Page 3 of Captive Omega

Why is it when I place a hand over my churning belly, I feel sick? And why the hell am I shaking?

Blood forms a halo around Rupert’s cracked head.

So much blood.

My throat tightens, stomach cramping as my knees give out. I avoid collapsing on tiny shards of stained glass as I retch and retch, yet nothing wants to come out.

In my mind, the sound of Rupert’s head cracking like the biggest egg in the world plays on repeat.

Then I hear it.

Footsteps racing up the stairs.

There have only ever been two ways in and out of here: the door and the window.

The door has never been an option.

Tiny chips of colored glass sparkle over the dusty floorboards, bright, painful shards of confetti. To escape, I would need to run, and I would need to jump.

“Don’t do it, Resa,” I breathe. “There’s crazy and there’s stupid. Then there’s this.”

Even as I say it, I’m calculating the distance between me and that towering tree. Five or six feet. Maybe even seven.

Please don’t let it be seven.

It’s not the distance making me sweat. It’s the drop. And I can’t just jump. I have to grab onto a branch thick enough it won’t immediately snap under me.

If I bounce off it…

I gulp as I swear I hear the sound of my head cracking open.

And staying? Not even close to being an option.

Nathaniel would never believe this was an accident. He’d gather Rupert for a fancy funeral, then have O’Brien slit my throat and leave my body for cops to find in an alley dumpster.

A key clangs when someone jams it in the lock, too fast, clumsy fast. A man curses when they drop. O’Brien.

“Get up, Resa.” I order my knees to stop shaking as I push myself to my feet, backing up with my eyes fixed on dark leaves swaying from a gentle breeze.

I drag in a deep breath. Exhale. And I sprint toward the window, arms pumping.

Glass cuts underfoot. I grimace as tears fill my eyes.

The door flies open, banging loudly against the opposite wall, and O’Brien screams, “What the fuck are you?—”

The wind slices the rest of his words away from me as I push off from the floor and kick my legs.

Tears stream from my eyes. I can barely see.

Doesn’t matter.

My world—my entire existence—centers on that tree.

That tree is life for me and my baby.

And I will make it.

Chapter 2

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