Hours Later
The officers' car kept moving despite the hours constantly tumbling over stones on the rough road.
Asher knew they had been moving for long because of the stomach ache gnawing at him. Normally he doesn't get hungry early, so for his stomach to be biting him like this, then it had to be a long journey.
He didn't even know the exact day anymore or if it was morning, noon, or night. All he knew was that he was in a dark space with no trace of light coming in—just constant jerking that had disheveled his properly styled hair, which at this point could rival an eagle's nest.
Goodness, he was starving. And anytime soon, he was sure he wasn't going to make it at this rate.
"At least if they want to kill me, they should give me a nice meal first," Asher mumbled, his eyes darting around, trying to see if they had finally reached their destination.
Something wasn't right. Why hadn't they reached the police quarters yet? Or was that not where he was being taken to?
Asher wondered, panic rising in his chest.
His heart accelerated to a dangerous degree. He was being taken far away from the world—where no one was going to save him. Absolutely no one. He had to act on his own before something terrible happened.
"Okay… let me just ask," he muttered, making up his mind.
He tried standing but felt a powerful sting in his ankle. The pain shot up sharply, and when he looked down, he saw an ugly mark there—raw and cruel, like a testament of what was coming for him.
Asher was greatly disturbed by the wound. Being someone whose skin had been spotless all his life, he found it horrendous.
"What's going on with me? God help me out, please. Save me this time and I'll forever be in your debt." He prayed out loud to his God—the one he always ran to in times of need.
Asher cried, streams of tears pouring from his eyes as his body trembled. The car was still moving, and it became obvious that he was gone.
Far from reach. Where no one might ever get to him, talk more of rescuing him.
He was disoriented and coughing, his stomach twisting painfully from starvation. Just when he was sure his time was over, the suffocating darkness was suddenly chased away, replaced by blinding sunlight that nearly burned his eyes.
He groaned and staggered, trying to get up, but his legs and stomach refused to cooperate.
Still slumped on the ground, he struggled to move but remained on the spot. Then he heard growls from the men around him—low and animalistic. To his shock, he realized those officers were no longer the ones ushering him out.
By the look of things, he was either sold or transferred somewhere worse. The thought of slavery crossed his mind, and he almost collapsed right there.
Then he saw it.
A hideous structure in front of him with bold letters written across it:
WELCOME TO HELL!
Asher blinked, still refusing to stand.
He didn't realize the men handling him were drawing closer, trying to grab him again, when a bass voice thundered from the right side—far from where they stood.
The clueless young man, who had no idea he was about to be violated, looked confused as he met eyes with the man who interrupted them. The horrible-looking fellows around him jumped in instant fear.
"This is him, sir. We will be on our way…" they chorused, their bodies shaking, bones trembling beneath their skin.
Asher was dizzy from hunger, his vision blurry, but he was damn sure those men were scared. Terrified, for some strange reason he didn't understand. And the man speaking to them seemed to be the cause.
What exactly did this man possess that made such rogue, deadly cave-like men tremble like that?
"You did well. Just one tiny problem. The boss said his goods shouldn't be in bad shape. And not only does he look like he got involved in a terrible encounter, look at you trying to get your hands on the boss's property."
He cackled, his face darkening into a venomous scowl that could put one to death instantly.
Asher felt the cold chill of his gaze. His pheromones were mighty, pressing down on him until he dropped to the ground like a heap of clothes without stamina.
"Fuck… I always forget I'm an Omega and should be careful. Not everyone accepts a male Omega," he whispered to himself.
Seconds later, the man began walking toward him—each step small, deliberate, and dangerous.
Asher crawled backward on his butt in panic, but thankfully the man passed him and stopped before the trembling men who had fallen to their knees.
For some useless reason, Asher wondered why they didn't run.
Could they be Omegas too? Because if you're not one and you aren't affected by his pheromones, why would you stand there sensing danger and not flee?
The question weighed on him heavily.
Before he could process anything further, the creepy man grinned like a mad demon, pulled out a sickle-shaped weapon, and curved it cleanly through the neck of one of the cave-looking men.
Before Asher's eyes, the severed head fell to his legs like a coconut.
He wanted to scream. Yes, he really wanted to.
But the eyes of the head hadn't closed yet.
It blinked.
Asher jumped in horror and rushed toward the man, leaping onto his back.
"The head blinked!" he cried, pointing with a pout on his face.
The man in black went speechless.
Wasn't this boy supposed to be shaking in fear? He had just murdered someone, and this idiot had the audacity to climb onto his back—something no one had ever dared to do.
The sheer audacity was maddening.
"What are you doing?" he barked.
Asher blinked and slowly stepped down, staring at him in confusion.
"Did you add something to that sickle that made it blink?" he asked seriously.
Facepalming himself, the man in black dropped the sickle and looked at the remaining men, who had peed all over themselves.
"Go now. And never in your life play with the lord's goods," he thundered ominously.
The tone alone gave Asher goosebumps, and he instinctively stepped back.
The lord's goods? Was he the one being called goods? What the fuck?
"Excuse me, Mister Black Leather Jacket, so am I the so-called goods?" Asher asked, sounding more offended than afraid.
The man, already in a foul mood, glanced around to see if there was another figure he was being addressed to—but there was no one else.
And Black Leather Jacket? What kind of tasteless name was that?
"Do you think I'm a joke? See that head? Soon yours will be the same if you don't know your place, rat."
He shoved past him and walked away.
"What did I do now? Am I the cause of his inability to smile? See me, see trouble," Asher scoffed—momentarily forgetting he was in captivity.
That reminder came quickly.
Dozens of guards stormed forward and hurled him into the den.
"A fresh meat! Welcome to hell, newcomer. Hope your ass can handle the hungry dicks around."
And what Asher saw next made his blood run cold.
This was truly the end for him.
Because the moment he stepped fully through the gate—
all eyes snapped in his direction.