Rejected by the Beta, Claimed by the Alpha

Chapter 163

Chapter 163: Worse Things Than Those Inside

LUCAS POV:

I went to the waiting room, trying to breathe. Trying to think. My thoughts were spiraling—panic scratching behind my eyes like rats in a box.

So much for my fucking escape.

But then it hit me—what if I didn’t fly out? What if I could cross the border by bus, and then take a flight from the next country over? Maybe there was a crack in their perfect little trap. Maybe the bastards hadn’t locked down the land routes yet. The hope burned in me like a lit match in a gas-filled room.

Hope flickered. Not a flame, but a spark. And in a place like this, even a spark was blinding.

I got up fast—too fast. My legs were still sore, my muscles tight and bruised. But I didn’t care. As long as I got out.

Out. Out. Out.

This time, I hailed a taxi. The city was waking up around me, a cold sun rising over buildings that felt too still, too quiet—like a stage set, waiting for the actors to return. It didn’t take long to find another cab. The cab that stopped was driven by a woman—slim, maybe in her mid-twenties, with dark circles under her eyes like bruises. Her skin was pale, but not unnaturally so. Still, there was something off. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she moved like her bones ached from something far deeper than fatigue.

"Where to, champ?" she asked, a tired smirk on her lips.

"Any bus traveler’s agency that runs cross-border," I said quickly, shoving myself into the back seat.

She snorted. "So the plane was canceled, huh?"

"Yeah. All outbound flights. Apparently." I didn’t like where this was going.

That earned a dry, mocking laugh. It wasn’t amusement—it was bitterness soaked in something darker. "And you still think you can get out of here, huh?"

There was something behind her words. Like she knew something I didn’t.

"Yeah..." I replied, wary.

"Well," she said, shifting into drive, "better start praying then."

Her voice was calm, almost amused—but bitter. Too bitter for someone just giving rides.

I looked at her again. Really looked. She was young, maybe twenty-five. But her eyes were older. Exhausted. Her body was thin, bones peeking where they shouldn’t. A dark patch peeked from under her shirt collar—something circular. A bite mark? A tattoo? Hard to tell. But she was definitely trying to hide it.

"Is this your home country?" I asked.

She sighed. "No."

Figures. She didn’t look like the locals. Not the impossibly perfect ones with porcelain skin and unnerving smiles. She looked real. Human.

"Have you ever gone back?" I asked.

second I thought she’d snap—tell me to shut up and mind

But then:

I did. Once. To say

silence that followed was heavy—grief and trauma thick enough to choke on. But part of me still burned to know how she’d done it. How she managed to leave at all. And even more confusing—why

she beat me

what you’re thinking," she said softly, eyes fixed on the road. "And the answer is: they don’t give you a

My throat tightened.

they

lock us in a psych ward before they listened. And I... I couldn’t risk my mom and little sister. I was the one who applied. I

voice

mom and little sister. I was the one who wanted to come

slipped from her eye, and she wiped it

here we are," she said, pulling

stared at the building—so normal. So mundane.

bottom of the chain. Pets for sex. Cattle for feeding. Entertainment. You don’t matter unless you bleed pretty or scream loud. If you want to live long enough to

No.

No.

NO.

like a reared animal. Like I

I just nodded, paid her, and

the window down just before leaving

worse things than what you saw at the university. The ones out here... they don’t play by rules. They don’t feed

Then she drove off.

stood frozen in front of the station, her words bouncing around in

Than

students like chew toys and

was the safe

had to be

She had to be.

...Right?

******

Stupid to think that maybe—just maybe—I was different. That I could slip through the cracks of whatever cursed trap Memoville had become. Even after the warnings, even after both cab drivers practically spelled it out for me, I still clung

That’s what

warming up, ready to

lights that buzzed overhead like flies. A long, scratched-up bench sat against one wall, and an

woman at the front desk,

maybe an apology. Her eyes were soft, but hollow. Like she’d seen dozens just like me walk in here, full of hope, and

said. My voice cracked halfway through, but I didn’t care. "Please," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’ll pay in cash. I’ll pay

type anything. Didn’t even glance at her computer.

too gently. "All outbound routes are

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