell Jaxton that he didn
’t have the money he owed. He rolled up the left sleeve of his long-sleeved T-shirt, pushing it up past his bicep until it was bunched up against his shoulder.

  The woman’s smile fell off her face and a satisfied expression took its place. “That’s good. Now, my name is Dr. Bisol. I am in charge of the health of the omegas living here at Rover. I’m sure you know why you’re here, yes?”

  Mason hesitated, but then he nodded. Dr. Bisol raised her eyebrow, and after glancing at John to make sure he was allowed to talk, Mason answered.

  “For sex?”

  Dr. Bisol laughed. “Yes, for sex. Though not so bad as you maybe think. You will have sex with alphas, but maybe after a while you will bond and leave us. Yes?”

  “Oh,” Mason said, confused. He didn’t particularly want to bond with an alpha, but if this was some sort of matchmaking place where alphas could forgo the hassle of actually having to court an omega, then that was better than a straight-up brothel… wasn’t it?

  “That’s not so bad,” he said, managing a small smile. Dr. Bisol nodded, clapping him on the arm.

  “See, this is going to be okay. Now, I just need to give you a tiny implant. It is nothing to worry about, just a little implant to make sure you don’t become pregnant. We don’t want that, now do we?”

  Mason forced the smile to stay on his face, shaking his head. He’d majored in biology in college, and he had two years of medical school behind him. There was no such thing as a birth control implant that worked on omegas.

  Anti-bonding implants, on the other hand? Those were a thing. He just hoped she put it in somewhere he could reach with his stolen tweezers.

  Just because the doctor was lying, didn’t mean that Mason couldn’t use her lie as a template for his plan. If this was a brothel, and if he managed to get the implant out, eventually he would bond with one of the alphas that fucked him.

  They would have no choice but to let him go. His new alpha might hate that he’d bonded—might be furious—but the instinct to take care of Mason and keep him safe would overrule everything else. Mason might be stuck with an asshole who didn’t mind fucking trafficked omegas the rest of his life, but at least he wouldn’t die from heat exhaustion or abuse.

  “Good. Just sit still, and this will be over soon. Then you can go to the dorm and get some sleep in a real bed. That will be good, yes?”

  Dr. Bisol moved over to the rolling tray next to the bench as she spoke, picking up something that looked like a birth control implant applicator. She held it against the inside of Mason’s arm like a stapler, but rather than push down, she slid the slider on top forward in a quick move that deposited the implant right under Mason’s skin.

  Mason yelped as the needle carrying the implant stuck him, but the pain was manageable. When the doctor lifted the applicator, all that was visible was a tiny prick with a drop of blood beading there.

  Dr. Bisol slapped a Band-Aid over it and patted his shoulder. “All done. Not so bad, no?”

  Mason shook his head.

  “Thank you,” he said, hating her with every fiber of his being. If she really were a doctor, she was violating her oath like he couldn’t believe.

  “So polite,” Dr. Bisol said, looking smug and happy.

  Mason made a move to jump off the bench, but John held up his hand to stop him. Apparently they weren’t done yet.

  Mason sat still as Dr. Bisol took a blood sample, and he gritted his teeth as she gave him a “vitamin shot” that no doubt contained a heady mixture of heat hormones.

  Did they really think that omegas were this stupid, or were they just used to dealing with naïve teenagers who didn’t know any better? Either way, Mason thought they deserved to rot in hell.

  “All done. I’ll see you in two months for another vitamin shot. You can go with John now.”

  “Thank you,” Mason said, jumping off the bench. He eyed the packets containing scalpel blades lying on the same rolling tray where he’d stolen the tweezers, but he didn’t dare try to get them. The tweezers would have to be enough.

  Rolling down his sleeve as he went, Mason walked to the door where John grabbed his right shoulder and steered him back into the corridor. They walked for about a minute before arriving at a locked door. John pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked it, pushing John inside.

  “Bathroom is to the right. You’ll get breakfast in the morning.”

  With that John closed the door, the sound of the lock sliding back into position making Mason cringe. Mason looked around what he assumed was the dorm Dr. Bisol had spoken about. There were ten beds, and none of them were occupied.

  He wondered where the omega who had told him to shut up was.

  The beds were narrow, with metal frames and polyester sheets, but they were infinitely better than the cage he’d just come out of. There was a second door to the right that had to be the bathroom.

  All at once Mason felt overwhelmed and completely helpless. Dizzy, he sat down on the closest bed and put his head between his knees and just breathed. The sheer magnitude of his situation was just starting to sink in, and it was horrifying.

  His mother must be worried sick. Mason hadn’t told her where he’d gotten the money to pay for her treatment, and now that she was in remission the last thing she needed was a missing omega son that no one was going to help her look for.

  Taking a deep breath, Mason pulled himself together. He didn’t have time to spiral like this. The anti-bonding implant needed to come out of his arm now.

  ***

  Chapter 6

  Mason walked into the bathroom, not sure what to expect. There were two stalls and two shower cubicles, and Mason’s first thought was that he was glad they didn’t have to go to the bathroom in front of everyone else.

  “Hello?”

  Mason jumped, having forgotten that the first omega to be processed was in the bathroom too. The voice sounded wet and sad, like the omega had been crying.

  “Hi, are you okay in there?” Mason asked. He moved into the available cubicle and sat down on the toilet, taking the tweezers out of his pocket and examining his arm.

  “Are we allowed to talk now?” the omega asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Mason said. “I’m Mason. What’s your name?”

  Mason pulled the Band-Aid off his arm and examined the tiny prick where the implant had entered as he waited for the other omega to reply. Based on what he’d seen of the applicator, the implant was probably about the size of a match. Feeling the skin over the prick, he breathed out a sigh of relief when he felt it.

  Now he just had to get it out.

  “I’m Blake. Do you think it will take a long time before we bond with an alpha here?” Blake sounded scared, and Mason winced. He wasn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, he could tell Blake the truth and help him get the implant out—but if he did that and Blake bonded before he did… then Mason’s chance of remaining implant-free dropped considerably.

  “I don’t know,” he said, deciding to see if he could even get the implant out before telling Blake anything. The last thing he wanted was to be giving anyone false hope. He tried squeezing the implant up back through the hole, and though he could get it to move a little, it didn’t want to come out.

  Mason grit his teeth and forced the sharp tip of the tweezers inside the hole, forcing himself to be quiet as he twisted the metal tip around and pushed it into his arm. Blood started seeping down toward his elbow, and Mason grabbed some toilet paper to catch it.

  He couldn’t have any blood on him. There couldn’t be any evidence that he’d taken the implant out. The hole he was making in his arm was evidence enough, though hopefully it would heal before anyone examined it too closely.

  That was one of the benefits of being an alpha or an omega; you healed fast.

  Holding the toilet paper in place with his palm, Mason tried to squeeze the implant out through the enlarged hole in his skin. This time he managed to push it up further, and when he took the paper away he could see the head
of the implant buried in the little wound.

  Being careful, his hand steady despite his nerves, Mason managed to use the tweezers to clamp down on the head of the implant and pull it out, slowly but surely. It was thin and white, a little shorter than a matchstick, and as he removed it from his body Mason felt repulsed by the sight of it. It looked like some kind of parasite.

  Standing up and wiping off his arm, Mason pushed down on the still-bleeding wound and dropped the implant into the toilet. When the bleeding finally stopped, Mason put the Band-Aid back on and pulled down his sleeve.