Deacon is a brute of the highest order who probably got his training in Juanâs school of charm for asshats.
He half drags me, and half lets me walk on my own feeble legs down the hallway to an elevator.
Only stopping to bark orders at another guard at a desk nearby before shoving me inside and taking me down to a level with an aircraft hangar air.
The doors slide open to reveal an ample, empty space in semi-darkness, with concrete floors and strip lighting on the ceiling, which stands a good twenty feet above us.
The area is vast, and there are three trucks parked at the far end on what looks like a platform, which Iâm assuming raises.
Itâs dull, definitely many degrees colder, and seems like a part no one frequents too often.
As we walk, the lights flick on automatically over our heads, and I note in the middle of the wall on the left a low glow is already radiating from what seems to be an open alcove.
From this angle, I donât see what it is until we walk level with it and turn right, my head snapping to turn back even while being dragged away from it.
We head in its exact opposite direction, where I catch a glimpse of what it is: a room behind an entire glass wall stretching its width for ample viewing.
It looks like, at one point, it was a sectioned area for parking and has been repurposed.
Tire tracks run up to the window, but the inside room has smooth concrete floors as though they have been resurfaced.
It houses a bed in the center, surrounded by machines, carts, and equipment, all making flashes, low beeps, and hums, keeping the solitary figure within the bed silent.
A motionless brunette woman, hard from this angle to tell if itâs Sierra, lies out like Sleeping Beauty, amid wires and tubes, under a single dull spotlight hanging directly over the bed.
Sheâs so still, pale, and lifeless, tightening my stomach in knots, choking me with emotion. Itâs almost like an art piece of a priceless mummy in a museum.
Sheâs in full view of this entire area in her glass box, yet completely unmanned and with no caregiver monitoring her, which speaks volumes.
I guess all the monitors and machines are doing the job of people, and it breaks my heart to see her so alone, even if she isnât aware of it.
Colton would die if he saw how sheâs being kept, with no human contact, no care or interaction⦠just machines and isolation, in a goddamn basement.
My heart aches for her, for him, and Iâm glad he doesnât know this is what Juan has done to his mom.
Deacon gets annoyed with my straining backward to stare and jerks my arm cruelly.
I snap my face back around and give him a hateful scowl, scared of him less and less the more Iâm in his company.
Heâs a typical Santo bully and not unlike much of the pack was my whole lifeâpushing people like me around to exert his dominance in the hierarchy.
Heâs a dumb jock type with a bad attitude and the need for a dart gun to take down a running femme.
He wouldnât last ten seconds out there if he made me mad enough to throw air at him, as stupid as that may sound. Loser.
I refocus on where we are heading, and I can see my room mirrors hers, and Iâm about to join the glass casket crew.
Iâm guessing itâs the backup room should they need to move her to do whatever, or maybe in case something happens in there and she needs moving over here.
God knows, but itâs almost identical, and I wonder if there was ever a second person like Sierra here. Or maybe Juan has plans to add oneâme.
Mine is not full of tubes and machines, but it houses a single hospital bed in the center, which appears to be bolted down, and a wall of units and cupboards is behind it.
One corner holds a very public portable toilet that the other room lacks, and I donât struggle when Mr. Security pulls me level with the transparent wall.
Thereâs no privacy or places to hide with its matching glass barrier, and as we stand here, I see the almost invisible outline of a singular door within its vast transparency.
âIs this so you can watch all day and night without opening the door? Getting your freak on and watching defenseless women!?â I snark at Deacon, who has avoided saying anything more to me since we left the doc.
The only words he uttered were at the guard outside the door when he informed him my three meals a day were to be added to the rota and reported to the cook until further notice.
He was another Santo-looking douchebag upstairs who glared at me like I was something disgusting he found stuck to his shoe.
Deacon glares at me with that sardonic asshole expression, scans a swipe card against a panel on the wall to our right, and pushes me inside aggressively when the door slides open.
Itâs a bit sci-fi tech, and I refuse to react in any other way than hostile bitch.
I almost trip over my own feet and slap my hand on the wall to steady myself before turning my head with a half turn to snarl at him.
I wish I could turn because that boyâs throat would be in need of repair, given half a chance.
I have so much aggression inside me that I canât contain the sudden hatred for him.
I can almost taste his blood and feel his pulse beating out of his jugular as I focus on what I could do, given half the chance.
I spin back to him, my robe flapping around so he probably gets an eyeful of naked ass as I do, and throw the angriest, most vicious sneer I can muster right at his smug face.
âIâm so glad I got to shoot you at least once. God, it made me hard to see you go down like a sack of shit.â He smirks as the door slides shut.
The urge to punch him in the throat overwhelms me to the point I jump angrily at the door as it slides between us. I end up palm-slapping it level with his face, panting heavily as fire consumes me.
âYou were clearly too slow to catch me then if you needed a gun, you moron. Probably the only time youâve ever been tougher than a girl or got a hard-on over one!â
I stick my middle finger up at him and return the smirk heâs dishing me as he turns on his heel to go, face grim with a darkening mood.
I can tell I pissed him off on every level, but heâs trying to act like I didnât.
âEnjoy your cell⦠Carmen!â he snorts, using the name I gave him, and I throw sass right back.
âYou know, you should remember that name. A mountain wolf with no standards and loose panties⦠right up your alley.
âYou and she would be perfect for each other if you were ever allowed to leave. You might get laid for the first time in your life. Sheâs a prize bitch, which matches your prize assholeness!â I yell after him.
My temper is unleashed a little, and Iâm furious for the sake of being furiousâannoyed to find myself locked up in this hellhole and under the care of a sanctimonious Santo like him.
Colton would rip his head off if he were here. God, if I could link him right now, I so would, just to see him roll on up and tear Deacon a new one.
He would beat seven shades of shit out of him without even needing to turn wolf. Thatâs the difference between an asshole looking to be alpha and one who is naturally born that way. Colton never needed to push me around to exert his dominance; I could feel it whenever I was around him.
He was gentler than most wolves once you got close to him, but you knew he could turn savage and destroy anything in his wake if he needed to, like vampires in a courtyard.
Deacon blanks me completely, waves a dismissive hand at me like he has the last word, and leaves, stalking back the way we came like an arrogant shithead who needs to go choke.