Chapter 1 She Was Sold By Her Father
Tyler's POV
The amber liquid swirled in Nathan Blackwood's crystal tumbler as he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office.
"The girl will be here by nightfall," I confirmed.
As Nathan's Beta, I'd overseen countless operations, but something about this one sat wrong in my gut.
Nathan didn't turn from the window. "Good. The sooner we get this business concluded, the better."
"About that..." I shifted uncomfortably, my wolf pacing restlessly beneath my skin. "What happens to her after? Once she's served her purpose?"
The silence stretched between us like a blade. When Nathan finally spoke, his voice carried the cold finality of a judge pronouncing sentence.
"She'll have her freedom, Tyler. Permanent freedom."
My jaw tightened. In our world, permanent freedom was a euphemism everyone understood but no one spoke aloud. "Nathan, she's just a kid. Barely seventeen—"
Nathan's reflection in the window looked carved from marble. "Don't let sentiment cloud your judgment, my friend. We both know how this ends."
I nodded curtly. "I'll handle the pickup personally."
I'm Nathan's Beta, and we've been friends for twenty years. Sure, he comes off as cold to everyone else, but I know that's only because of what happened to him...
"See that you do." Nathan finally turned, his gray eyes holding depths I sometimes wished I couldn't read. "And Tyler? Make sure she understands her situation. No false hope. It's kinder that way."
Kinder. Right. Because there was something kind about sentencing a seventeen-year-old girl to death.
Three hours later, my black car pulled up to what had once been a respectable pack house.
My enhanced hearing picked up the sounds before I reached the front door—raised voices, the sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh, and underneath it all, pained whimpers that made my wolf pace restlessly beneath my skin.
"You're nothing but dead weight! You don't know how to appreciate anything we've done for you!" came an older woman's venomous voice.
Another sharp slap echoed through the air.
"Idiot! Fucking dumbass!" an older man bellowed.
The broken screams and sobs that followed made every instinct in my body scream to intervene.
What happened?
I couldn't take it anymore. I threw open the front door to reveal a scene that would haunt me for weeks.
A young woman with copper hair lay crumpled on the living room floor, her cream-colored dress torn and stained with blood.
The older man was unmistakably Henry Sullivan, swaying drunkenly over her, while the woman—undoubtedly his wife Isabel—watched with cold satisfaction.
I stated, "That's enough."
Henry spun around, nearly losing his balance. Recognition dawned in his bloodshot eyes, followed quickly by fear. "Beta Hayes! You're early, we weren't expecting—"
"Clearly. You're beating your own daughter, aren't you?" My gaze swept the room.
Henry awkwardly fell silent, unable to speak, while Isabel said, "Beta Hayes, we're disciplining Rachel. She won't listen. As parents, of course we want our children to be good people."
Rachel lay motionless on the floor, a thin line of blood trickling from her split lip.
Isabel smoothed her gaudy dress and arranged her features into what she probably thought was a welcoming expression. "She was being difficult, you understand. Disrespectful."
"Naturally. She's always been... challenging," Henry added, desperate to justify what couldn't be justified. "Ever since her mother died, she's been out of control. We only hit her because she was being inappropriate. We wouldn't normally—"
The girl was unconscious on the floor, and this bastard was still making excuses.
Poor girl.
"Sir," I interrupted. "My men are outside. I'm taking her with me according to our agreement."
At the sound of this, Henry and Isabel nodded frantically, and I could even see the smirks tugging at the corners of their mouths.
I knelt beside Rachel's motionless form, careful not to startle her. Her breathing was shallow but steady, and when I gently tilted her chin to assess the damage, she didn't stir.
How long had they been beating her before I arrived?
The unbidden thought struck me: she doesn't deserve this.
I scooped Rachel into my arms, surprised by how little she weighed. Malnutrition, I noted grimly.
When was the last time these people had fed her properly?
"Let's get you out of here," I murmured, even though she couldn't hear me.
At least I could make sure her final months were comfortable. It wasn't much, but it was all I could give her.
Rachel's POV
The first thing I became aware of was the absence of pain.
For the past two years, pain had been my constant companion—hunger gnawing at my belly, bruises flowering across my ribs, the sharp ache of words designed to cut deeper than any blade.
But now? Now I felt... nothing.
The second thing I noticed was the soft mattress beneath me.
Actually soft, not the lumpy, secondhand thing I'd been sleeping on since my father sold everything of value. This felt like clouds, like sinking into a dream I didn't want to wake from.
But consciousness was a relentless tide, and eventually I had to surface.
I opened my eyes to find myself in a room that belonged in a magazine.
Cream-colored walls, elegant furniture, and windows that looked out onto gardens so perfect they seemed painted.
An IV drip connected to my arm, and the steady beep of a heart monitor.
Where am I?
Memory came flooding back—my father and stepmother's relentless beatings and verbal abuse. After that, I passed out and woke up here.
Slowly, carefully, I slipped out of bed. My legs felt shaky, but I managed to stay upright.
The IV line tugged at my arm, so I gently pulled out the needle, pressing my hand against the small bead of blood that formed.
I crept to the door and peered out. The hallway was empty, but voices carried from a room just down the corridor. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the hallway, my bare feet silent on the polished floor.
The voices grew clearer as I approached the half-open door of what looked like an office.
"...vitals are stable, but I want to run additional tests before we proceed."
"Dr. Carter, Alpha Blackwood was very specific about the timeline. We can't afford delays."
I pressed myself against the wall beside the door, heart pounding.
"I understand the urgency, but we need to be thorough. Given what we're planning..."
Planning? I held my breath, straining to hear every word.
"The hormone treatments need to be carefully calibrated. We can't risk complications, especially considering the Alpha's expectations."
Hormone treatments? The words sent ice through my veins. Why would they need to give me hormones?
Through the crack in the door, I could see two figures in white coats—doctors, obviously. One was a woman with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, the other a middle-aged man with glasses.
"How soon can we begin the preparation process?" the man asked.
"If her blood work comes back clean, we can start the injections tomorrow. The Alpha wants results, and quickly."
Injections? My hands trembled as I pressed closer to the wall.
"And after?" the woman asked quietly.
The man's voice dropped. "That's not our concern, Dr. Carter. We follow orders."
I bit my lip until I tasted blood, fighting back both a gasp and the tears threatening to spill.
Suddenly their voices stopped, and I quickly backed away, my heart pounding. I had to get back to my room before they realized I was awake.
Why would my father do this to me? What kind of plan were these doctors discussing?