Chapter 2

Harlow

FOUR DAYS LATER

So far, there has been no news, not a single word from my sister. I’m out of the de-scenter she left, having used the last of it last night.

Mrs. Yates is nervous when she picks me up from my room. Today is the day Zara is supposed to be tested, but I’m getting retested in her place. Mrs. Yates hardly speaks to me and is tense as we walk to the auction house. I did my make-up the same way my sister occasionally did hers, keeping up the appearance that I am Zara.

“You never know; your test scores could be as high as your sister’s,” she chimes happily as we reach the doors leading in.

Oh, they will be high, alright, because the tests have already been run.

“Have you heard anything from Harlow?” I ask, curiosity lacing my voice.

Mrs. Yates becomes even more nervous, but she remains silent and gives a swift shake of her head.

After they run their tests and take my blood, I wait in the same lobby at the auction house, sitting in the same hard, blue chair as before, only this time, Zara isn’t with me holding my hand. This time I am completely alone.

Yet when Mrs. Yates comes back, overly excited and bubbly, confusion crosses my features. Surely, I didn’t test higher than before. I try to be upbeat, to act how I know Zara would.

“What’s the verdict?” I ask, pretending to be excited.

“Perfect, eighty-seven percent, just like Harlow,” she announces, though I don’t miss the way her lip quivers at the mention of my name.

A tear slides down my cheek, and my heart pounds against my ribcage.

“Mrs. Yates?” I whisper when Mr. Black strolls into the lobby.

He snatches the paper from her hands; his greedy eyes take in the numbers printed on the page before a sly smirk spreads across his lips.

“Splendid! Marvelous! Unbelievable! The luck, Mrs. Yates, two in a row! Oh, those Obsidians will jump on this one, too. I’ll launch the auction,” he cheers and rushes away before either of us can utter a word or objection.

I just sit and stare after him. Mr. Black’s shiny, black shoes click on the sterile floor as he rushes off in his flashy suit. It looks new, and I bet he got it with all the money they got from my previous auction. The money that might have cost my sister her life.

“Mrs. Y-Yates?” I stammer as I stare after him.

“Harlow didn’t make it, Zara. I’m so sorry. She couldn’t take his knot, and he tried to force it. Harlow bled out,” Mrs. Yates admits, staring down at her feet. I hope she feels ashamed of herself, of how they keep selling off girls, knowing they’ll end up dead.

I blink back tears. My eyes sting, and I suddenly can’t breathe. Something deep inside me shatters into a million sharp pieces, slicing through me like a razor’s edge.

A deep, guttural scream leaves my lips as I collapse to the floor. For days, I wondered, yet had heard nothing. I figured no news is good news.

A wave of pain tears through me and steals the air from my lungs. I killed her; I killed my twin. She died because of me.

I remember little besides the wailing howls I make before a pinch in my neck causes everything to shut off. Everything goes black, and I welcome the darkness. Anything to stop the pain, I am sure will tear me apart and leave nothing behind but fractured pieces.

I am in an Omega facility hospital room when I come to. Mrs. Yates hovers over me. I try to sit up, but the handcuffs on my wrist prevent me from moving.

“Seven hundred and fifty thousand! We need to celebrate,” Mr. Black hollers.

My head rolls to the side, and I instinctively look for Zara before I remember, with ice-cold tendrils piercing my soul all over again. I start to hyperventilate, and Mrs. Yates clutches my face in her hands.

“It’s alright, honey; the Obsidian Pack didn’t win this time. Nightbane did. See?” She points to the screen over on the doctor’s desk as if that would somehow make me feel better.

That’s what she thinks I care about? My sister is dead, and that is what she thinks I’m worried about? Tears stream down my cheeks, and I shake my head.

“I know, honey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry about Harlow,” she whispers, wiping tears from my cheeks.

She barely lived. We aren’t even eighteen yet; we still have two weeks. I bloomed bloody early while still under the facility’s care. Two more weeks, and we could’ve signed ourselves out, paid off the debts, and found our own packs! Zara always intended to stay, but I knew I could talk her into leaving. Instead, I did this to her.

I killed her!

Sobs wrack my body, and days slip by. Mr. Black keeps me sedated and out of it in the infirmary.

I’m staring at the ceiling when I feel a jab in my ass that causes my gaze to pull away from its standoff with the spider in the corner, spinning its web.

I glance down to see the doctor pull my pants over my hip when the door bursts open.

“Don’t jab her; she isn’t Zara!” Mr. Black screams, bursting through the doors.

“What?” The doctor’s voice trembles.

Mr. Black grabs him by his shoulders and starts shaking the poor man, snarling like a maniac, “Tell me you didn’t jab her already!”

The confused doctor frantically looks between the raging man holding him and me. I glance at Mr. Black, wondering if I have ever seen him so furious.

He growls, and I try to sit up, but my wrists are still bound to the bed, so my body is jerked back. The moment my back hits the mattress, his hand connects with my cheek.

My head twists to the side and collides with the wall; my teeth gnash together, and the copper taste of blood fills my mouth as I bite my tongue.

“She isn’t Zara; she’s fucking Harlow. Autopsy reports just came back; there is a scar on her face,” Mr. Black snarls, walking over to the sink basin and wetting a cloth.

He strides back, and I flinch away from him, but he grabs my hair and viciously wipes my face. Once he’s done and my face is make-up free, he growls even louder.

“You have no idea what you did! Now I have to try to clean up this mess!” he screams at the top of his lungs before slapping me again. A yelp escapes me as I try to bring my hands up to protect my face, yet he doesn’t stop assaulting me.

I pull my knees up, tuck my face between them, and wait for Mr. Black to stop. When he finally does, my scalp aches from him yanking my hair out, my body is bruised, and my lip is bleeding.

The doctor runs out of the room, escaping Mr. Black’s wrath. My assailant hits the intercom and dials two sets of numbers into it.

“Mr. Black, you better tell me you have the girl I bought,” a deep baritone voice comes through the speaker.

“Who the fuck is that?” Another voice joins the conversation, but this one is even more profound and much more angry.

The men argue until Mr. Black finally breaks his silence. “Gentlemen, there has been a mix-up.”

“Where is my Omega? That skank hadn’t even bloomed. How the fuck is it even possible for such a fuck up to happen?” the first man roars.