Alpha in Heat

by Anna Wineheart

  Dom remembered the grief, he remembered himself shattering, and he’d thought... If Sinclair didn’t know, then maybe it would be fine. Sinclair couldn’t do a damn thing to hurt Dom.

  And now this.

  He rubbed his face, trying not to think about Sinclair standing between him and the gun. The whole time, Sinclair had been trying to shield Dom with his own fucking body. As though he didn’t matter. As though he could throw his life away, and he thought Dom would be fine with it.

  Just like Mal. Dom groaned, trying to shove Sinclair out of his head—except he knew he couldn’t.

  If you don’t want to sacrifice the rest of your team, I’ll do it, Sinclair had said that very first day. How had Dom not seen that similarity until now?

  Vaguely, Dom heard the steady beat of something approaching—not cars. Not an animal. It was a low mechanical whirring, like... a helicopter. The police?

  He started the truck, craning his neck out the window. No searchlight from the helicopter, though. Then the trees rustled, and the sound skimmed over his head, making straight for the parking lot he’d left.

  Dom’s heart thumped. He turned the truck around, stepping on the gas. Maybe they’d capture those guys, take them down, and Sinclair would be safe.

  He slowed down closer to the parking lot. No gunfire. That was odd. Had the police managed to corner them, somehow? Get them to surrender?

  On instinct, he turned off his headlights. So he wouldn’t distract anyone. He pulled into the parking lot, and—

  Sinclair had collapsed. He was on some sort of stretcher. They were lifting him into the helicopter. The car doors were all wide open; it was empty.

  One of the figures in the distance reloaded the rifle. The others checked the car. Then one of them looked up and spotted Dom’s truck. They must’ve told the guy with the rifle, because he aimed at Dom.

  Dom swerved the truck just as a gunshot exploded. A bullet cracked the other side of the windshield—where Dom would’ve been if he hadn’t switched directions.

  Sinclair had been right. They would absolutely kill Dom.

  Except Dom wasn’t about to let them leave with Sinclair. He stepped on the gas, heading straight for the helicopter. They couldn’t take something that was his. He’d already made a mistake by leaving.

  Rage filled his chest; he snarled and accelerated, counting the seconds until they hit the chopper. He was almost there. Sinclair had disappeared into the helicopter—if Dom hit it sideways and just toppled it over...

  Three seconds from collision, the helicopter peeled away from the ground. The figures had all climbed in, and the sniper had his muzzle aimed at Dom.

  Dom swerved again; another gunshot rang out. This time, a bullet grazed his arm. Dom didn’t care. All he knew was that the helicopter was pulling into the air, taking off, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, blasting the horn. But the helicopter was already disappearing into the night, high up above him. Completely out of reach.

  In the distance, sirens wailed. Dom cut the engine, throwing his head back against the seat. They’d taken Sinclair. Sinclair wasn’t conscious—Dom didn’t even know if he was alive.

  He ignored the police cars pulling into the parking lot, and the officers that streamed out, their weapons drawn, their red-and-blue lights illuminating the surrounding trees.

  By the time they gathered enough resources, they’d have lost track of the helicopter. They wouldn’t have any fucking clue where those bastards had taken Dom’s alpha.

  All because Dom had decided to listen to Sinclair, and leave.

  Slightly later, after the police had taken Dom’s statement and left him alone, Nate came up, his expression grave. “Thought I told you to stay low.”

  Dom tried to suppress the burning in his chest. “They took him away in a chopper. How was I supposed to stay low?”

  Nate surveyed the police. In a lower tone, he said, “Might be the best thing to do, short term. Let them go.”

  Dom almost punched him. “What the fuck?”

  “They took him down with tranq darts, didn’t they?” Nate waited for Dom to nod. “Every one of those darts was an overdose.”

  That stirred something in Dom’s memory. “He said they’d save him from an OD.”

  “Yeah.” Nate glanced at the sky. “If you’d delayed them, or if you’d taken most of them down, then they wouldn’t have been able to administer the antidote. He would’ve died.”

  A cold chill went down Dom’s spine. “What?”

  “They’ve done that to him several times. Mostly before they bring him to the operating room. They’d shoot him up with drugs, enough to give him multiple organ failure if the doses weren’t reversed. Then they’d bring him to the operating room, switch him to IV, and pull him off the overdose.”

  Dom tried not to think about those people fucking with Sinclair’s life like that. Taking him to the brink of death, over and over. His heart felt like it might shred itself.

  Nate led them away from the police. “He’s lived under Larson’s rule for years, Dom. He knows what that man wants, and how to stay alive.” Before Dom could protest, Nate said, “On this, you’ll need to trust him.”

  “He fucking put himself in front of their gun,” Dom hissed.

  Nate’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”

  Dom didn’t want to admit it. In the end, he did. “He took a shot for me. He stood in front of them until I left the parking lot. I don’t even know if they hit a vital.”

  “They’ll save him.”

  “How the fuck do you know that?” Dom snapped.

  “Because he’s worth billions on the black market. Or didn’t he mention it?”

  No, Dom hadn’t known that, either.

  “He was one of the first with successfully-implanted omega organs. Larson was trying to sell him as a virgin.”

  Who the fuck did that? And how had Sinclair not been bought? Because Dom would’ve paid any price for him, really. Anything to see him again. To have him. Except buying Sinclair wouldn’t have endeared him to Dom. No buyer would have seen that soft smile on Sinclair’s lips, they wouldn’t have him so hungry for kisses, not like he’d been in Dom’s arms.

  Everything he’d done with Dom, Sinclair had absolutely wanted to happen. The fighting, the sex, the kisses.

  A horrible thought occurred to him. “So if—if he isn’t a virgin anymore...”

  Nate glanced sidelong at Dom. “Yeah, he might’ve lost a lot of his market value. I can’t be sure what Larson will do when he finds out. He prized Jesse above all the rest.”

  Dom forgot to breathe. He’d seen every scar on Sinclair’s body. The monster who had done that—he wouldn’t flinch at giving Sinclair more. Ten times the number of scars. He wouldn’t flinch at mutilating Sinclair. Breaking his bones. Torturing him.

  Sinclair had stepped up to the car, knowing all of that would happen.

  So Dom could escape.

  Dom rubbed his face, his heart splintering.

  Sinclair was a bastard. But Dom was even more of one. Because Sinclair had said, You don’t love me, and Dom had let him believe it. And the heartbreak in Sinclair’s eyes had told Dom everything he needed to know.

  Dom had let Sinclair go, thinking he meant nothing to Dom. When in truth, Dom would give up everything so he could have Sinclair by his side again.

  If he—When he got to see Sinclair again, Dom wouldn’t be an idiot anymore. He’d already lost his alpha. Maybe Sinclair wouldn’t stay with him forever, maybe Sinclair would break his heart in return. Dom wanted a shot at it anyway. It was worth it. Sinclair was worth it.

  Dom wanted a life with that alpha, he wanted that cinnamon scent in his chest and his home. Anything Sinclair wanted, Dom would give to him. Because his smile was what Dom treasured the most.

  “What are we going to do?” he asked Nate. “Because losing him isn’t an option.”

  Nate smiled. “I have some
ideas.”

  28

  Jesse’s in Trouble

  Jesse snapped awake to sharp pain cracking through his body.

  “Unacceptable. Four years I’ve been away, and you’ve let the fruits of my labor go down the drain.”

  That cold, calculating voice appeared sometimes in Jesse’s nightmares. He’d always been so relieved when he woke, and realized he was no longer at the Facility.

  Except the pain didn’t abate from his body this time. In fact, there were more sources of it. In his arms, his hip, needles already embedded in various parts of his flesh.

  The lash came down, splitting the bare skin of his thighs. Pain shot through his legs, and an instinctual rage snarled in Jesse’s chest. He swore, lunging up. Heavy chains dug into his shoulders and arms. He struggled against them, needing to hurt, needing to erase Larson before his anxiety exploded.

  “What the fuck do you want?” he spat.

  Larson chuckled darkly. “Only what was owed to me.”

  Something moved to the side—a person in a white coat. Jesse blinked several times, but his fuzzy vision didn’t clear. He could barely make out the gray walls of the room, the glinting chains wrapped around his naked body. A tray perched to his side, filled with blurry scalpels and syringes—tools that Larson was planning to use on him. Today. Now.

  This wasn’t another dream.

  Larson busied himself. Jesse tried to breathe. Vaguely, he heard the heart monitor next to him, telling Larson about his climbing pulse. He glimpsed machines and other equipment lined up on a counter, some petri dishes sitting next to them. Some other figures moved—Larson’s staff, all dressed up in lab coats. Probably the same people who had taken Jesse down.

  “Your drug tolerance has slipped,” Larson commented, picking up a syringe and a vial. “Such a disappointment. We’ll work on that today.”

  He filled the syringe with fluid and pushed its needle into Jesse’s skin. Dull pain throbbed through Jesse’s arm.

  “One of my favorites,” Larson added. “Such an entertaining toxin.”

  Larson’s favorite experiments were the ones that drew a physical reaction. The ones that made Jesse’s heart stop, the ones that made him froth at the mouth, all but writhing in agony.

  For so long, Jesse had looked over his shoulder, vigilant, half-expecting to be attacked with no way of protecting himself. He’d run through various scenarios: being drugged, being captured again. He’d gone into so many panic attacks, thinking he was back at the Facility.

  And here Larson was, picking up a scalpel, tracing its pointed end down Jesse’s chest.

  He was Jesse’s worst nightmare. Jesse struggled with the fear clogging up his throat, the helplessness that made him want to lash out. All his instincts screamed at him to run. He couldn’t.

  “While that shot settles in, we’ll investigate this curious protrusion.” Larson’s scalpel paused at the start of Jesse’s abdomen, where the bump was.

  Jesse froze. His heart pounded. And an amused smile spread across Larson’s face.

  “Oh, did you find out about this little surprise?”

  “Fuck off,” Jesse snarled.

  Larson pushed the scalpel into Jesse’s skin, breaking it. Jesse stopped breathing. And the doctor brought their faces close, all the cheer slipping away from his expression, leaving a chilling stare. “It seems you’re no longer a virgin.” The doctor had awful sour breath. “We’ll replace your internal organs and restore you to your previous glory.”

  Oily horror slid through Jesse’s veins. “You can’t do that.”

  “Of course we can.” Larson drew his scalpel down, opening more and more of Jesse’s midsection—a shallow incision. Pain bloomed through Jesse’s insides. “I’ve already harvested some cells. In a few months, we’ll have everything to make you completely untouched. This should go, too. We’ll put in an uncontaminated one.”

  Larson called one of his assistants over. Jesse watched in horror as the scalpel dug deeper into him. Straight for the uterus.

  He’d been wavering over that thing inside him for the past several weeks. He still hadn’t decided if he wanted it. It had come from Larson.

  But seeing Larson’s scalpel now—he wasn’t giving Jesse a choice at all. And Dom wanted that baby. That was Dom’s baby that Larson was about to pull out.

  Dom had tried damn fucking hard to get Jesse to leave the parking lot with him. He’d been there, over and over, lifting Jesse out of his bad moments. Jesse had wanted to go home with Dom, he’d wanted to share Dom’s bed again, because he’d felt so damn safe in Dom’s arms.

  Now that Jesse had been captured... If he never managed to see Dom again, if Larson was too late to administer an antidote and Jesse died at his hands—that baby was all Jesse had left of his alpha. A reminder of the kindness Dom had shown him.

  He couldn’t let Larson take that baby.

  He twisted himself away; the scalpel slipped and dug into his side. “You don’t need that out,” Jesse hissed.

  Annoyance flickered through Larson’s face. Then, a calculating delight. “Have you... become attached to this?”

  He stroked Jesse’s abdomen with the back of his scalpel, looking thoughtful. “What if I let you keep the fetus?” Larson asked slowly. “Maybe we should observe this pregnancy. I’ll remove it closer to the due date.”

  Jesse didn’t dare to breathe. That sounded too good to be true. What was the catch?

  Larson picked up another vial. “Of course, we should resume the toxin trials.” Larson’s smile grew. “I wonder how that would affect the fetus.”

  Jesse’s stomach turned so hard, he thought he would throw up right there. “No,” he snarled, yanking at his bonds, trying to break them. Something had to give. And then he’d kill Larson, once and for all.

  Larson leaned away, pushing a syringe into the new vial. “This one interacts with the previous toxin,” he said. “It’ll get better.”

  Jesse snarled and thrashed. The doctor jabbed the syringe into his side. Pain clawed through Jesse; he panted and tried to breathe through it, but his lungs were closing up, his throat tightening. His vision flickered into darkness, and then it came back.

  He couldn’t let Larson do this to him. He had someone to protect.

  Jesse roared and heaved, and the metal chains snapped somewhere, freeing his shoulder and arm. His fist connected with Larson’s nose, crunching it. Larson’s glasses broke; fury flashed in his eyes.

  “Ingrate,” Larson snapped. He waved his assistants over. They drew their tranquilizer guns, and Larson picked his scalpel back up. “Maybe you should be taught a lesson.”

  Jesse had the faint thought that maybe Dom might not arrive in time with his help. He wished desperately that he could see Dom again. He wished that he could’ve left Dom on a brighter note. That he could’ve told Dom it didn’t matter whether Dom loved him or not, Jesse would keep the baby. Because it was Dom’s, because his entire soul was Dom’s.

  He fought down the panic surging through his chest, yanking hard on his other arm. More chains snapped; he could sit up now. His legs were still tied.

  “Fire,” Larson ordered.

  Darts shot into Jesse’s arms, his chest. He yanked them out and lunged. In the split second before he toppled the table with his momentum, Jesse plunged the darts into Larson’s neck.

  His weight took him down; the needles snapped. He fell onto the floor with the doctor beneath him, Larson swearing.

  Then the doctor stabbed his scalpel into Jesse’s middle, right where the uterus was.

  Jesse’s conscious mind shut down. It left only his instincts, and the roaring fear that pounded through his veins.

  He was going to kill.

  29

  Dom Comes to the Rescue

  Dom didn’t know how many strings Nate pulled, but it was probably enough to weave a blanket.

  The blades of the helicopter whirred above. Nate was silent as he scrutinized the landscape, guiding the chopper over the forest
, then some hills. In the distance, the rising sun tinted the sky a pale orange.

  It had been hours.

  Dom swallowed the anxiety that crept up his throat. He needed to be at Sinclair’s side right now. Hours ago. But Nate had only just managed to track down some leads. Worse, they weren’t guaranteed to point toward Sinclair.

  He palmed the gun in his pocket—Sinclair’s—and some tranquilizer antidotes they’d managed to borrow from the station. Would those be enough? Dom didn’t know.

  He held his breath, thinking up the words to apologize to Sinclair. He tried to convince himself that this lead might be a bust. That maybe they wouldn’t find Sinclair today or tomorrow, or the whole of next week.

  His stomach tightened.

  “There’s a small abandoned town coming up.” Nate’s voice rang through the headset. “I see some vehicles. We’ll find a secluded spot to land and proceed from there.”

  “I’m sending the police our coordinates,” Taylor said. He was an omega Nate had brought along, and he was at the back of the helicopter, typing into a laptop. “No movement on the radar.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dom’s pulse ramped up as Nate found a clearing in the forest, parking them neatly out of sight.

  “I’ll stay.” Taylor moved into the pilot’s seat after Dom and Nate stepped out. “Radio if you need help.”

  Nate waved. Dom jogged with him through the forest, toward the town they’d glimpsed from the air. It was a dusty place, with deserted buildings and graffitied walls.

  They found a helicopter halfway into town, in front of a dentist’s office. Two other cars were parked next to it—both new, one from out of state. Dom forced his breathing to even out.

  “Found them,” Nate said into his radio. “I’m estimating at least five people in there. We may need backup.”