Page 73 of Captive Omega

I tell him the same thing I told Blaine. The same thing I’ve told myself every day since our scent match materialized into our life when we were least expecting her.

“Convince her no one can make her happy like we can. Convince her to stay.”

Rune nods at the glass in my hand and raises a blond brow. “Park the boss outside for five minutes and have a drink with a friend.”

“And if there’s trouble?”

Rune snorts. “After the way I just saw Resa square off against that woman, maybe we could leave her to handle security.”

“Ah. How much did you see?”

His gaze hardens. “Enough to know I need to find out whose plus one that woman was and ban them from setting foot in our house ever again. This is our home, and Blaine is more welcome in it than someone like that.”

And that is why Rune will always be more of a friend than a client, no matter how many times we’ve worked together in the past or will in the future.

I lift my glass in a toast. “I’ll drink to that.”

Chapter 21

Resa

I’m not an introvert. But brushing elbows and shoulders, inhaling scents, trying to stay alert for any hint of trouble for hours was a lot. Even with Garrison’s periodic orders to sit down and rest.

We got back at eleven, and I dove straight into the shower, changed into a pair of gray sweats and a baggy white T-shirt before I crawled into bed, hugging my knife, like a psycho.

I needed to be alone until I heard the drums.

So, here I am, smothering a yawn as I hobble down the stairs.

Garrison and Blaine make sense.

Alphas and omegas are naturally drawn to each other. Biology is hard at work, pulling us together like an industrious spider weaving its web. A scent matched alpha and omega is the equivalent of chucking a grenade into a volcano just to see what happens. If I don’t find Dexter Pieter and get out soon, biology will make me forget why I want nothing to do with alphas.

But Vaughn?

What is it about him that compels me to ignore the aching soles of my feet to investigate the beta who plays the drums like he should be on stage?

I linger like a bad smell at the door that I partially push open. I’m not sure I want him to know I’m here, but I secretly wish he would.

He’s still in the same black outfit. The wall lights bounce off his cheekbones, bright blond hair, and the backs of his hands.

Hair loose, and with the top of his black shirt unbuttoned, he looks like he was getting ready for bed and at the last minute decided to come down here to drum instead.

“That you, bloodthirsty omega?” Vaughn calls out, though he never pauses his drumming.

He couldn’t have known that I shoved Rupert to his death, just like he couldn’t have known how many times I wished all alphas would spontaneously combust in a mass of blood and guts. If only he knew how fitting that nickname was.

I hesitate.

“We’re friends, right?” He knows it is me hanging around and he makes it a challenge. A dare to enter the room.

I push the door the rest of the way open.

The second my feet hit the spongy black matting, I wish someone would cover Earth with the stuff because, for once, my feet don’t hurt to walk.

“Come over here.”

I hobble over and hesitate beside the drum kit. “What?”

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