Chapter 2 : Welcome to the Pound

Efrain had handed me off in the hallway to Celeste, an Omega in the pack.

I didn't even have the time to reflect on what I just learned. That man, Efrain, was my mate?! Surely, not. It was a mistake. Maybe my heart was just confused, overwhelmed.

I shook my head of my thoughts, trying to cast aside any of the horrific realities that would arise if Efrain was indeed my mate. The whole thought was impossible to begin with. The Moon Goddess wouldn't be so cruel to me, and my wolf may have been led astray in her thoughts due to the distressing situation.

After a few minutes of conversation and introductions on my way out of the underground bunker through a maze of disorienting narrow alleyways, I realized Celeste didn't seem to belong with these men. She was far too kind compared to the other beasts I'd encountered so far, specifically Agustin and his son.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked the young woman. She looked to be around the same age as myself, yet not as mature in features, with her bobbed hair and flamboyant makeup. She was wearing professional working attire–a pant suit–which seemed out of place.

"I was instructed to take you to what they call 'The Pound,' Celeste relayed ominously.

My eyes must have shot open as she quickly noticed my reluctance. My feet stopped in their place, and she added, "It's not quite as bad as it sounds."

She tugged at my arm to keep walking. "They're watching us, so don't stop. They'll think you're going to make a run for it."

I rotated my head a bit too noticeably trying to find the hidden cameras, and she released a small laugh. "Not like that, dear." She pulled at my arm and leaned closer bringing her voice to a soft whisper. "The Alpha's son, he's behind us."

"Oh!" I began craning my neck to see if Efrain was really there, and my action was met with a slap by Celeste.

"You have a lot of learning to do if you want to survive here… Catalina was it?" Had she already forgotten my name? I just told her. I nodded, 'yes,' affirming Catalina was, indeed, my name.

"Beg my pardon, Catrina," she started.

"It's Catalina," I vocalized, but she kept on talking.

"But we get a lot of new ladies coming to 'The Pound' all the time. It's hard to keep track sometimes." What Celeste was telling me was the exact reason why I was feeling so unsettled through the grimy, graffitied alleyways. I hoped the female visitors were just for Efrain's personal fun and nothing more dastardly.

"Speaking of 'The Pound,' we've arrived."

In front of me was a building that defied my every expectation of what I thought. I was being led into a tiny bodega nestled between a shoemaker's workshop and a cell phone repair store. If three people, including the cashier, could even stand in here without suffocating from a lack of oxygen, I'd be amazed.

"Well, this is home," Celeste declared, and I didn't sense any sarcasm. She must have really felt that way.

She gave a nod to the shop owner whose dark eyes bore into mine, tracking me as I took every step. His shaggy black hair looked like he had just bathed in an oil spill. He had a dragon tattoo winding down his deeply tanned forearm. "Afternoon, Fidel."

The man, whose name was apparently Fidel, grimaced, not returning Celeste's greeting.

Celeste tried to reassure me, "Don't worry, he's always wary of newcomers," but it didn't help. I could feel his gaze carving deeper and deeper through the side of my head.

I had so many questions I wanted to ask. "So, where do we sleep?" was the first question to come out of my mouth.

I was too overwhelmed from what my father had just done to me, what Agustin had just felt of me, and what Efrain had just said to me, that I needed time alone to think.

How just an hour ago was I with my father, getting ready for a daddy-daughter luncheon, and now was I ready to be feasted on by some derelict mafia boss's son?

Maybe it was the hopeful part of me that figured I was strong enough to get myself out of this situation, but the stench of something that resembled chlorine and sulfur entered my nose and left my stomach unsettled.

"Well, we share bedrooms," Celeste informed me. Of course, we did. "Along with ten others." Even better.... I guess there would be no alone time.

"And we just sleep on the shelves I assume?" This time I laced my question with sarcasm but Celeste didn't seem to catch it.

Celeste responded, "I suppose YOU could, but I'd prefer my cardboard mattress. Much better spinal support."

Was she serious? She'd served Efrain and Agustin for nearly a decade of her life, and this was how they treated her? It made my skin crawl wondering how I would be accommodated given me being the newcomer.

"I'll just follow you, Selene," I said, purposefully calling her the wrong name as subtle payback for earlier, but she didn't seem to notice.

Or maybe she did. "Oh! That's who you look like!" she exclaimed loudly. I jumped back at her shrieking. "I'd been trying to figure it out from the moment I saw you."

"Who?" I asked reticently.

"Selena Quintanilla! My mother loved her music so much. The poor girl. Wasn't it tragic what happened to her?" Celeste looked up to the sky, and she shook her head. I wish she would look down since she was dragging me down a flight of stairs at the back of the store.

"What happened to–" Before I could finish my question, Celeste lost her footing, and we both tumbled face-first down the concrete stairs that led to an expansive underground network of hallways. Everywhere my eyes could see were charcoal-colored doors and red-wine colored wallpaper. It was unsettling.

"Celeste, are you okay?" She didn't look injured, but she was momentarily unresponsive. I didn't know who in the world I'd search for help from because there was no way in h*ll I was asking that Fidel character.

If she died here, surely it would have looked like I pushed her down the steps. "Please Celeste, you have to wake up!" I begged as I shook her arms vigorously.

She released a flighty giggle as her eyes jolted open. "No worries, I'm completely fine. Efrain always said I had a hard head… which confused me because his head was always hard when I was around....."

Who the h*ll was this girl? At first I thought she was just some innocent Omega, and now it seemed that wasn't the case. Maybe a product of her environment here, I supposed.

Then Celeste gasped. "Calalily! You're bleeding!"

"My name is NOT" I paused. Why even bother? I surveyed my arms and legs and didn't see any scratches or open wounds. But, as I was feeling my body, Celeste, who was splayed across the floor next to me, sat up and brought her finger to my forehead. She touched me and then stuck her pointer finger in front of my face so I could see the red liquid.

"See. Blood!"

Yes, I could see that.

"I'm fine, Celeste. I just want to get to my—I mean our—room," I insisted. Even though she was a nice girl, and I would need a positive light in my life until I delivered on the deal my father had with Agustin–to give the wretched man a grandchild–right now, she was driving me crazy.

I had a lot to think about, prepare myself for. In my nineteen years of living, I resisted having sex, but it wasn't because of a lack of suitors. It was due to my father's warnings that men were all slimeballs who just wanted a piece of my sweetest pie.

I inherited a beautiful, curvy figure from my late mother, along with her skin that was nice and rich like a candied pecan, which she got from her years growing up in Malaysia.

I didn't get much from my father as looks were concerned, which was fine with me because he was prematurely balding and had quite a wide nose, but I liked to think I learned a lot of his street smarts.

But now, it felt like everything he taught me was a lie.

He once told me, "Familia primera," which meant to always protect your loved ones, which made me furious as to how he could have dumped me off in this hellhole.

Celeste helped me to my feet, and I brushed off my jean shorts. I noticed blood had already dripped onto my shorts. As if she read my mind, Celeste assured me, "Don't worry, dear. We'll get you some new clothes." I was worried what type of clothes Efrain and Agustin had women wear down here, but I was pleased that Celeste called me 'dear' instead of another wrong name.

We continued walking down the dimly-lit hallways, room numbers on shiny gold plates decorating the door frames as if we were in a fine hotel. I shifted my gaze towards Celeste and what she was wearing: a navy blue pantsuit, and her outfit immediately made sense to me. She looked like a front desk receptionist.

"So, Celeste, are we staying in a hotel?" I pried curiously.

She hesitated a few strides before responding. "Well, you could call it that if it makes you feel any better."

What did that mean?

"Is that why you're dressed like a front desk associate at the Marriott?" I hoped she wasn't offended by my subtle teasing.

"Oh, this thing!" she exclaimed, looking down at her indigo colored suit. "This is just a costume. A word of advice, when you get freaky in the sheets with Efrain: men LOVE playing dress-up."

I nearly gagged at her statement. Now it made me wonder what my change of clothes would really be. I wouldn't be surprised if it was a sexy maid's uniform and not simply jeans and a T-shirt.

After walking in an unsettled daze for a few minutes down hallways and up flights of stairs, we arrived at room 601. Celeste knocked on the black door in a rhythmic pattern that was surely some sort of secret code, and a minuscule slit in the door opened to reveal someone's lips.

"Square root of 69?" a husky voice asked.

"Five less than a baker's dozen," Celeste stated firmly.

Immediately, the slit closed shut and the door opened. What a weird passcode, I thought.

Celeste grabbed my wrist and led me into the room. "We call it, "The Lair," she stated ominously.