12 hours earlier...

Deep breaths. Just keep breathing.

The nausea was getting worse the emptier my stomach was, but I couldn't even look at the hamburgers, let alone stomach them. And there was little chance I'd be offered anything to eat until the next morning. The kinds of places they kept me in didn't generally include continental breakfast. All I could do was pray for the van to stop, so I might be able to have a few moments of calm.

But when the van did stop, I almost begged them to keep going. The nausea shifted—not better or worse, but different, and I wasn't prepared for it. But I couldn't show I wasn't feeling well. If they had plans for me—and it was unlikely they didn't—they'd shoot me up with something rather than let me act sick in front of the Johns. And what would that do to the baby?

You're fine. Everything's fine. You'll be fine. Just like you always are. Just find a place in your mind. Retreat.

That was how I had survived for six years without begging for drugs. Without trying to take my own life. They might control my body, but they couldn't control my mind.

The driver went in first, and then they pulled me and the other two omegas out, guiding us into the hotel and down the hallway. The receptionist didn't even look up. I had given up speculating what kind of person could blind themselves to the dirty business that was paraded in front of them. It didn't matter that many of them would have been appalled if I and the others were humans, not shifters. But many humans liked to pretend shifters didn't count. Some went so far as to deny their existence.

Evil was evil.

A fluorescent light flickered in the hallway, and the guards stopped directly under it, opening the door to room 236 with a key. They shoved me in, then the lock clicked behind me. I reached for the doorknob and tried it, even though I knew there wasn't a chance in hell they would leave me alone if there was a way for me to escape.

I fumbled for a light switch. Night was falling, but not yet arrived, so a little gray light filtered through the curtained windows, though not enough to see by. I found the switch and a lamp cast dim, yellow light over the corner of the bed. First—the window.

I tried the window but was unsurprised to find it screwed shut. I left the curtains open to give myself the illusion of freedom. My skin still felt electric from my daring earlier in the day—the small act of stealing the phone and reaching out to someone who might help me—it was like I'd broken an invisible chain. I wouldn't be a captive much longer. My mind could no longer allow it. I had something to protect.

My hand drifted to my flat stomach—too flat. My hip bone pressed against my forearm.

Team A.L.P.H.A. emergency line, the invisible person had said. That didn't sound like nothing. That sounded like someone who might be able to help me. But would they get here in time?

Probably not. I didn't even know who my imaginary saviors were. Maybe I should have called 911 instead?

My eyes fell to an old rotary phone on the side table and I stumbled toward it, but there was no tone when I lifted it to my ear. Either they'd cut the line, or it was only decoration. Or they'd simply forgotten it when everyone else switched over to dial-tone phones years ago.

Despair started to creep back into my mind and body. If I hadn't escaped in six years, what made me think I had any chance now?

I hadn't exactly tried, had I? Bile crept up my throat—a different feeling from the nausea I'd been carrying all day. This was disgust. Disgust toward myself. Why hadn't I fought back? Sure, being compliant had kept them from forcing drugs on me, but if I'd fought back, if I'd tried harder to escape, would I be free now?

No, my rational side said. I would be dead or strung out on drugs.

Even though I knew it was the truth, it didn't help. Part of me continued to insist that there must have been a way at some point. Like now. What if I fought them now?

That was stupid. I was tiny. I was sick. I was weak. There was no way I would be able to overcome a John, let alone one of the guards... unless I grabbed the iron and hid behind the door...

No. I still would have to make it past the guards. And there was no way out of this room except down the hall and out the front door.

I would just have to endure.

The hair on my arms stood on end. I rubbed my hands over my suddenly cold skin. I could do this. I could get through it. I'd survived for six years. Surely, I could endure another day, another week.

The sound of voices reached through my thin door, and I peered out of the peephole to see the two guards. The other omegas were probably in their cells—no matter how fancy the room, if you couldn't get out, it was a prison cell.

"Fucking druggies," the driver grumbled. "Already begging for their next hit."

"You give them anything?" the other guard asked. He had a giant mustache, what my dad called a soup strainer.

I pushed that thought away. I couldn't handle thinking about my parents.

"Of course not. They're more fun when they're really jonesing. They'll do anything. And I mean anything."

Mustache grunted. "You know we're not supposed to touch the merchandise."

The driver shrugged. "They're not going to tell. You're not telling me you've never taken a little on the side?"

Mustache grunted again, this time in seeming agreement.

"I tell you what I'd really like." The driver's voice dropped, the lust raw in his voice. "I'd love to take that sweet clean ass for a ride, you know what I'm saying? The druggies, they can't tell which way is up. But I like a little fear."

I couldn't bear another minute.

I fled to the window, even though I knew I couldn't open it. It was dark outside now. I gazed desperately at the sky. When was the last time I had seen a star?

There were no stars tonight. The light pollution of the city turned the sky into a dark nothingness. I hoped it wasn't a sign.

No, the sign was here. I placed my hand on my stomach again. It was the hope I carried inside of me. No matter that my freedom and health hadn't been enough to force me out of my fear, this child would. This child would be born in safety and freedom. I wouldn't allow any other option to enter my mind.

I refused to think of Trey or the dozens of other omegas whose names I'd refused to learn. The ones who would never know freedom again. I couldn't bear the weight of their memories.

Suddenly weak, I lay on the bed. I didn't know how long it would be until the first "customer" came in. I should try to rest. Maybe there would be only one man tonight, or tomorrow if they gave us the night off. Maybe there would be more. I never knew.

I needed my strength to get through tonight. I needed my strength to survive. I needed to retreat.

A sky full of stars—that's what I'd picture tonight. I tried to imagine it. I tried to remember the prick of grass on my bare arms and legs as I lay in a field, gazing up at a sky with a million sparkling jewels. But even though I could describe it, could tell myself what to imagine, I couldn't see it. My imagination was dark and formless, like the night outside my window.