Meet Feisty
Meet Feisty
The precinct was unusually hectic that morning.
Phones rang incessantly, officers hurried between desks with reports tucked beneath their arms, and the sound of keyboards clattering filled the open-plan office. A couple of detectives were gathered around a whiteboard, discussing an ongoing investigation, while another officer stood near the coffee machine, attempting to explain something over the phone.
It was organized chaos.
Captain Alister Hayes sat behind his desk, reviewing the preliminary reports from the previous night’s operation. His dark hair was slightly dishevelled, and the top buttons of his black shirt were undone. He’d been up for most of the night, and the empty coffee cup beside his paperwork was evidence of that.
A knock sounded against his open door.
“Come in.”
Officer Jenkins stepped inside, carrying a folder.
“Morning, Captain.”
“Is it?” Alister replied dryly, without looking up. “What have you got?”
Jenkins placed the folder on his desk.
“Preliminary findings from last night’s raid. We’ve identified six suspects so far, including the two individuals believed to be running the establishment. All six are in custody.”
“And the victims?”
“Eleven Omegas rescued from the premises. All have been transferred to Haven House, the Omega Recovery Centre. Medical personnel are examining them now.”
Alister leaned back in his chair.
“Eleven.”
“Yes, sir. Some are in relatively stable condition, but others have sustained considerable injuries. We’re still determining how long they’ve been held there.”
“Any information about how the operation was run?”
“We found records suggesting they’ve been operating for quite some time. Customers could apparently request specific Omegas, and the establishment charged extra for certain arrangements. We’re still going through the financial records.”
Alister’s expression hardened.
“Make sure the financial crimes unit gets a copy. I want to know who’s funding this operation and whether there are other locations.”
“Already arranged, sir.”
Jenkins hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
Alister looked up.
“One of the rescued Omegas asked us about someone. He wanted to know whether we’d found him.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know. Apparently, the others called him Feisty.”
Alister raised an eyebrow.
“Feisty?”
“That’s what they told us. We asked if they knew his actual name, but none of them seemed certain. Apparently, he got that nickname because he never followed orders.”
Jenkins paused, choosing his next words carefully.
“One of the Omegas explained that some customers specifically requested him because he always put up a fight. They apparently enjoyed making things difficult for him. He’s always hurt afterward, but he still refuses to back down.”
Alister’s jaw tightened.
“And you didn’t find him?”
“No, sir. We searched the main rooms and secured everyone we found, but there was no sign of him.”
For a moment, Alister said nothing.
“Where exactly did you search?”
“The ground floor and the upper rooms. We also checked the storage area.”
“What about the basement?”
Jenkins frowned.
“We checked the entrance, but it was locked. We couldn’t get it open before the medical team needed us upstairs. We were going to send someone back.”
Alister was already reaching for his jacket.
“Then we’re going back.”
---
The underground establishment looked considerably less intimidating with the police presence surrounding it.
Officers moved through the building, photographing evidence and marking locations where items had been recovered. The air was stale, and the faint smell of disinfectant did little to disguise the unpleasant conditions inside.
Alister descended the narrow staircase with Jenkins following closely behind.
At the bottom was a heavy metal door.
“That’s the one,” Jenkins said.
Alister examined the lock before gesturing to one of the officers.
“Get it open.”
A few moments later, the door gave way with a loud metallic groan.
Beyond it was a narrow corridor, barely illuminated by a single flickering light. Several doors lined the walls, each secured with heavy locks.
Alister’s expression darkened.
“Jesus Christ.”
They checked the first room. Empty.
The second. Empty.
Then they reached the last door.
A faint metallic sound came from somewhere inside.
Alister stopped.
“Did you hear that?”
Jenkins nodded.
He tried the handle. Locked.
“Get the door open. Now.”
The lock was forced, and the door swung inward.
The room was almost completely dark.
For a moment, neither man moved. Then Alister’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw him.
A young Omega was chained to the wall.
His wrists were secured in metal handcuffs attached to a ring embedded in the concrete. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and his head was bowed, concealing most of his face. His clothes were dirty and dishevelled, and there were visible bruises along his arms and exposed skin.
He looked impossibly small in that room.
“Jesus,” Jenkins muttered.
Alister stepped forward.
“Hey.”
No response.
He crouched a few feet away, careful not to approach too quickly.
“Can you hear me?”
The Omega’s head moved slightly.
“We’re police officers. You’re not in trouble. We’re here to get you out.”
Silence.
Alister glanced at the restraints.
“Get the cuffs.”
One of the officers hurried forward with a set of tools.
As the metal was being unlocked, the Omega finally lifted his head.
Dark eyes met Alister’s.
They were wary, exhausted, and unmistakably defiant.
“What’s your name?” Alister asked quietly.
The Omega stared at him for several seconds.
Then, in a hoarse voice, he answered.
“Feisty.”
Alister’s expression barely changed, but something in his chest tightened.
“That’s what they call you?”
A faint, humourless smile tugged at the Omega’s lips.
“Apparently.”
Alister looked at the restraints again.
“Well, Feisty. Let’s get you out of here.”
By the following afternoon, the eleven rescued Omegas had undergone their initial medical examinations at the hospital.
Those whose conditions were stable had been transferred to Haven House, the Omega Recovery Centre, where they would receive ongoing medical treatment, psychological support, and a safe place to recover.
Haven House operated on a simple principle: no Omega was expected to return to normal overnight.
They would stay as long as they needed. Once they had recovered sufficiently, they could choose to undergo compatibility testing and enter the voluntary mate-matching programme. Those who found a suitable match could pursue a relationship and eventually move into homes of their own. There was no obligation to participate, and no one would be pressured into finding a mate before they were ready.
For many of them, it would be the first time in years they had a choice over what happened to their lives.
However, one Omega hadn’t been transferred.
Maven Hill, or Feisty, as the others knew him, remained at the hospital.
His injuries were considerably more severe than initially anticipated. He had multiple fractures, extensive bruising, untreated wounds, and signs of prolonged malnutrition. The medical team had also discovered complications that required further treatment and observation.
He wasn’t going anywhere just yet.
---
Alister was halfway through his afternoon paperwork when Jenkins appeared at his office door.
“Captain. I’ve got the medical report you requested.”
“Leave it there.”
Jenkins placed a thick envelope on the desk.
“It’s about the Omega we found in the basement. Feisty.”
Alister stopped typing.
“How is he?”
“Still at the hospital. The doctors are treating several injuries. They said it’ll be a while before he’s fit enough to be transferred to Haven House.”
Alister nodded towards the envelope.
“Is that his full report?”
“Yes, sir. Preliminary findings, medical assessment, and the information we’ve managed to gather about his time at the establishment.”
“Thanks, Jenkins.”
The officer left, closing the door behind him.
Alister pulled the envelope closer and opened it.
He expected bruises. Perhaps a few broken bones. Given the condition of the basement and the restraints they’d found him in, none of that would have surprised him.
What he wasn’t prepared for was what he read next.
Multiple healed and recent fractures. Evidence of repeated physical trauma. Deep tissue injuries. Several untreated wounds, some showing signs of infection. Severe nutritional deficiencies. Dehydration.
He turned another page.
Then another.
His jaw gradually tightened.
The report indicated that some of the injuries were not recent. They had occurred at different stages, suggesting repeated physical abuse over an extended period. There were also injuries consistent with prolonged restraint.
Alister leaned back, staring at the pages.
How long had that kid been down there?
He continued reading.
The medical team had documented evidence of repeated injuries to his wrists and ankles, consistent with being restrained for considerable periods. Several injuries appeared to have been aggravated by a lack of proper medical attention.
And then there was the psychological assessment.
The Omega was described as extremely defensive, reluctant to accept assistance, and particularly resistant to physical contact. He had reportedly become distressed during certain examinations, requiring medical staff to pause and give him time to regain his composure.
One note caught Alister’s attention.
Patient demonstrates persistent resistance to authority figures and repeatedly refuses to comply with instructions, even when doing so may compromise his immediate comfort.
Alister let out a humourless breath.
“Feisty, huh?”
He turned another page.
There was a photograph attached to the report, taken for medical documentation. Maven was lying in a hospital bed, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his face looking considerably younger without that defiant expression Alister remembered from the basement.
He looked exhausted.
Far too exhausted for someone who should have had his whole life ahead of him.
Alister stared at the photograph for a long moment.
He remembered the handcuffs. The cold concrete floor. The way Maven had lifted his head and looked at him, even after everything he’d endured.
He’d been hurt, frightened, and barely able to stand.
Yet he’d still managed to look at a room full of armed police officers as though he was prepared to fight every single one of them.
Alister rubbed a hand over his face.
“Christ.”
He closed the report, but the image remained in his mind.
He’d seen plenty of terrible things during his years on the force. He’d dealt with violent offenders, rescued victims, and walked into scenes that stayed with him long after the investigations were closed.
But something about this one bothered him.
Perhaps it was the fact that someone so young had been left chained in a basement.
Or perhaps it was the realization that, even after being rescued, Maven Hill still had a very long way to go.
Alister reached for his phone.
“Jenkins? Get me an update from the hospital when you can. I want to know how he’s progressing.”
“Of course, Captain.”
“And make sure Haven House is prepared for his arrival. Whatever he needs, they get it.”
“Understood.”
Alister hung up and glanced once more at the closed report.
Maven Hill.
He repeated the name silently, trying to reconcile it with the stubborn little Omega he’d found chained to a basement wall.
Feisty.
Somehow, he suspected that nickname was going to stick with him.
