Page 130 of Unhinged Alphas

"Fuck. It's not sedated?"

"Why is it letting us do all this?"

"Must have a death wish."

"It's useless, then."

Growl low in my throat.

Not useless.

I will do what you want.

Kill who you want.

Anything but useless.

Useless gets discarded.

Same fate as being too dangerous.

Can't speak, of course.

Arms strapped down. Can't sign.

Can't communicate that.

The scientists are quiet.

Watching.

I feel their eyes on me.

So many eyes.

Too many eyes.

Hate being looked at.

"We'll run more tests," one says.

"Find something that makes it react."

"Something must."

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

PLAGUE

The sterile white corridors burn my eyes. Without my mask's amber lenses, the harsh fluorescent lights stab into my retinas like needles. I blink rapidly, fighting the urge to shield my face. Can't risk drawing attention.

Not now.

Thane and Whiskey flank me. They're unmasked, too, and with their stolen Vrissian uniforms, it's a perfect disguise. Well, almost perfect. Whiskey's trigger finger twitches toward his concealed weapon with every echoing footstep, his jaw set in a hard line. I shoot him a warning glance. One wrong move, one slip of his atrocious fake accent, and we're fucked. He knows not to even speak, let alonethrow a tantrum.

My stolen lab coat feels wrong against my skin. Too light. Too exposed. I miss the weight of my tactical gear, the familiar sterile scent of the filters in my mask.