Page 14 of Captive Omega

“Right.” John’s expression doesn’t change.

The parking lot isn’t far. Just a couple minutes away, and we peel apart when we reach it.

He walks toward his green truck, and I head for my black tinted Jeep.

I’m half in as John drives away, and the warning—my instinct, which is probably wrong—refuses to be ignored any longer.

I have to find out what the hell is going on with that black truck.

I get out, start to slam the door shut, and stop.

It’s a quiet parking lot, just a small one shared by a handful of businesses. It’s late and most businesses are closed for the night, which means no one is around to see me pull my Beretta from my pocket, check I have a bullet in the chamber and tuck it into my pocket.

Shrugging out of my jacket, I toss it in the back seat and slam the door shut.

I cross the road, farther down from the alley than I want to. I’m in my usual uniform of black jeans, dark gray button down, and I’d rather not have anyone connect me to Ever Safe.

I’m not here trying to make a scene.

Until someone cocks a gun and I realize that yeah, maybe I do want to cause a scene after all.

No one is in the truck’s front seats. Its windows are tinted but not that tinted, and the engine is still running.

So a tinted truck parked in front of an alley this late at night with its engine running.

No wonder your instincts were screaming a warning. Why the fuck did it take you so long to listen?

Time to do a bit of reconnaissance.

I slow my walk, yank my shirt out of my pants, and pull on my top buttons. A couple pop off, rolling across the ground and under parked vehicles.

I weave a little more with each step. I close my eyes to slits and sing a song I heard in a bar, starting off at a hum and then picking it up second by second.

By the time I hit the mouth of the alley, I’m deep into my role of drunken singer.

Two men in all black combat style fatigues, including steel-toe boots, twist their bodies to face me, though their guns point at a beautiful dark-haired woman in a stained white dress.

She stands with her back to the wall at the bottom of the alley, her stubborn chin lifted. In trouble. The life-threatening kind that kicks my protective urges up a thousand degrees.

The men’s guns and clothes suggest they could be professionals, therefore dangerous for the beauty in trouble. I could take them down, but do I want to risk her getting hit with a stray bullet?

No.

There’s only one thing to do about that.

I take a wobbly step and face-plant into the ground.

Chapter 5

Resa

I’m not sure who's the most shocked when the drunk collapses into a heap.

My pursuers still have their hands on their guns and those are still pointed at me, so taking advantage of the drunk who stumbled into this alley to pass out isn’t an option.

“Hey!” One of my pursuers nudges the drunk's shoulder with the toe of his boot.

His friend never lowers the gun aimed my way. “Leave him, Karl. He won’t see a thing. We’ll be good and done with our business by the time?—"

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